Исцеление протоиерея Петина

“In the reverent prayerful memory of the descendants of the archpriest of the city of Fagezh and the Kursk province P.G. Petin, who died in January 1912, an instructive fact will forever be preserved, closely connected with the name in Bose of the deceased prayer book of the Russian land, Father Fr. Ivan Ilyich Sergiev, Archpriest of Kronstadt. Twenty years ago, while living in St. Petersburg with my married sister, I received a telegram with alarming news that my father, Archpriest Petin, had become dangerously ill and was facing serious surgery. Having immediately left St. Petersburg, I was terribly worried all the way, not knowing what awaited me. Upon arrival in Fatezh, I learned that a council of doctors had already been appointed the next day to decide the question of where and how to amputate my father’s leg. It turned out that, as a result of a cold, my father had developed a purulent inflammation of his left foot, threatening blood poisoning. Terrible pain haunted my father day and night. He screamed for hours. Seeing me, he was helpless and couldn’t even say anything and just moaned. The doctor who visited the patient in the evening on the day of my arrival (by the way, this doctor A.A. Kul-v still lives in Fatezh) announced to me that only amputation of the leg could save the patient from inevitable death; Therefore, the next day, in the morning, a decisive consultation was scheduled, to which a surgeon from Kursk had already been invited. Struck by such news, I did not know what to answer, while my consent or disagreement to the operation, as the eldest of the patient’s children, was necessary for the doctors. Everyone at home was silent (my father’s sister, my younger sister and her friend are all still alive, but my mother was no longer alive at that time). It was already eight o'clock in the evening when I, tired and irritated by the hopeless situation, refused even the cup of tea offered to me, and, not knowing what to think of, went out into the street to freshen up a little. Mechanically I walked forward and unnoticed I found myself outside the city. There was no definite thought in my head; everything was somehow confused, the noise was in my ears. Having crossed the bridge and seeing some acquaintances ahead, I turned and walked back, as if afraid to speak to anyone. Suddenly, without understanding why, I stopped on the street opposite the house where the postal and telegraph office was located. The first thought that struck me at that moment was the thought of my father, Father John, and I ran to the telegraph, saying to myself almost out loud: “What was I thinking, why was I delaying? What about Father?..” In two or three minutes a telegram was sent to Kronstadt with approximately the following content: “Father, pray, help, save my sick father, whose doctors have prescribed amputation of his leg.” From the office I walked home at a brisk pace and, entering the room where the family was sitting having tea, I willingly drank two glasses with them and even ate something from dinner. My father, as I found out, was sleeping at that time, and there was some special silence in the house. Nobody said anything, and I didn't say a word to anyone about the telegram. But my soul felt lighter: I didn’t feel any disturbing thoughts, and an hour later I was already sleeping peacefully. When I woke up in the morning, I even felt cheerful, and my first question was: “When will the doctors come?” Suddenly, the door opened from the living room where the patient was lying, and a friend of A.V. Leb’s sister came out (she currently lives in the village of Popovka on the Nikolaevskaya railway as the head of the zemstvo school). To my question: “So?” She responded with a smile that seemed to say with pity: “It’s all over.” But a moment passed, and A.V., already laughing with joy, said: “During the night an abscess formed on my leg and by morning it broke through, dad is sleeping.” I immediately seemed stunned, but immediately laughed when I heard the call from the doctors who came to the house. I remember very well that I greeted them with the phrase: “Please, I humbly request”... Not even ten minutes had passed before the doctors, declaring that now they had nothing to do, left, saying only that the patient had been saved, and he only needed care and warm baths for his leg... A week later I was already in St. Petersburg, but not a word to anyone about the telegram. Then, soon, having met the priest, Father John, in the apartment of the L-vy sisters, he was the first to hear the question from him: “How is father, has he recovered? I received a telegram. Both I and everyone present were amazed. There was nothing to hide, and I told everything then... My father recovered and lived until January 24, 1912, when he died of old age at the age of 84. Great and glorious is the Lord in His ineffable mercy towards people through the prayers of the righteous! Son Nikolai P. Petin" St. Petersburg, Starorusskaya st., 14, apt. 1