How to Be Saved in the World. Life in the Family. #
Bishop Mikhail (Semyonov)
Now, about the Wife.
“Wives, love your husbands… Wives, submit yourselves unto your own husbands.”
What does it mean to “submit”? It means to obey in what is just and good. And more than that. Be attentive to your husband and to his will, for through humility you can accomplish a great work—the salvation of the family. You—yes, you—can make your home a domestic church.
In Folk Tales by Afanasyev, a wedding custom is described, apparently once practiced in the Kursk province. Before the wedding (at home), the woman’s relatives would ask her, “Where are you going?” “I am going to judgment,” she would reply. What a confession this is! The woman confesses that her future life is a struggle, that in marriage she will be engaged in the constant work of God. What work? The task laid upon her is this: to help her husband become a Christian.
On August 5th, the Church commemorates Saint Nonna—the mother of Saint Gregory the Theologian. She earned the crown of the Kingdom of God, among other things, by leading her husband away from sin and the darkness of paganism to righteousness and the light of Christ. How did she do this? Her Life tells the story.
One day her husband, a pagan, saw in a vision a call from Holy Scripture: “I was glad when they said unto me, Let us go into the house of the Lord” (Psalm 121:1). He told his wife, and she, seizing upon the guidance of the prophetic dream, persuaded him to go with her to the Church of Christ. But even before that, of course, she had constantly invited and pleaded with him to walk the path of Christ. That is precisely why he heard in his sleep the words: “Let us go into the house of the Lord…” To bring her husband to walk the way of the Lord, Nonna had to endure much at the hands of her pagan husband. She wept much. She conquered him by her humility.
Even today, a wife can make any husband good if she will love and forgive. Forgive… Yes, the entire family rests on this Christian ability to forgive. This is the Christian work of the wife—and the key to her personal happiness in the home. The family, for the wife, is a cross, just like the whole of our earthly life. It is a struggle laid upon us by God.
Marriage, family life, can bring many joys. Beside you is someone close, someone dear; you share all things—both sorrow and joy. But there is also much bitterness sometimes in marriage: a husband who fails in life may lash out or even raise his hand against you. What can be done? With Christ—endure.
Forgive your husband, too. He may hurt you, and not without reason. True, sometimes you may not be at fault at all and still suffer undeservedly—but ask yourself, has something happened to him? Maybe something irritated him, maybe someone offended him—and now he seeks to vent his anger on you. That is not right, but it happens. It is understandable, and it must be forgiven. One must be condescending toward human weakness.
Answer him with a harsh word for his harshness, with reproach for his reproach—he will grow bitter, and things will be worse.
Have pity on him. Keep silence—or even show him tenderness—and he will be ashamed of his rudeness. Remember, he often comes home exhausted, and a tired man can easily be unjust. Do not be angry with him; do what you can to help him rest properly. Of course, there are husbands who find fault with everything—“the dinner is no good,” the expenses seem too high. But you, pray: the Lord will help.
The main thing to remember is this—there are few truly evil people; rather, people have become dulled and cold of heart. Often, they do not even realize that their words wound, that their wife, for instance, weeps at night because of what was said… What can be done with such people? Life has hardened them. Pray for them, serve for Christ’s sake—and perhaps their eyes will open, and they will come to understand that every word must be measured, for words can strike more cruelly than a blow.
I spoke of blessed Nonna. But another great Christian woman also comes to mind. The mother of blessed Augustine, Monica, had a husband who was hot-tempered and harsh in nature. Yet she lived with him in peace and harmony. Her friends, who often quarreled with their own husbands, would come to her for advice on how to soften a difficult temperament. “Dear friends,” she would say, “you yourselves are to blame that you suffer such great offenses from your husbands: you respond to every offensive word with vexation, and return insult for insult, which only increases their irritation. But I, when I see that my husband is angry, keep silence and pray to God in my heart that peace might return to his soul. His wrath passes by itself, and I remain calm. Imitate me, dear friends, and you too shall have peace.”
I repeat—your humility and submission are needed not only for your own happiness. Women, in general, are closer to God, to Christ, less enslaved by money. They are more drawn to heaven. But if they wish to draw their husbands heavenward as well (and this is their duty), then they must learn to yield in small things.
Now, a word about a subject I would rather avoid—marital fidelity.
Perhaps there is no great need to speak of this here: to be an Old Believer woman is already to be a faithful wife. But for the sake of completeness, I do not wish to pass over this point, even if not for argument’s sake, at least to offer a few examples of how Christian women of old guarded their chastity.
A young wife of an Alexandrian, Thomaida, was tempted to sin by her father-in-law. “If you do not agree, I shall cut you to pieces,” the lawless man threatened. But Thomaida replied, “I am ready to die, but I will not defile myself or my honor.” And she died beneath the sinner’s sword (April 13).
And who does not know the life of St. Juliana of Vyazma, who also died for the honor of her marriage bed (December 21)?
The Limonarion even tells of a pagan woman who gave away all she had to save her husband from prison. Though starving herself, she served both her husband and his jailers like a slave, but never gave up her honor—not even for the sake of her beloved husband (and thus, for her own happiness).
So did holy women preserve their families.
Surely you too are faithful to your family. But perhaps the temptation sometimes flickers in your thoughts—who is entirely free from it? Let the following prescription from the Paterikon be your remedy. In one story, a brother asked an elder:
— “What shall I do, Father? A shameful thought torments me.”
The elder answered:
— “When a mother wants to wean her child from milk, she smears bitter sea onion on her breasts. The infant, by habit, comes to nurse, but repelled by the bitterness, turns away. So you too—if you wish—lay some bitterness upon your thought.”
— “What is this bitterness that I must lay upon it?” the brother asked.
— “The remembrance of death, and of the torments of the life to come,” replied the elder.
This prescription is fit for both wives and husbands… And beyond this, remember: every sin poisons the air of your household, sows rot, and infects your children.
This concludes my first article on the family. In closing, I will respond to one letter, the content of which I understand very well:
“Our life is poor and full of vanity. We bustle about, grow angry from want and cares—and that’s why there is strife in the family and lack of love.”
It’s true, we are poor. But the wealth that can destroy this strife, this lack of peace and love in the family, is all around us.
The weary traveler stepped into a wretched little hut to ask for a drink of water. Inside reigned disorder and poverty. The husband and wife were quarreling. The beaten and frightened children cowered in the corners. “Why is it so miserable here—why the fighting, the shouting, the blows?” the traveler asked. “Poverty, anxiety,” the homeowners replied, almost word for word like my correspondent, as they excused themselves.
On one of the hut’s windowsills, the traveler noticed a Gospel. “No matter,” he said to the husband and wife. “Things will get better for you. Here in your home you have a talisman that can give you both riches and peace.” At first, the man and woman thought he was joking, but his serious expression made them believe him.
From that day on, when the wife was away, the husband began to search for the “talisman.” The wife did the same when her husband was out. They found no treasure. But then, one day, the wife’s eyes fell upon the Gospel. Led by some inward prompting, she opened the book and saw, on the inside cover, words written by her mother’s hand:
“The law of Thy mouth is better unto me than thousands of gold and silver” (Psalm 119:72).
These words struck her deeply, for they called the law of God a treasure. She began to read, page after page, and tears began to fall from her eyes. She began to read the Gospel daily, to pray, and to teach the children to pray. But she said nothing yet to her husband about the treasure she had found.
One day he came home drunk and began to shout and rage. But the wife spoke to him gently and tenderly. He looked at her in astonishment. She said, “Husband, we’ve been wrong for a long time and have brought grief upon ourselves. It’s time we began to live differently.” “Where did you learn to speak like this?” he asked. She stood up, took the Gospel, and with tears rising to her throat said, “Here is the treasure—I have found it.”
The husband sat down on the bench and listened to her read. His heart was touched; to hide his emotion and tears, he hurriedly left the room. The next day, he asked her to read the Gospel again.
Two months later, the hut had been transformed, and the family themselves looked changed. Peace and happiness had returned to the home.
Are you using this talisman?
I spoke of the woman as wife. Now I turn to the woman as mother.
In essence, of course, a mother’s duties are outlined in what has already been said about the father’s responsibilities. But there are some aspects of raising children that fall mainly on the mother. These are the early years of the child’s life—indeed, the very first months and weeks of their existence.
From the age of nine or ten, children generally live in similar environments—at school and under its influence. Yet, people grow up to be radically different: some are believers, some are not; some are Christians, others are predators. Why? The answer is not difficult.
“It is astonishing,” someone once said, “that a white water lily should draw its beauty and fragrance from the black mud of the river, while the yellow lily draws from the same mud its foul odor.” Yes, it is astonishing—but it happens. It happens in moral life and in the realm of upbringing. From the filth of life’s swamp, saints may grow; and among the “holy and pure,” black and defiled souls may also arise.
Some people seem to have a special knack for absorbing only the filth and poison around them, so that their very souls become harmful, like a venomous plant; while others absorb only the good, and their character becomes gentle and kind, their soul “as beautiful as a lily.”
I cannot refrain from telling here an especially instructive legend about a drop of milk: When the Holy Virgin fled into Egypt with the Infant Christ, She paused in a cave. There, a hungry child who had lost his mother was brought to Her. The God-bearer uncovered Her breast and offered it to the stranger’s child. And he, nearly dead, revived from that “holy drop.”
Years passed—thirty years. And on the Cross hung three men: Christ, and two thieves. One reviled Him, saying, “Save Thyself and us,” but the other rebuked the first and said, “We are punished justly, for we receive the due reward of our deeds; but this man hath done nothing amiss.”
And the Lord said to him, “Verily I say unto thee, To day shalt thou be with Me in paradise.”
“This legend holds a deep and profound thought. Indeed, not a single thought, not a single word, not a single good impulse sown into the virgin soil of a child’s soul is ever lost. With that single drop entered the child the purity of the holy will, the holy soul of the Ever-Virgin. And all the darkness of the life that followed could not extinguish that ‘bright ray.’ The man disgraced his soul; he sank into crime, and yet the holy seed sown in him continued to live beneath the weeds, the shame, and the ashes of a will burnt through by sin. And at the first call, the soul responded.” (*Priest Mikhail, To Fathers and Children)
This drop of holy milk—this the mother may pour into her child.
How? By what means?
Certainly—through raising the child in God.
We have the witness of Holy Scripture and Church tradition concerning many mothers and Christian nurturers: St. Macrina, the educator of St. Basil the Great; St. Nonna, mother of St. Gregory the Theologian; Monica, mother of Blessed Augustine; the mother of St. Stephen of Perm, and others.
St. Macrina loved most of all to speak with children about God. Even while they were still on her lap, she was already leading them into the holy mysteries of Scripture, revealing to them the wondrous pages of God’s revelation concerning the world and mankind.
St. Nonna, as her son writes, valued one knowledge above all else: “To know from whence we came and whither we go.” That is, in the words of the poet, she was concerned above all with the question: “What is man, who is he, whence does he come, and whither is he going? Who lives out there, beyond the stars?” And naturally, she raised her children in the understanding that man is “sent by God into the world to do His work and must return to Him and give an account.” She loved her children—but “she loved Christ above all else,” and so she raised her children not for the world, but for Christ.
St. Augustine himself said that he learned to love and treasure the name of the Savior from his earliest childhood, under the influence of his mother. And with him, the story of the thief was repeated: he was close to ruin, wallowing in vice—but the echoes of a pure childhood remained alive and unextinguished in his soul—and Christ was resurrected within him. As was said to St. Monica, it proved “impossible that the son of so many tears and prayers should perish.” The day came when that “holy drop” prevailed. “He that was lost was found again.”
The mother of St. Stephen of Perm (along with his father) raised their son in the church and near the lives of the saints. They told him about Christ, who was crucified for the salvation of the world; about the martyrs, from whose blood, like that of St. Eudokia (commemorated August 4), violets blossomed; about how men left behind everything in order to follow Christ. And the face of Christ became for him a guiding light…
And thus these mothers raised great children. They—so I say—raised children near Christ and the Church. Perhaps many Old Believer mothers will say, “We too are not godless, and we raise our children in the fear of God.” Yes? That is good. But let me pose one question.
The matter is this: one can raise children merely within the temple, in the external rite of faith, teaching them to know God and to pray. But one can also raise them through the temple—so that all of life becomes a kind of temple of God, a divine liturgy.
It is a good and great thing if a child is taught to love the church. That alone is already much. Let “religion” act upon the child even if more through its outward forms than its lofty inner content—yet if these forms were created in the days of the greatest Christian inspiration, then surely they cannot fail to have a moral influence on the human soul. The rites of our faith have tremendous educational power because, even without explanation, they embrace the child’s soul in a holy religious feeling, tuning it to a solemn and elevated tone. Everyone who has received a purely Russian upbringing will certainly discover deep, indelible impressions in their soul from the church’s hymns and sacred rites.
It is no coincidence that even in the soul of L. N. Tolstoy—a declared enemy of the Church—a small lamp-light from his childhood sometimes flickered unexpectedly. (This is how I explain certain passages in his writings, warmed by a truly childlike faith, which contradict all his later works.)
Yet although the impressions of the church, of childhood prayer, and so forth, never entirely die, they are not enough to give Christ God His true warriors. Children must be led into life through Christ; they must be shown the beauty of the path “in the steps of Christ”; they must be consecrated to the service of God. Life must become a “divine service.” Then they will not be stillborn. Life will not frighten them. And their mother may boldly say: “Behold, I and the children whom the Lord hath given me.” And she shall be saved through childbearing—that is, through raising her children in God.
But I have said more than is necessary. Those interested in the question of upbringing can read my book To Fathers and Children.
Let me now return to the “Christian wife” within the family.
I began with the statement that salvation is possible even within the family. And I pointed to the story from the Life of St. Macarius the Great about the two women. Though this story is almost universally known, I must nevertheless recount it.
St. Macarius once wished to know if there were another ascetic as great and powerful as himself. The voice of the Lord said to him:
**“Go to such-and-such a city, and there you will find two women who are greater than you.”*
Macarius went, found the women, but could not understand what made them holy. They were not ascetics—just two simple women, sisters-in-law, living in the same household.
— “How have you pleased God?” he asked.
— “How could we please Him? In no way. We live in sin. We concern ourselves with one thing only: not to quarrel with one another, to serve one another, to help each other be saved from sin and temptation. We have lived together under one roof for fifteen years, and not once has either of us spoken a harsh word to the other.”
And so, in the eyes of God, these two women were found greater than St. Macarius, one of the greatest of all ascetics.
What a seemingly simple path to pleasing God—for all of us!
Let us not conceal our sin: there is still much “lack of love” and strife in our families. In one city (Sove), I encountered two mentally disturbed young women—driven mad by family discord. Two, in the same city. Is that not terrifying? And it is hard to say who is at fault—mothers-in-law, daughters-in-law, sisters-in-law? All are at fault, because none live according to Christ; all forgive too little, all yield too little.
The Bible presents to us one holy pair—a mother-in-law and her daughter-in-law. This is Naomi and Ruth. There was true Christian love (though they lived before Christ). Ruth looked upon Naomi as her own mother… She was ready to share with her every sorrow, even though Ruth’s husband was dead, and her ties to Naomi could easily have been broken.
“Only death shall part me from thee,” said Ruth to her mother-in-law. And they were both happy in their mutual love. Without that love, they would both have been alone and desolate.
“My mother-in-law mistreats me… She’s cruel…” the young wife complains. This does happen. But is there really no room here for understanding and forgiveness?
First of all, mothers-in-law and sisters-in-law often feel jealous. Until now, they alone possessed the love of the son and brother. Now a rival has appeared. They see that the husband loves his wife more than he loves them. Is it any wonder they feel hurt, that a small sense of resentment arises in their hearts—at least in the beginning?
And the mother-in-law is jealous not only as a mother, but also as the mistress of the household. Her authority, her keys, are slipping away.
She deserves pity. And it is a grave sin for the daughter-in-law if she has no compassion for the old woman, if she herself emphasizes that she is now the mistress, and that the mother-in-law (and the sisters-in-law) ought to submit and give way. Such a daughter-in-law tears apart the holy church of the family.
And even for her own sake—for her own peace—it is better for her to yield. One cannot clean filth with a filthy rag. One cannot extinguish fire with oil, nor end hostility with hostility.
In the stories of the saints, alongside the account of Naomi and Ruth, there is also a tale of a difficult mother-in-law. This is the mother-in-law of poor Monica, the mother of Blessed Augustine. Monica had been given in marriage to a pagan, Valerius. Valerius’s mother—her mother-in-law—was a woman of harsh and fiery temperament, although at heart she was not wicked.
As often happens, neighbors and even relatives, instead of preserving peace in the household, began to incite the mother-in-law against her daughter-in-law. And so, the mother-in-law began to persecute Monica.
And what did Monica do? She, silent and meek, acted as if she did not even notice the constant insults, and continued to labor for the good of the home. In time, the heart of the mother-in-law softened. She came to see the “golden soul” of her daughter-in-law and ceased listening to the slanders spoken against her. Gradually, such harmony and mutual affection developed between them that the mother-in-law began to defend Monica passionately and sincerely when anyone insulted her.
But if the daughter-in-law, who loves her husband and her new family, must learn to be patient—not only fearing to offend by deliberate words, but even being careful not to wound by a simple, thoughtless step—then a great responsibility lies also upon the mother-in-law.
Mothers-in-law and sisters-in-law forget that often a mere child enters the family—helpless and inexperienced. She is an orphan of sorts. She is among strangers and cannot immediately adjust to a foreign household. She feels pain and difficulty. And so, mistakes on her part are quite possible.
And how can it be otherwise? Is it easy for a sixteen- or seventeen-year-old girl to calculate every step she takes?
If, for her sake, the husband becomes unjust to the other members of the household… if she accepts from him more power, a more exalted place than she should rightfully occupy according to love, tact, and humility—namely, the place of a daughter and a younger sister—then she too must be forgiven and excused. She is so inexperienced and helpless.
Peace is sustained by forgiveness and condescension. It is not always easy to manage the complexities of family life. And one must always be indulgent toward weakness and inexperience.
Where there is forgiveness, there is love. Where there is love, there is God.