Priest Alexei
Spitsyn
St. Basil the
Great is highly venerated in our family. Once, when I was a seminarian, I was
staring at a fresco of St. Basil the Great during a service and wondering, What
did this saint do that the Church honored him with the title “Great”?
After the
service, I went to the cathedral shop and started vigorously searching for
books with titles mentioning St. Basil’s name. I came across a thick book with
his Life and works, which was published by the Moscow Sretensky Monastery. I
skimmed through pages related to the saint's biography, and an amazing feeling
came over me. My mind and heart were so touched by St. Basil the Great’s words
that I wanted to drop everything and run away to pray. My birthday was nearing,
and there was only one answer to questions about what to get me: the works of
St. Basil the Great.
I received
the book for my birthday as promised. After class, I painstakingly wrote into a
notebook the teachings that most touched my soul. Over time, I began to add a
short prayer to the saint who had become dear to me into my morning prayer
rule. And I didn’t miss the chance to add to my knowledge about this Universal
Teacher and his writings.
After I had
graduated from seminary, the question of my ordination to the deaconate was
raised. For several months, our ruling hierarch looked at me closely, tested me
and talked with my wife. One fine evening, the archpastor called me over as I
was carrying out my obedience, told me to pray and prepare for Holy Communion.
On Sunday, I was expected to be ordained deacon at the church of St. Basil the
Great in the city of Chelyabinsk.
During a service
six months later, on the Eve of Theophany, the metropolitan invited me to
talk—just talk about life. I returned to the service suspecting nothing. I
continued to go up to the solea and read out the litanies. And before the Small
Entrance, the metropolitan suddenly said, “Let's go and read the oath of
ordination.” So I was ordained into the priesthood. I noted an interesting
detail in the service—that the Liturgy was compiled by St. Basil the Great.
A
coincidence? I don’t think so. I decided to name my oldest son Basil.
A proud
deacon
At our
cathedral, we had a deacon with a booming voice of which he was very proud. The
deacon believed that his manner of reading the Gospel sounded like the reposed
Archdeacon Andrei Mazur from Moscow. As for his “colleague,” the second deacon
of the cathedral... well, he didn’t consider him to be a very talented person.
The incident
happened during the All-Night Vigil service. The moment came when the deacon
with the booming voice went to chant a litany. Standing in front of the Royal
Doors, he suddenly smelled a vile smell. Bewildered, the deacon began to look
around, casting a glance first at one end of the solea, then at the other. Once
our deacon began reading out a petition, an unimaginable stench suddenly hit
his nose even harder. After waiting for the choir to respond, the deacon
breathed into his palm—it didn’t smell, neither did his sticharion and orarion.
As the service progressed, a pattern emerged: the strange smell came whenever
the deacon proclaimed a litany or exclamation. This led the deacon to believe
that God wasn’t accepting his prayers. After the service, he went to confession
with a contrite heart. And it never happened again.
“The
Sniffler”
I have been
called to visit patients in a comatose state on more than one occasion. In some
cases, people miraculously return to consciousness during the prayer service
celebrated in their presence. There have been many cases in my lifetime when
God gave children to a couple in which both spouses were infertile, after their
joint prayers to God. And I once knew a man with cancer who, after receiving
Communion, felt no more pain and spent the last week before his death in joyful
calm.
I cannot help
but mention an incident that occurs to one of my parishioners regularly. The
fact is that she sniffles loudly every two or three seconds. Doctors shrugged
their shoulders: no one knew how to treat a strange ailment.
It hadn't
been like this all her life. She began suffering from this anomaly after
disobeying a priest during Great Lent. This elderly woman asked for a blessing
for something that should have waited until after Lent. Having heard what the
priest had to say, the woman did what she wanted according to her own will, and
mysteriously began to sniffle regularly!
Soon this
elderly woman was nicknamed “the Sniffler” by local people. Over time, they got
used to this phenomenon and stopped noticing it.
During Lent a
year later, the time came for the first sacrament of Unction. I served
alone—there weren’t many people, and there was no need to hurry. At the end of
the service, when people were coming to kiss the cross, this elderly woman came
up and said, bursting into tears, “Father! I’ve been healed!” Indeed, no one
noticed how the sniffling during services had suddenly disappeared. It was a
real miracle for our parish! But a week later, the inexplicable phenomenon
resumed. The priests and parishioners made the following observation: the poor
woman’s sniffling would disappear after each Unction for about a week, but not
more.
God is always
strong in performing miracles. He remembers us in every moment of our lives. I
made a very important conclusion for myself: In order to learn some of life’s
lessons, we also have to suffer. But our suffering is neither endless, nor
pointless. This is how God reveals Himself to man in the most striking way.
Prepared by
Vladimir Basenkov
Translation
by Dmitry Lapa
Pravoslavie.ru
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