The Lament of a Son for His Hermit Father

“As thine arrows have pierced me, and thou hast laid thy hand upon me.” Psalm 37. Whence, in this hour, have the inconstant winds of lamentation arisen? Whence, in this time, have the clouds of bitter sorrow descended? Whence, in this year, have the pangs of grievous despondency come upon me? The winds have blown—and troubled my mind; the clouds have gathered—and terrified my heart; the storms have come—and shaken my soul. Painful ashes have been stirred—and clouded my eyes; sickly rains have poured—and drowned my thoughts; mortal snows have fallen—and chilled my innermost being. But what has birthed this sorrow, the mother of cruel afflictions? What fruit has despondency borne, the tree of wretched tears? And why has such a multitude of Christ-loving people gathered here? Have you come to hold a feast or to open the gates of mourning? Have you hastened to celebrate a triumph or to unlock the floodgates of tears? Have you gathered to form a choir or to clear the streams of lamentation? For your unexpected assembly frightens me, and the strange visions torment my soul. It seems to me—have you come to rejoice or to bury someone? For I see here a house built without windows—and I am horrified. I behold a low chamber made without doors—and I tremble. I gaze upon a dark pit dug without steps—and I shake with groans! And who lies within it, voiceless—I know not. Who rests there, motionless—I cannot comprehend. Who dwells there, lifeless—I cannot discern. Is it a stone? Yet it is clothed in garments. Is it wood? Yet it is shod in boots. Is it soulless? Yet it is brought into the temple of prayer. O, my dreadful wonder! I see a mystery escaping the grasp of my mind. I behold a marvel slipping from the words of my lips. I gaze upon a wonder eluding the understanding of my intellect. I see a house bearing the form of a coffin. I behold an inhabitant with the marks of the dead. I gaze upon garments, the dowry betrothed to mother earth at our birth. Thus, I approach this standing prison, I draw near this dark house, I bow before this three-cubit coffin, for, like you, drawn by the tightest bond, I cannot stand far off. For my heart compels me to fall before it. Alas, the cruel rending of my life’s sinews! Bending down, I see—and behold, my father lies here. Alas, my calamity! My parent rests here. Alas, my horror! The master of the house dwells here! But is this not still a dream that my eyes behold? Is it not a vision troubling my soul with such fears? Is it not a phantom shaking my heart with such tremors? Oh! How true it is. Alas, how real! Woe, how certain—my father is gone! And heartfelt compassion is no more. My parent has departed—and true love has faded. My friend has vanished—and kind greetings have fallen silent. My companion is gone—and steadfast loyalty is dimmed. The master of the house has left—and bitter orphanhood has settled in. The builder has departed—and all has turned to lamentation. Now the mirror of sincerity is opened, showing not a face, but friends. Now the furnace of trial is kindled, refining not gold, but companions. Now the touchstone of proof is polished, revealing not silver, but heartfelt compassion. Is there anyone now to grieve with me in my sorrow? Is there anyone to weep with me in my tears? Is there anyone to lament with me in my anguish? For my peace has found rest from the vanities of this world; my freedom has gone to seek eternal freedom; my sweetness has departed to ask for unending sweetness. But me, poor wretch, it has left to drift in the wretched tempests of this world. O, my cruel wound! He left when the end of his years came. He departed when the foretold signs hastened to their fulfillment. He withdrew when the universe was fiercely shaken by the tempests that came. O bitter sorrow, touching the very heart! He ended his life, by whose life I lived. He passed on, by whose existence I endured. He fell asleep, by whose vigilance I found rest. Whom shall I now call my father, I, a fatherless son? Whom shall I name my parent, I, an orphaned child? Whom shall I call the master of the house, I, a wretched orphan? But where is your angelic face, O my dearest father? Where are your sweetly radiant eyes, O my sweetest parent? Where is your heartfelt compassion, O my closest comforter? Why do you ignore my cries, O sweetest solace of my heart? Why do you not incline to mercy, O most merciful fatherly heart? Why do you not hear my weeping, O compassionate fatherly ear? Arise, arise, I beseech you, O vigilant guardian of my health! Open your once-sleepless eye, O unsleeping guide of my life! Extend your all-hearing ear to my voice, O all-comforting nurturer! For the people will not bear my abundant tears, and the gathered crowd will not yield to my ceaseless weeping. And the short autumn day threatens with the swift onset of dark night. But bear with me, bear with me, I beg you, my dearest fathers and brothers—for my heart, shaken by the memory of my father’s compassion, cannot find peace. My soul, stirred by the recollection of my father’s kindness, cannot stand firm. My innermost being, moved by the former comfort of my father, cannot remain still. The debt of this fatherly compassion lies upon you all as well; your shoulders, too, are bowed under the yoke of service to fatherly love; the hand of this bitter misfortune grips your doors as well. For whether one is orphaned by parents or left childless, the same arrow of sorrow pierces the heart. Therefore, help me, I beseech you, O most cherished fathers and brothers, to rouse my sweetest father, for he does not heed me. Lest I once again burden the shoulders of his old age. Perhaps he does not respond to me so that I may not heap new snows of sorrow upon his gray hairs. Perhaps he does not awaken so that I may not add fresh grief to his afflictions. But you, as my dearest fathers and brothers, he cannot disobey, for such is the fervor of your love for him. For you have gathered here today not to feast, but to commemorate him with love; not to drink sweet honey, but to pray earnestly for the salvation of his soul; not to revel, but to aid him with fervent prayers. Yet I know, I know, that neither you will rouse him, nor will he hasten to rise, for he awaits the archangel’s call, as Paul proclaims: “At the voice of the archangel and the trumpet of God, He will descend from heaven, and the dead in Christ will rise first.” (1 Thes. 4:16) With them, my father will also rise, as I believe. Thus, with what comfort shall I now console myself, inconsolable? With what joy shall I cheer myself, sorrowful? With what gladness shall I delight myself, wretched? For the dawn of my comfort is hidden in the grave, the sun of my joy sets beneath the earth, the moon of my gladness is covered with dust. Therefore, my eyes strive to weep an entire ocean of tears today, but the spring of my tears is dried by the heat of sorrow. My tongue leaps to pour forth countless words, like grains of sand, but its sinews are cut by the knife of calamity. My soul rises to quake with mountains of sighs, but it is pressed down to my very ribs by the weight of grief, for sorrow surrounds me on all sides. And there is no joy from anywhere, only lamentation; no gladness from anywhere, only despondency; no delight from anywhere. One solace alone remains to me—the memory of the virtues my father performed. For if I seek unfeigned love, it dwelt in his heart. If I hasten to find truth untainted by lies, it hung upon his lips like a sword. If I go to contemplate his labors, they resound in the fields and pastures, in the desert and the plains, louder than a trumpet. Who fled vain glory? Who shunned unprofitable conversations? Who avoided contentious gatherings? None other than my father. Who was wise in Christ, as Paul says? My father, a fool for Christ’s sake. Who was strong? He, as one weak. Who was glorious? He, as one dishonored. He was ever nourished by hunger, sustained by thirst, clothed in nakedness. Instead of leisure, he delighted in suffering; instead of rest, he rejoiced in wandering; instead of idleness, he gilded his hands with labor. When reviled, he blessed; when persecuted, he endured; when slandered, he took comfort. Whose shoulders knew not the adornment of fine garments? My father’s. Whose eye never winked with deceit? My father’s. Whose tongue never uttered deceitful words? My father’s. For he fled quarrels as if they were the devil. He hated anger as an enemy. He feared malice as a serpent. He did not war against strangers, nor pursue the poor, nor oppress orphans. No eye wept because of his offense. No soul groaned from his violence. No heart trembled at his approach. For he did not look down on others’ failings with pride, nor examine their sins through the lens of judgment, nor weigh their shortcomings with the balance of condemnation. But he ever attended to himself, eating his bread by the sweat of his brow, as it is written, and nourishing us. In toil, he found rest; in vigils, he received peace. He met the morning dawn in the fields and saw the evening to midnight. For idleness was unknown to him, in both spiritual and physical virtues. Why, then, do I not add to the choir of his other virtues his zeal for the ancestral laws? When the ancient piety of our forefathers began to flee from the persecutors of new-fangled ways, it came to pass that he spent a night in the village of his father’s homeland. Seeing that good, the best of all goods, the eye of my father, opened to God’s love, was immediately kindled with the flame of divine love. He left all else behind: his home, his mother who bore him, and his brothers. He parted from his wife, still very young. He forsook even me, his fledgling, then but a year old. He fled after the fleeing piety in the deserts, pursued the persecuted ancient Orthodoxy, wandered after the Church, his mother, scattered across the mountains, consumed, as David says, with zeal for the house of God. For at the age of twenty-seven, when his life’s course was drawing to its close, he, forsaking all worldly things and fleeing, as David did, began to dwell in the desert, testing its depths with the labor of his hands. And after two years, he brought us—me and my mother—to join him in the desert, to become dwellers there and partakers of the God-beloved piety. And in such a desert life of pious struggle, he lived for thirty-eight years. In those times of his life, Orthodoxy often suffered bitterly at the hands of those enamored with new ways. Yet he was not swayed by the fears of persecution, nor shaken by the toils of the desert, nor overcome by the assaults of passions. Even while living with his wife, he led a chaste life as if widowed, fulfilling the counsel of Paul, who said, “Let those who have wives live as though they had none.” (1 Cor. 7:29) For, following the heaven-ascending John, he chose to build all other virtues upon the firm foundation of purity. Faith, love, and hope ever dwelt in his soul. Patience, meekness, and mercy never departed from him. Righteousness, courage, and heartfelt simplicity slept and rose with him. Thus, his spiritual and bodily virtues, like swallows in a garden, ever fluttered and sang around him. But how long shall I recount the virtues of my most beloved father? For the more I strive to recall them, the more they multiply beyond the sands of the sea. And they leave a sharper thorn of grief in my heart! Let my words pause here for now. Yet with my faltering voice, I will briefly speak to your hearing. As the most cherished body of my father lies before our eyes in this dark tomb today, it is fitting, indeed fitting, to offer him these funeral hymns as a final kiss. For my sweetest father, when he approached the end of his life, humbled himself and said, “I know not how to seek fitting forgiveness from the fathers and brothers.” Fearing the cunning accusers and the torment to come, he wept, saying, “I know not where I shall go or where I shall find myself.” As a man mindful of his sins, he cried out in the bitterness of his heart, “I have sinned in all things through my simplicity.” Praying to his Creator, he cried with tears, “Deliver me, O Lord, from the sorrow that surrounds me!” And he besought the universal fervent intercessor, “O Nikola, great wonderworker of light! Deliver me, a sinner, from eternal torment!” Yet, holding hope in God’s mercies, he joyfully proclaimed, “God is marvelous in His saints!” And as he then sought your fitting forgiveness, so now, in truth more than in words or cries, he calls out to you, most honorable ones, saying: “Forgive me, fathers and brothers, for all my offenses before you. Release me from all the sins I have committed against any of you in word, deed, or thought. I now go on a far journey from you, to a foreign land where none know me. There I see tremors filled with inconstant terrors; I see fears brimming with quaking dread; I see judgments free from unjust bribery. Giants fear these inconstant tremors. The rich tremble at these quaking fears. Kings await these impartial judgments with dread. There, perishable wealth has no place. There, the honor of this age finds no dwelling. There, the glory of this world is brought to naught. The honored face blushes with shame there. The brave hand is broken by weakness there. The lofty neck is bowed by affliction there. No horses carry one away from that dreadful judgment. No friends deliver from that inconstant fear. No companions save from that quaking dread. Parents flee from their children there. Children hide from their parents. Friends turn away from their beloved. Only virtue lifts those who possess it. Only a life lived by the commandments leads its keepers across the abyss. Only the love of God presents those who hold it before His throne. Alas, my trembling! How shall I enter such fears? Mercy turns its eyes from me, for I turned my eyes from it in this life. Hospitality opens no doors to me, for it found no open gates with me. Visiting the sick does not incline its ear to me, for I did not incline my ear to it. Those who shivered at my gates, naked in the cold, do not admit me to the garment of heavenly rest. The sick, whom I did not visit, do not lay my head upon their beds. The prisoners who saw not my face do not lead me into the splendor of radiant chambers. The hungry, unfed from my table, do not nourish me with the delights of Eden. The fearsome King of all creation turns His face from me, as from one unmerciful. Brave angels prepare to lead me to torment, as one deeply sinful. God’s holy saints do not stir to pray for me, as for one slothful. The deep abyss shakes my heart with its roar. The dark hell terrifies my soul with its chasm. The cold Tartarus makes my bones shudder with its chill. Foul worms gnash their teeth upon my flesh. Oh, my calamity! Fathers and brothers, I know not where to go! They will not let me enter the radiant paradise, nor permit me to return to the life of this age. Thus, I cast myself humbly at the feet of each of you. From your merciful souls, I beg abundant mercy. Raise your holy hands to the All-Merciful Lord for me. Pray to Him who created me and graciously gathered you, that He may free me from the fierce hands and gazes of the toll-collectors standing on my path, and grant me redemption through His great and boundless mercy. By it, freed with a writ of release, I may unhindered reach the incomprehensible throne of His fearsome divine majesty and glory. May I, through your prayers, be a pleasing worshiper to Him, and through your remembrance, be deemed worthy to feast in the radiance of the righteous forever. And I offer you one final request. Take my orphaned son under the warm shelter of your love. Establish him under the gentle wings of your kindness. Settle him under your nurturing care. Be merciful guides to his youth, show yourselves generous comforters to his orphanhood, and become steadfast protectors of his solitude. For my fatherly compassion can no longer shield him, my generous fatherly eye can no longer watch over him, my sweet friendly words can no longer comfort him, my tender merciful hand can no longer guide him in proper ways. But you, O imitators of Christ, I beseech you, repay my fatherly debt and parental compassion to my son. Cover all his shortcomings with your loving-kindness, bear all his boldness with your patience, and erase all his faults with your humanity. Guide him, I pray, with fatherly love, lead him with brotherly compassion, counsel him with sound advice that leads not to vanity. May the Lord God reward you according to the righteousness of your hearts on the day of His fearsome and divine glory.” Such, and even greater, were the tearful pleas of my father, heard by your gentle and patient ears, O Christ-loving assembly, my most honorable fathers and brothers. Therefore, deign to have mercy on me, your supplicant, and fulfill my father’s request, so that the Lord God may grant you the desires of your hearts in eternal joy. May you receive this through Christ Jesus, our Lord. To Him be glory forever. Amen. source