Part 1
The
second part of this conversation with Fr. Pimen is dedicated to the miraculous
help of the Mother of God and non-condemnation of your neighbor.
—“Acquire
the spirit of peace and thousands around you will be saved,” said St. Seraphim
of Sarov.
—Yes.
One girl told me about how she was hired as a notary’s assistant at a large
notary office in Bucharest. She wasn’t the only one—there were ten assistants.
Being naturally cheerful and optimistic, and seeing how strict and
unapproachable her co-workers were, she thought she wouldn’t be able to work
with them. But, by the providence of God, it turned out that she became the
boss of her co-workers, and then she decided to change the atmosphere and
started responding to everyone kindly, with a smile. Thus, she managed to
change everything in just a year, and today this notary office enjoys a
reputation as the most popular in Bucharest. See how just one man of God can
grant “peace to all!”
—I
have noticed, Father, that those of us who are of the world have a great
problem with judging our neighbors.
—It
happens because we stop seeing our own mistakes. We always see others “beams,”
but never our own. But this is not humility.
—Well,
I know this theoretically, but how can we deliver ourselves of this sin in
practice?
—By
silence. The holy fathers say that “as many times as I have spoken, so many
times I have sinned.”
—Yes,
and that “no one has repented of being silent.”1
—Let’s
begin with silence. And so as not to break it, make a law for yourself: I won’t
speak more than is absolutely necessary.
—Here,
Father, in the “inner desert” it’s possible. But what if you’re in the world
and, let’s say, you work, like this girl, in a notary office? What should you
do when you have to receive people?
—You
have to seek the middle path. When you absolutely have to talk, talk. At work,
yes, there’s no way out of it. But don’t look for a reason yourself—like going
out for a beer, going out with your friends, going to clubs.
As for
condemning one’s neighbor, the Holy Fathers say that they themselves reasoned
like this: “I am accursed. What right do I have to judge my brother before God
begins to judge him?” After all, where two are talking about a third who is
absent, it’s already a matter of condemnation.
After
all, we don’t justify the one we’re discussing—on the contrary, we throw stones
of heavy words at him. As Elder Thaddeus says, “We’re not aware of what power
even our thoughts have.” If several people start judging someone and send their
evil thoughts his way, he’ll come to disarray. All the malice of others is
poured out upon him. And vice versa. Look: You are here, you pray for your
brother who’s at home, and he’s recovering! And we say: “Did you hear what
bishop so-and-so did?” And instead of helping him with prayer, so he would be
corrected (if he sinned), you inflict harm upon him. But when hundreds of
thousands of people begin to think as badly about this hierarch, then he, the
poor man, no longer knows why he’s so sick, why his legs don’t even work. And
you made him so unfortunate.
And no
one will say: “Let’s kneel in prayer for him!” But if we did this, God would
change him (if he sinned). But it’s easier for us to condemn someone than to
make ten prostrations for him and stand for a few moments with hands raised in
prayer for him. But let us, several thousands of people, stand up to pray for
the hierarch and you’ll see how God will say to him: “Wake up and correct
yourself! Do you see how many people are crying out to Me?”
I
think this also happens because our conscience torments us for our evil deeds,
so we find “justification” for ourselves in the fact that someone else also
sins. But look, what did the Holy Fathers do? They took note of the greatest
virtues that they saw in others, and when the demon of vainglory whispered that
they reached the measure, they quickly cut off this thought, comparing
themselves to one of the saints. But we do the opposite: If we drink too much,
then we immediately start thinking that we still haven’t become like those who
are wallowing in the gutters.
Everyone
judges according to their own condition, according to the passion that
possesses him. For example, some unknown woman is walking down the street at
night. If a believer sees her, he might think she’s returning from Vigil, from
a church or monastery. If a regular secular person sees her, he might think she
went for a walk. But if some rabble-rouser sees her, he might think her husband
kicked her out of the house. If a passionate man sees her, he might think she
was out painting the town red and is returning from who knows where.
So
that was about an ordinary woman who was walking down the street, and look how
much judgment it could cause! And she could be completely innocent: She just
went out for a walk, but everyone sees her according to his own condition, his
own passions. There’s a saying: “The pure eye sees all things as pure.” Even in
the worst people it finds something good—a part of the image of God. If you
judge yourself, you’ll always find a reason to cover your neighbor’s
transgressions.
—Father,
what was your residence like in Lacu Skete?
—I
lived in the skete the first two years and everything started from scratch. As
I already told you, I ate what grew in the garden, and I had to work hard to
clear the area of thickets and get the land in order, because it was a rocky
place. Then I lived at St. Paul’s Monastery for two years to learn Greek. When
I returned to the skete nineteen years ago, I took the Cell of St. Artemius and
restored it.
At
first I lived alone, and then my brother Dosifei came. We built the cell from
scratch. I mean, from absolute scratch, because there was nothing on that
spot—just rocks and forest. We spent a year huddled in a tent. We didn’t even
have enough food, but we would go to the monastery and bring back canned food
and bread in a knapsack.
From
the very beginning, we built three rooms to have a place to live, and then we
added more until it looked as you see today. This is how the Mother of God
directed us to erect a cell to the saint without a penny’s savings. I also made
prayer ropes and went around to the monasteries, giving them away, and coming
away from each monastery with some building materials.
After
finishing the cell, I lived there for twelve years, but when the “fullness of
time” came, I started building this one that we’re sitting in now. I wanted to
build it first, but the monastery wanted us to build cells around the large
church first, and only then start the ones on the hill. Since this was the
furthest from the kyriakon, I had to put it off till the end.
There
were a lot of rocks here, and the skete wanted to build a house for the
laborers. In ancient times, there was a large church here, dedicated to the
Entrance of the Most Holy Theotokos into the Temple. And since there were too
many of them in St. Artemius’—ten monks—and the church was a little small, I
thought the time had come to ask the monastery for this cell. But before asking,
I prayed to the Mother of God to give it to me, so I had no doubts at all that
I would get it. Others have asked for this place and didn’t get it. But since
there was nothing here except for piled-up rocks, many of the brothers said:
“Either he’s nuts, or he has a bag of money! There are ten of you in St.
Artemius’, more than anywhere else in the skete. What are you lacking?” they
asked. At that time, there were eight monks with Fr. Ștefan Nuțescu, six in
another cell, and another three or four.
—Well,
I knew one kellia could have a maximum of nine monks—except Burazeri, perhaps
(a cell with more monks than many Athonite monks, like Stavronikita,
Konstamonitou, and others, as its brotherhood has thirty-five monks).
—According
to the ancient laws, the monasteries registered six people per cell. But the
cells belonging to sketes have different laws than those of the monasteries.
It’s the same with Burazeri.
As I
said, first I started pulling up the weeds and leveling this place. There was a
Greek bulldozer driver then who did a lot of work in Lacu, and we got along
well with him. I started working with him since I had no money, and he said:
“You’ll pay when you can.” I only started paying him back a year or two later.
We dug up everything here. There were four other workers then. I had one
friend, a Greek, who kept calling and asking how I was doing. And I would tell
him we were working; the only problem was how to pay for it—my debts had
already reached ten, twenty, 30,000 euros. “The workers will kill you; you’ll
have nothing to pay them with!” he said, “encouraging” me. “I’m doing
everything humanly possible to pay them. The Mother of God is handling the
rest. I have hope that she won’t abandon me this time either.”
And
she didn’t abandon me. On the same day that I decided not to take on any more
debts, a rented land rover stopped at the cell. Five people got out, and one
came right up to me: “May God help you, Father!” “May God bless you.” “How’s it
going; are you making progress?” “We’re moving ahead,” I said. “Do you have any
money?” “No.” “Debts?” “30,000 euros.” “Ioanic, bring the bag with the money
here. Father, take 30,000 from here and be healthy!” He turned and left.
When I
came to myself, I ran to the car and started pulling on one of their sleeves:
“Who is this Christian who is so merciful, so we can commemorate him at the
Divine services?” “How could you not know him, Father? It’s Gigi. Gigi Becali.2
Haven’t you heard of him?” “Never heard of him in my life,” I said, still
shaken by this wonderful event.
Can
you imagine? This man gave me 30,000 euros, without even asking my name or
knowing anything about me! He just shoved the money into my hand, turned
around, and left! And he did this in all the Romanian cells, paying all their
debts.
A few
days later, the Greek called me again: “Well, how are your debts?” “I don’t
have any more debts.” “How?” So I told him about what happened. “A miracle!” he
said. “How is it possible that he gave so much money to a stranger?” he said in
astonishment. “Friend, The things which are impossible with men are possible
with God,” I told him.
—So,
Gigi really helped you, Father!
—Yes.
Forty percent of everything you see here was built with his money, and the rest
was the widow’s mite, from the faithful.
The
roof was also very expensive: 25,000—just for the cell, not counting the slate
on the church, which I had already laid down earlier. I covered the cell with
roofing paper and nailed slats on it, but since I had a 25,000 debt, I couldn’t
get another 25,000. Meanwhile, the slats had already begun to crumble, the roof
was leaking and rain started to pour through the ceiling. Then I again called
out to the Most-Pure Theotokos: “Mother of God,” I said, “do as thou wilt, but
help me cover the cell before winter, for the rain is flowing into our house!”
I must
say that I never asked the Theotokos for money—always only for the necessities.
Then one night I was standing in Vigil by the kyriakon, outside, to do
prostrations so sleep wouldn’t overcome me. Then someone came up to me to ask
if I had covered my cell! I answered: “No, because it cost 20,000 to cover the
church with slate, and the cell is larger, so it will definitely cost more.” He
left and returned after a while: “How much do I have to give to become a benefactor
of your sanctity?” he asked. “Well, it should be a substantial sum in order for
it to be remembered at the holy altar forever,” I said. “Is 25,000 enough?” “Of
course!” And he left again.
Finally,
when the service ended and I headed home, this Christian came up to me and put
a thick envelope the size of a brick in my hand and said: “Father, you have
25,000 euros here to roof your home. I spent a long time collecting this money
and still couldn’t decide where to invest it. I had two options and I didn’t
know which to choose. Then I called upon the Theotokos to teach me what to do
with the money. And she told me: ‘Go and give it to Fr. Pimen so he can roof
his cell.’”
In my
joy, I thanked the Mother of God for this help she sent me and immediately
began to look for the roofer who did my church roof, because I knew that he had
orders scheduled a year in advance. But the Greek told me he had two free weeks
before the next order. “Let’s get to work,” I said. I quickly ordered the tiles
from Kavala,3 and we started the work.
I’m
telling you this so you’ll know that everything you see here was done by the
grace of God, by Divine intervention, with the help of God, the Most Holy
Theotokos, and the saints.
—Yes.
“Man labors in the sweat of his brow, and God acts.”
—Everything
happens itself when man ceaselessly seeks God and fulfills His will. Then He
bears your concerns—He and His Mother.
George
Khrishnan
spoke
with Monk Pimen (Vlad)
Translated by Jesse Dominick
5/8/2020
1 See
The Ancient Patericon, chapter 15.9 (9): Memorable Sayings. On Abba Arsenios,
40.
2 Gigi
Becali (b. 1958) is a prominent businessman and politician, a Deputy of the
Romanian and European parliaments. This interview was conducted after he served
time in prison for taking bribes in 2013-2015.
3 A city in Greece
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