“The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak” (Mark 14:38 )
The Lord will always find a way to comfort the sufferer, if he himself, of course, at least a little reaches out to the Lord ...
I lay sick in bed and was solving a difficult (due to my illness) question: should I go to Saturday Vespers or pray at home?
There was no physical strength to go to the temple, but my heart burned.
"I will go to the temple of God," I finally decided, "and the Lord, if He pleases, will give me strength." And I went, gradually shifting my legs.
The service was excellent. I hardly remembered my back pain and never even sat down to rest. By evening, the sky cleared up, and the sun peeped out from behind the overlying black clouds, illuminating the stern faces of the saints on the icons through the stained-glass windows of the church, softening them for a short time, as if revealing and communicating to us the true essence of God's saints - love and willingness to serve people.
Moving away not far from our church, I saw an old woman who beckoned me with her hand. There was a large puddle nearby, and I thought the old lady wanted me to help her get to the other side and move her spacious box, which was tightly tied to a two-wheeled cart.
Coming closer to the old woman, I was surprised: how shabby she is! How old is she? Nowadays you rarely find such people on the street. Not a single tooth in the mouth. The face is wrinkled, the faded eyes are watering like an old woman, but they shine in a special way with kindness and a clear mind.
“Saints among us,” the old woman said instead of the usual worldly greetings. It somehow immediately fell on my heart that this was not an ordinary grandmother, but some kind of special, spirit-bearing. After all, such a greeting is given by monks at a meeting or by priests at the altar: "Christ is in our midst."
She didn't need my help. She had assistants of a completely different kind, much more powerful. “Choose icons for yourself,” the old woman suggested to me and took out a whole handful of cheap icons on thick paper the size of a matchbox.
I took for myself the icons of the Mother of God of Jerusalem, the Almighty and St. Nicholas the Wonderworker with a beautiful, Slavic type, face.
I lay sick in bed and was solving a difficult (due to my illness) question: should I go to Saturday Vespers or pray at home?
There was no physical strength to go to the temple, but my heart burned.
"I will go to the temple of God," I finally decided, "and the Lord, if He pleases, will give me strength." And I went, gradually shifting my legs.
The service was excellent. I hardly remembered my back pain and never even sat down to rest. By evening, the sky cleared up, and the sun peeped out from behind the overlying black clouds, illuminating the stern faces of the saints on the icons through the stained-glass windows of the church, softening them for a short time, as if revealing and communicating to us the true essence of God's saints - love and willingness to serve people.
Moving away not far from our church, I saw an old woman who beckoned me with her hand. There was a large puddle nearby, and I thought the old lady wanted me to help her get to the other side and move her spacious box, which was tightly tied to a two-wheeled cart.
Coming closer to the old woman, I was surprised: how shabby she is! How old is she? Nowadays you rarely find such people on the street. Not a single tooth in the mouth. The face is wrinkled, the faded eyes are watering like an old woman, but they shine in a special way with kindness and a clear mind.
“Saints among us,” the old woman said instead of the usual worldly greetings. It somehow immediately fell on my heart that this was not an ordinary grandmother, but some kind of special, spirit-bearing. After all, such a greeting is given by monks at a meeting or by priests at the altar: "Christ is in our midst."
She didn't need my help. She had assistants of a completely different kind, much more powerful. “Choose icons for yourself,” the old woman suggested to me and took out a whole handful of cheap icons on thick paper the size of a matchbox.
I took for myself the icons of the Mother of God of Jerusalem, the Almighty and St. Nicholas the Wonderworker with a beautiful, Slavic type, face.
"Take, grandmother, I have money," I handed the old woman a bill.
“I won’t take it,” she said with significance, “this is for the Glory of God. You better sit down with me and listen to what I tell you.
Her words about God and about the saints were simple and understandable, and she pronounced them somehow childishly, without pretense. How much love and Christian wisdom her small, frail body contained! I saw how she was weighed down by her flesh, how her head swayed disobediently during the story, with what effort she was given every movement, every step. Truly: "The body is weak, but the spirit is vigorous."
“You know, boy (I'm 48 years old; I'm bald and bearded), saints walk among us. Like ordinary people. And they help people a lot. Stand up for people.
When it is hard for you, it becomes bad, if you pray from the bottom of your heart and ask for the help of God's saints, they come. And sometimes they themselves, holy priests, see that something is wrong with you and come to your aid without any request.
For example, Sergius of Radonezh, he saw that I had no strength, I would fall now, and immediately came to me. He put me on one handle, and took the cart on the other handle and carried it. His beard is soft. Fragrant ... it smells of incense. I tell him: "I suppose it's hard for you, father, put me on the ground." And he just smiles at himself: “You,” he says, “are light as a feather, these are grave mortal sins - they pull, there is no way to bear them. And you are light. "
I got used to it and say to him: "I have a third entrance, Father Sergius."
And he replies that he knows everything himself, and which floor, and which apartment he knows, and knows all my life.
Why do I live? I am feeding. I feed everyone. And birds of the air, and cats, and dogs, and people. All the creatures of God. Everyone wants to eat. I have water in my cart, and milk, and bread, and grain. Who needs what. Enough for everyone.
Only I sometimes get reprimands from people. Do not give food. But the patron saints help. Once, the abbot of the temple made fun of me. I went into the church fence to feed the puppies. And he saw. He started shouting at me that he would call the guards to kick me out. Says I'm trash here. What kind of rubbish is that? This is dog bread.
Then I see that Nikolay the Pleasant has approached in a black, shiny suit - brand new, brand new ... ”.
Noticing my surprised look, the old womanr explained: “And he appears in different clothes - sometimes in the holy vestments, and sometimes in wordly. As it is more convenient for him to walk, so he, the saintly Vladyka, walks. ”And she continued:“ And Nicholas, the all-glorious Miracle-worker, says to me: “You are ours, - he just said so, - you are ours. Feed everyone. And I will soon remove this abbot from here. " When I heard this, I cried, feeling sorry for Father N. I say that he is, they say, young, he has a family, small children. It's too early to pick him up from here. Let him still live. And the saint replies: “I will transfer him to another place, where he will have the opportunity to serve normally and to do more with his family. There are so many temptations here ”.
(I remembered: indeed, two years ago, the former abbot of our church, Father N., was transferred to serve in another area, as a result of some, as I remotely heard, scandal.)
“I won’t take it,” she said with significance, “this is for the Glory of God. You better sit down with me and listen to what I tell you.
Her words about God and about the saints were simple and understandable, and she pronounced them somehow childishly, without pretense. How much love and Christian wisdom her small, frail body contained! I saw how she was weighed down by her flesh, how her head swayed disobediently during the story, with what effort she was given every movement, every step. Truly: "The body is weak, but the spirit is vigorous."
“You know, boy (I'm 48 years old; I'm bald and bearded), saints walk among us. Like ordinary people. And they help people a lot. Stand up for people.
When it is hard for you, it becomes bad, if you pray from the bottom of your heart and ask for the help of God's saints, they come. And sometimes they themselves, holy priests, see that something is wrong with you and come to your aid without any request.
For example, Sergius of Radonezh, he saw that I had no strength, I would fall now, and immediately came to me. He put me on one handle, and took the cart on the other handle and carried it. His beard is soft. Fragrant ... it smells of incense. I tell him: "I suppose it's hard for you, father, put me on the ground." And he just smiles at himself: “You,” he says, “are light as a feather, these are grave mortal sins - they pull, there is no way to bear them. And you are light. "
I got used to it and say to him: "I have a third entrance, Father Sergius."
And he replies that he knows everything himself, and which floor, and which apartment he knows, and knows all my life.
Why do I live? I am feeding. I feed everyone. And birds of the air, and cats, and dogs, and people. All the creatures of God. Everyone wants to eat. I have water in my cart, and milk, and bread, and grain. Who needs what. Enough for everyone.
Only I sometimes get reprimands from people. Do not give food. But the patron saints help. Once, the abbot of the temple made fun of me. I went into the church fence to feed the puppies. And he saw. He started shouting at me that he would call the guards to kick me out. Says I'm trash here. What kind of rubbish is that? This is dog bread.
Then I see that Nikolay the Pleasant has approached in a black, shiny suit - brand new, brand new ... ”.
Noticing my surprised look, the old womanr explained: “And he appears in different clothes - sometimes in the holy vestments, and sometimes in wordly. As it is more convenient for him to walk, so he, the saintly Vladyka, walks. ”And she continued:“ And Nicholas, the all-glorious Miracle-worker, says to me: “You are ours, - he just said so, - you are ours. Feed everyone. And I will soon remove this abbot from here. " When I heard this, I cried, feeling sorry for Father N. I say that he is, they say, young, he has a family, small children. It's too early to pick him up from here. Let him still live. And the saint replies: “I will transfer him to another place, where he will have the opportunity to serve normally and to do more with his family. There are so many temptations here ”.
(I remembered: indeed, two years ago, the former abbot of our church, Father N., was transferred to serve in another area, as a result of some, as I remotely heard, scandal.)
The spirit-bearing woman told me a lot, but at some point I understood that I do not contain her words - the containers of the mind and heart were overflowing; and instead of slender edifying verbs, I began to hear nonsense.
Noticing that I ceased to understand her and my attention was scattered, she let me go, saying: “Go, son, and do no harm to anyone. Remember that the saints are among us according to God's will. They are waiting for your prayer. "
I understood her ministry and truly now I say to you: the servant of God Claudia feeds and gives gifts to all those in need. Some with millet, some with an icon, some with bread. And her word, even when it had already separated from her and began to live its own life, remains the bread that came down from Heaven. Amen.
Miroslav Grishin, from the book "Saints Among Us"
Noticing that I ceased to understand her and my attention was scattered, she let me go, saying: “Go, son, and do no harm to anyone. Remember that the saints are among us according to God's will. They are waiting for your prayer. "
I understood her ministry and truly now I say to you: the servant of God Claudia feeds and gives gifts to all those in need. Some with millet, some with an icon, some with bread. And her word, even when it had already separated from her and began to live its own life, remains the bread that came down from Heaven. Amen.
Miroslav Grishin, from the book "Saints Among Us"
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