**On the Days of Holy Week. ** #

Bishop Mikhail (Semyonov)

Today we have come out to meet the Lord, who goes willingly to His Passion. We have come out with branches and burning candles, as once the children of Jerusalem cried out to Him who was coming: “Hosanna to the Son of David, Blessed is He who cometh…”

But is this gift of ours enough for the Lord?
The branch is the first gift of the awakening spring. According to folk tradition, the pussy willow hastens to unfold its silver buds to be ready to meet the Lord. It is a beautiful custom to meet the Lord with these modestly pure “branches.”
However, the willow in our hands is but a symbol of our soul. It signifies that we must also offer the Lord a soul renewed like the green grass of spring, reborn and pure like the white down of the dear willow.

But do we bring Him such a soul?

The Forty Days of the Fast were given precisely so that the waters of repentance might wash away the filth of sin from our soul, and melt the ice that had frozen it into the dead sleep of winter.
The Holy Blood and Flesh of the Lord were given to us so that new, holy strength might be poured into our weary soul, to rejuvenate it for Christ’s labor, for a life new and pure.
But if we remain dead to God, living in dead works, what need has the Lord of our branches?

Our candles burn — yet they too are symbols of the soul’s burning. But does the soul burn along with the candle, burning with love for the Lord, yearning with a fiery longing to be united with the Crucified and Risen One?
Does our prayer burn like fire?
If it does not, then our candle too does not truly burn: it only seems to burn to the Lord.
The Lord sees no light in it.

Here is what Abba Theodor recounts in the Limonarion:

“I renounced the world in the monastery of our holy father Theodosius, which is in the desert near the holy city of Christ our God. There I met a great elder named Christopher, a Roman by birth.
One day, bowing to him, I asked: ‘Do me a kindness, Abba, and tell me, what did you do in your youth?’
I pleaded with the elder for a long time, and finally, seeing that I was asking for the benefit of my soul, he told me the following:

‘After renouncing the world, my child, I had fervent monastic zeal: during the day I sang canons, and at night I went to a cave where Saint Theodosius and other holy fathers lay, and there I prayed.
Entering the cave, at each step I made a hundred prostrations — and there were eighteen steps.
Having completed all the prostrations, I remained there until the semantron was struck, then returned to the service.
Thus I spent ten years in fasting, great abstinence, and ascetic labor.

One day, as usual, I went into the cave.
Having made all the prostrations on the steps, I was about to step down onto the floor of the cave, when suddenly I fell into an ecstatic state.

I saw that the entire floor was filled with candles. Some were burning, others were not.
Two men in mantles, all in white, were tending to the candles.

I asked: “Why have you set so many candles here, that one cannot even enter to pray?”

They answered: “These are the candles of the fathers!”

I said: “Why do some burn, and others not?”

They answered: “It is their will: those who wished to, have lit their candles.”

I asked: “Do me a kindness: is my candle burning, or not?”

They replied: “Pray, and we will light it.”’

Pray, and we will light it.

Do you understand the meaning of this story?
It tells us that a church candle is not lit by a match or some other fire.
It is lit before God by prayer.

If you light your candle, but your prayer does not pour forth with the smoke of the candle — warm and pure — if your soul does not melt like wax before the face of God, then it is as if there were no candle of yours at all in the holy church.

A burning candle in the hand of one whose soul is extinguished — this is only an accusation against him. And a shame to him.

Monday #

The Lord Christ sat near the treasury of the temple, by the box where offerings were placed.

And behold, the rich put in much.
“And there came a certain poor widow, and she cast in two mites, which make a farthing. And He called unto Him His disciples, and saith unto them, Verily I say unto you, that this poor widow hath cast more in than all they which have cast into the treasury: for all they did cast in of their abundance, but she of her want did cast in all that she had, even all her living” (Mark 12:42–44).

What are these two mites?

I recall a story from the time of a recent famine.

A priest gave a sermon about helping the hungry in a village where, in truth, there were scarcely any who were not themselves starving.

And the next day he found a whole ruble in the collection box.

Who had given it? Some rich man?

It was an old woman, who with her family had not tasted bread for a long time and lived only on potatoes.
For fifteen years she had been saving that ruble for prayers to be said for the dead.
Many times she had gone hungry, yet she had not touched that ruble.
But now, the Lord’s call reached her soul, and she gave away what was dearest to her.

And again:

Once after a similar sermon, collectors passed by a poor, crippled girl.
She struggled in vain to think of something she could give, but she had nothing.
The only valuable thing she owned was her crutches, which had been bought for her by the hospital.
It was hard for her to part with them — to lose again the ability to walk through the meadow, on the grass.
But she made her decision.

As the collectors passed by, she stopped them:

— Take my crutches. I have nothing else.

There again were two mites given to the Lord.

Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday #

“I behold Thy bridal chamber, O Savior, adorned…”

To us Christians, visions of what is to come have been revealed.
We know that the righteous await the bridal chambers of the heavenly Father.
The holy fathers and the Holy Scriptures have described to us the heavenly beauty of this radiant chamber.
But shall we enter it?
Does not our heart shrink with dread at the thought that perhaps we shall be left outside the door?

One famous traveler in Palestine recounts that he once nearly had to spend the night in the open field right outside the walls of Jerusalem.
“In the early morning,” he says, “we set out from Hebron. By noon we reached Bethlehem, and having stayed there longer than we had originally planned, we continued our journey to Jerusalem.
The sun was already slanting low in the sky when the city came into view in the distance.
We knew that all the gates were locked at sunset, but we were in no hurry, confident that there was still plenty of time.
Suddenly, ahead of us, on a small hill, we saw a man waving his arms vigorously, trying to get our attention.
We drew nearer and heard him shouting something to us.”

— He was shouting: “Hurry, hurry! Soon the Jaffa Gate nearest to us will be closed, and then we shall have to spend the night under the open sky, in the bare field.”
Alarmed, we urged our horses toward the city and arrived just in time, moments before the gates were shut.

That evening, the traveler writes, left a deep mark on my memory.
I thought to myself: we were so afraid of being left outside the gates — and yet, it was only the earthly Jerusalem.
What if we should find ourselves outside the gates of the heavenly Jerusalem?

Indeed.

Is this not fearful?
To remain outside the shining city walls, in utter darkness.
Forever.
For all eternity.

I knew a man who had dreamed all his life of one thing: to live at last in a bright room with curtains, in cleanliness and peace, to die in such a room, and to hear, every day in his last years, the hymn “How Glorious Is Our Lord” played for him.
For the sake of this dream, he endured hunger, poverty, and saved every penny.

Let me be permitted one comparison:
What if people could cling with such passion to the “image” of the heavenly bridal chamber — wondrously adorned — which is prepared for those who live “according to the law of the Lord”?
Why is it that people so quickly forget about the “bright halls” of the heavenly mansions, where one may gain an eternal dwelling?
For if such images could powerfully seize the soul, a man would never stray from the path leading to the heavenly Jerusalem.
He would walk the path of goodness with the same joy with which a man in rain and cold and mud hastens toward the lights, warmth, and brightness of his own home.

But how can one avoid being left outside the gates of Jerusalem?

How can one find the wedding garment for the soul?
Where to find it, I spoke of in the previous sermon.

On Holy Tuesday, we heard the parable of the ten virgins,
“who took their lamps, and went forth to meet the Bridegroom.
Five of them were wise, and five were foolish.
The foolish took their lamps but took no oil with them.
But the wise took oil in their vessels with their lamps.
While the Bridegroom tarried, they all slumbered and slept.
And at midnight there was a cry made, Behold, the Bridegroom cometh; go ye out to meet Him.
Then all those virgins arose and trimmed their lamps.
And the foolish said unto the wise, Give us of your oil; for our lamps are gone out.
But the wise answered, saying, Not so; lest there be not enough for us and you: but go ye rather to them that sell, and buy for yourselves.
And while they went to buy, the Bridegroom came; and they that were ready went in with Him to the marriage feast: and the door was shut.
Afterward came also the other virgins, saying, Lord, Lord, open to us.
But He answered and said, Verily I say unto you, I know you not” (Matthew 25).

The oil for the lamps of our soul is good deeds: faith, hope, and love.
Everything that sustains the life of the soul, that preserves it from spiritual death, and makes it able to go out and meet the Bridegroom who comes at midnight.

How to obtain oil for the lamp?

Some think: “The Bridegroom will not come soon — we have plenty of time to gather oil, even shortly before His arrival.
Even on our deathbed we can offer saving repentance, as did the wise thief and many others saved in the eleventh hour.”
Alas, such hopes are fragile.
Yes, the Lord receives even those who come to Him late, even at the final moment.

But here is the difficulty: it is hard to acquire in one hour and one day that which a man failed to acquire during a lifetime.
A soul worn out by the vanity of life, corrupted by sin, will scarcely find the strength for rebirth in its final hour.
Rather, it will be like the weary, foolish virgins — falling asleep, missing the coming of the Bridegroom, failing to gather oil in time.
Oil is not bought at the market: it must be accumulated through struggle, labor, and prayer.

One great elder had two disciples who were not always obedient to him.
Since they often disturbed him, he decided to leave them and went to one of the coenobitic monasteries, presenting himself as a wandering novice monk.
He remained there for three weeks and during that time did nothing of his own will but obeyed every command without objection.
After three weeks, he saw before him a figure clothed in radiant white, holding two vessels: one full of oil and one empty.
The figure handed the elder the empty vessel and poured a little oil into it from the full one.
The elder said:
“Give me the vessel full of oil.”
The figure replied:
“No, that cannot be done; but as much as you have labored, so much oil have I poured into your vessel.”

And the elder said:
“If even a small good deed is done by a man, he shall receive a reward from God — but according to what is right and just.”

Do you hear?

The oil for our lamps is not given to us for nothing, but in proportion to our labors for God, for the gaining of His Kingdom, which “is taken by force.”
Let us repeat what was said in other words in the sermon on the Annunciation:
We can always obtain oil for our lamps.
Near us stands “One clothed in white garments,” holding a lamp full of oil, and He will fill our lamp if we so desire — but only if we acquire this oil by surrendering our will to Him and stepping onto a new path of life, following in His footsteps.
And since we have not the strength, by one great surge of repentance like the wise thief, to fill the lamp at once, let us hasten to fill it gradually — even slowly — by walking in the ways of God, adding drop by drop the holy oil of good deeds.

Can one turn even at the eleventh hour?

Yes.

But do we know what hour it is for us now?
Perhaps it is already the eleventh — and if we delay any longer, it will be too late.
Let us hasten!
Let us look at ourselves: are we not close to sinking into eternal darkness?
Let us examine ourselves: have we not already fallen into the depths and gloom of sin so deeply that our soul is on the brink of extinguishing altogether?
Is not our lamp already burning down to its last flicker?

When a miner slowly descends into a dark coal mine carrying a candle in his hand, he knows that as long as the flame burns bright and steady, the air is still safe to breathe.
But as he descends further, the flame narrows and pales; then it wavers and, amid bluish fumes, goes out, turning into a foul gas.
The miner watches his lamp carefully — and to save his life, he does not let the candle extinguish, but hastily climbs back up into the fresh air.

This air — is Christ.
A life worthy of Him.

Friday and Saturday

The Lord Jesus Christ lies in the tomb.
What can one say today?
A certain ascetic was once asked to speak at the tomb of the Lord.
He came forward and said:

— Brethren. The lips which created the world by the Word are silent. The Word that was from the beginning with God is silent. Is it for us to speak now? Let us pray and weep.

Yes — there is no place for speeches at the holy tomb of the Lord.
Here is the place to pray and to weep.
The Holy Cross will speak, soaked in the Most Pure Blood of the Lord.
The Winding Sheet will speak, where He lies with hands and feet pierced.

What does it say?

I once saw a painting showing the Lord in the agony of death, His forehead covered with bloody sweat and blood from the thorns.
Beneath the painting was an inscription:
“This I have done for thee. What doest thou for Me?”

That is the sermon.

The Lord shed His Blood for us.
He suffered as no man has ever suffered.
What then do we give Him in return?

He died to conquer sin within us, and to establish His Kingdom.
And do we help Him?
Or, on the contrary, do we increase the weight of His Cross and His sufferings by our evil life?

In the traditions concerning the Seamless Robe of the Lord, it is said that when the nails were being driven into the Most Pure hands and feet of the Lord, a Christian woman living in the Caucasus heard the blows of the hammer.
These blows struck her heart.
And this is understandable: such an event was taking place as should have shaken the entire universe.

And we?
For us, upon us, the most terrible event — the Crucifixion of God!
What of it?
Does it shake our soul?

Even the soldiers went away from the Cross, striking their breasts, their souls shaken.
Shall we not also go forth from the Cross, saying:
“Lord, for Thy Blood I give Thee my soul. Help me to walk in Thy ways, to bear Thy Cross, to do Thy will, and to keep Thy commandments, sealed by Thy Blood.”

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