Many believers will agree with me that at the initial stage of their entry into the Church, the most difficult thing is to cope with the desire to immediately bring their loved ones to the faith. I have not escaped this fate in my time. Many friends and friends, with very few exceptions, first twisted their fingers at the temple, and then began to avoid me. Many relatives simply stopped communicating, and the closest ones – my father and mother – treated my “bliss” condescendingly, not missing the opportunity to say: “If you would better work, stop doing nonsense!”
Father, who all his life called himself a Communist and an atheist, once said: “Foolish, Dimka, why did you go to the priests?” There’s no God. No matter how much I tried to enlighten my father and mother, they perceived my sermon as a “hoarseness” of the sly verses of the simple-minded Kozlevich from the “Golden Calf” of Ilf and Petrov.
I’m not making it up! He threw books and brochures, included hymns and sermons on a tape recorder, demonstratively prayed “for lost relatives”, invited “accidentally” to go to a cup of tea more experienced in the business of “hoarsing” brothers, he himself conducted soul-saving conversations. Of course, this annoyed his parents a lot. I do not know what would have ended my zealous missionary work had it not been for one incident.
One day, my future confessor, Father John, accidentally heard me complain to another ponomary about the complete “unconsciousness of my ancestors” before the service (I had already pomorized in the temple). After the liturgy he called me to him and said, «You know what I want to say to you, Dima?» Here I should be wary, but only later, when my father had already become my confessor, I realized that if he called me “Mitya”, it was a very high degree of praise on his part, and if he addressed me “Dima”, then, despite the invariably affectionate voice, it became clear: Dima really screwed up.
Well, that’s what I want to ask you, Dima. Tell me, do you remember why Noah cursed his son Ham and all his descendants?
Well, I think, old man, my memory is failing, let me shine with erudition. And let him tell the whole story of the Flood, the Ark, Noah and his sons. I was so carried away that I did not notice that my father was sitting, looking at me and smiling.
“Thank you,” he reminded me, a fool, because I could not remember it as his. Hama. And you, Dima, well done, you’ll squirm well, you’ll serve censil on time. Your poem is neat, clean, ironed, your ponomark is fine. Well done, well done! Your good parents must have raised a good son. Tell me, Dima, their names, I will pray for them, they are holy people. There was so much sincerity and warmth in his words that, on the one hand, I was pleased, and on the other, I was very ashamed. After all, I just called these holy people who gave me life “stupid and impenetrable.” And Father continued:
I didn’t pray for my mom and dad at first. They wanted to send me to a craft school, and I really liked the temple. I disobeyed them and went to the seminary. They scolded me and I called them stupid.
I’m so offended! I told my priest about this at confession, and I see that he suddenly takes a metal cross in his hand and how he will put it to my forehead, with such an effort that I was immediately shaken. “What right do you have for your parents to judge, and even to discuss, with all sorts of bogeymen like you, their actions?” Have you tried praying for them? Stop interfering with God, start praying and He will arrange everything!
Father finishes his story, and then stretches out his hand, takes a large silver cross from the throne. Yes, yes, he does the same painfully sobering gesture! He smiles and looks at my reaction. My tears flow more from regret than from resentment. There was no resentment against him. I fell to my knees in front of him, roared, and through sobs I said, “I’m sorry, Father!” And he patted me, a thirty-year-old man, on the head like a little man, and said, “And you, Mitya, forgive me.” Then, all of a sudden, the same cross — and to your head! And laughed so softly.
Go, Mitya, you have many things to do, and pray for me, a sinner. Pray for your father and mother, too, it will be very difficult for them.
A lot has changed this conversation in me — and in my attitude towards loved ones. It’s been a few years. My father suffered three strokes, was paralyzed and practically insane. But by some miracle he came to himself a few days before his death, recognized me and suddenly asked him to confess. After confession he again fell into a coma and never regained consciousness. And my mother gradually began to go to the temple and, although she did not become churched, but shortly before her departure she still took communion.
My mother and I continue to pray for them. To my parents, to her mother, who tragically passed away, to our personal “unholy saints.” Even in our prayers, the name of Archpriest John always sounds. And my top sometimes starts to hurt for no reason, and then I mentally say: “Forgive me, father!” And in response, as if I heard: “That’s good, Mitya.”
Author: prot. Dmitry Khartsyz
The Holy Land Charitable Foundation
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Orthodox stories from life
