Father John of Kronstadt, healing drunkards

Contents From the publisher Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Your company, T. F. Kuzina, at the end of last year published a book containing a fairly complete and detailed biography of the venerable Kronstadt shepherd Fr. John. This biography is available for sale and can be copied out. The price of the brochure is 5 kopecks, in hundreds for 2 rubles. 50 kopecks At this time, we present to our reader a short essay to further illustrate the highly revered personality of Fr. Ioanna. There are currently thousands of drunkards in Rus': bitter and binge drinkers, who have stopped drinking forever, thanks to the high moral influence of Father John of Kronstadt. This is what I want to talk about here in addition to my essay, which has already been published as a separate publication. What is drunkenness? Doctors and physiologists do not give us a direct answer to this; Some call passion for wine a human weakness that spineless people cannot resist, others consider this passion a disease or an organic need that, thanks to habit, has become second nature and turned into an illness that often ends in delirium tremens. Be that as it may, excessive consumption of wine causes humanity a lot of tears, grief and misfortune; this “Power of Darkness” has ruined, orphaned, destitute and deprived many people not only of all prosperity, but also of their good name, honor and human image, as well as making them poor, chronically ill, and even more vagabonds and criminals!.. Just as moderate consumption of wine is harmless, even joyful and useful, just as immoderate is harmful and harmful. Finding the limit or, as drunkards put it, the “dead point” (“an extra” drink after which a person loses self-control) is a secret, the possession of which could bring millions to humanity, not to mention its moral significance. I knew one Tatar, Khabi-bula, who was being treated for alcoholism in St. Petersburg; In a short time he made a large fortune simply by being able to guess the “dead spot.” Merchants paid him hundreds and thousands of rubles, but, alas, the effect of Khabi-bula’s secret lasted several months and those “cured” again began to drink bitter... Maybe someday, on occasion, I will describe in detail the charlatan treatment of Khabi-bula, thanks to which he has now become a major landowner on the Volga, and his example of exploiting gullible people has found many followers, but now this would distract me from the main subject. Father John looks at drunkenness only as human weakness. “No one has ever been born a drunkard, but became one in life,” says the venerable shepherd; – of course, drunkenness and binge drinking turns into illness; it is very likely that hereditary predisposition plays a role here, but the root and cause of evil lies within ourselves. If the power of faith is powerful enough to raise us from our deathbed, then it is powerful enough to force us to drink in moderation, that is, to stop at that glass after which we cease to bear the image and likeness of God and approach the animal... It’s great that Fr. John does not forbid drunkards who come to him to continue drinking. “We must not fear, but despise the enemy.” A bad warrior who is afraid of meeting the enemy; if you run from vodka as from your powerful seducer, sooner or later you will fall into its clutches... But despite the “permission,” the majority of former drunkards who were cured o. John, they get an instinctive aversion to wine, and if they sometimes drink a glass, then it’s the most innocent drink, like liqueur or kümmel. To cure drunkenness, Father John has a special prayer. The prayer is read in church, with kneeling, but, of course, outside the service, and more often at confession. Sometimes Fr. John accompanies prayer with penance, demands for fasting, abstinence, etc. It happened that after a conversation with a drunkard, the shepherd refused help: – Go and change your lifestyle first; learn to work, live honestly, and then ask God for mercy... The first time after confession, St. Communion and prayers for deliverance from drunkenness Fr. John invites the healed person to commune with St. more often. Tain, lead a generally pious lifestyle, abstain from all excesses and not remember the past. The greatest danger of returning to drinking is in the first months, and the strongest temptation is the company of friends. It goes without saying that you need to avoid the latter and not tempt yourself unnecessarily. This is your venerable shepherd’s “recipe” for healing drunkards. There was a rather large silver coin in St. Petersburg. He was a family man and at the age of 32, when he had four children, a wife and an old mother, he began to drink heavily. At this time, his business was going brilliantly; he had capital, many profitable customers, and up to 25 apprentices worked in the workshop, so its production could be called almost factory-like. Pyotr Ermolaevich, as N was called, was a quiet man, a good family man and, although with a weak character, he was kind and partly even pious. He began drinking in the company of friends, gradually learning to spend entire evenings in taverns. As he became a regular guest of the tavern, his company of drinking buddies grew, he learned to drink more and more, did his work less and less in the workshop, was bored with his family, was angry and irritable at home, did not keep track of orders, etc. The consequences are usual: company N lost its reputation as a neat, efficient and conscientious workshop; the number of customers quickly decreased, the best apprentices refused to serve, in a word, everything went into decline. Such results angered N even more, and so he began to drink heavily, that is, coming home senselessly drunk, he got half a glass of hangover in the morning and went to the tavern, where he now sat out for whole days. Little by little it came to the closure of the workshop; N drank his own and other people’s belongings, beat his wife and children for no reason, even stole necessary items from the family, which he sold for drinking. He had to switch from the tavern to the tavern, because in the latter vodka was half the price. At the age of 2, only one memory remained of Pyotr Ermolaevich’s prosperity and freedom!.. His wife somehow managed to go home with the children to the village, and N became a real “gold miner” in rags, often spending the night under a fence or, at best, in a shelter. In dens and disgusting slums, N often met people just like him, hungry, ragged drunkards, who once lived no worse than him, in prosperity, freedom, happiness, almost wealth... For about 5 years N was considered a bitter drunkard, drinking away every penny he could get his hands on; he tried to serve, but after the first paycheck he disappeared; he was greeted with black eyes, a swollen face, and shaking arms and legs. Several times he ended up in the beggar committee, in hospitals, and once he was even suspected of theft, although he still did not go as far as committing a crime. It seemed that N had lost everything; none of his former drinking companions and acquaintances recognized him, and his appearance indicated that this man had no choice but to ask God for an end to his suffering life... Even in the good times of his life, N heard about Father John of Kronstadt. In one of the moments of involuntary (due to the absence of a “piglet”) sobering up, he remembered the Kronstadt shepherd... “And something seemed to fall inside me,” says Pyotr Ermolaevich, “so it became cheerful, joyful in my soul; during all the time of my drunkenness I had never had such a pleasant spiritual feeling... I fell to my knees, tried to pray - I could not, the words of the prayer did not come to mind... I decided to immediately walk to Oranienbaum, and from there somehow make my way to Kronstadt. And N headed to the Baltic station. It was summer, it was beginning to get dark, and Pyotr Ermolaevich set off along the sleepers at night... He walked cheerfully, his soul was light, as it had not been since the beginning of the tavern seat, and all the thoughts, all the hopes of this half-man, who had almost lost his “image and likeness,” were concentrated on Father John, whom he had never seen before and about whom he had never thought before... N had already passed Peterhof and entered the forest path when the tops of the trees turned golden with the rays of the rising sun. A wonderful morning was coming: N almost did not feel tired or hungry, his soul was light and joyful; he lay down under a tree on a hillock and fell asleep unnoticed. When he woke up, the sun was already high; It was a hot day and many summer residents were walking in the park. N probably looked desperate, because the children and ladies were in a hurry to get away from him, and the gentlemen looked him up and down somehow defiantly, as if they wanted to say: - How did this tramp get here, we need to send him to the police... Jumping up from the ground, Pyotr Ermolaevich pulled his torn cap over his eyes and quickly walked towards Oranienbaum. For the first time he felt ashamed of his position, and at that moment he wanted to fall through the ground so that no one could see him; He himself told me approximately his emotional feelings. “Five years of drunkenness and binge drinking with all their terrible consequences rose up so vividly before me that I remembered every smallest thing and even what I had not paid attention to at all before. Oh, what a terrible nightmare it was. My soul was torn apart under the weight of the most terrible memories. For five years, I never once remembered my children, my wife, my sick mother, and here I was ready to die, just to look at them once, to hear their voices... I didn’t eat for more than a day, but I completely forgot about hunger and my brain shrank at the mere memories of the past experiences, long past... I didn’t want to think about the old things, I had to discuss the future, but my thoughts, against my will, were chained to the most disgusting episodes of my vicious life, and I felt a cold trembling in everything body Imperceptibly, tears welled up in my eyes, gradually turned into sobs and, hiding in the forest, I sat for several hours, shedding tears... Having cried out my grief, I felt relieved and continued on my way more cheerfully... It was about two o'clock in the afternoon when N arrived in Oranienbaum. Only here did he remember that Kronstadt lay on the sea, it was impossible to get into it on foot, and he didn’t have a ten-kopeck fee for passage on the ship. He had never before dared to ask for alms, and although he often had to beg for bread, and more often for drink, he only turned to acquaintances. How can you ask from strangers, the first people you meet, and will they even give it, but you will have to endure the shame, the shame of begging... An inexpressible melancholy gripped Pyotr Ermolaevich. At the edge of your goal, almost at the threshold of your cherished hope, you have to give up your dreams; he was already thinking of swimming to Kronstadt, but that would be madness; He couldn’t reach out for alms under any circumstances, and they wouldn’t let him on the ship for nothing. This “back” sounded for Pyotr Ermolaevich exactly like “grave” or “death”. To return to the five-year tavern life of a homeless tramp seemed to N to be a much greater misfortune than a brutal death under the knife of a murderer. Meanwhile, just yesterday, he would not have exchanged this free life for a mansion and considered himself happier in rags than before in the circle of family, contentment, honest work... The thought of suicide already flashed through Pyotr Ermolaevich’s head, a thought that he met not only without horror, but almost friendly, when suddenly his attention was attracted by a crowd of people running towards the steamship pier. “That’s right, the ship is leaving,” he thought, “but I can’t go... He wanted to return to Oranienbaum, but some inner voice forced him to mix with the crowd and run to the pier... “Father John, Father John,” he heard all around. It took N a lot of effort to squeeze through the crowd so as to look at his “deliverer,” on whom his entire life and future now depended. Pyotr Ermolaevich has now become so close to the idea of ​​his rebirth through Fr. John to a new life, that losing this hope for him would mean losing everything. So he saw the approaching shepherd, whom the crowd seemed to be carrying on their shoulders... He saw this clear face of the priest, with an expression of great love, and trembled all over with excitement, overwhelmed by some kind of reverent awe... Father John at that time caught up with him... Unable to remember himself from the excess of feelings that overwhelmed him like a sea tide, and not being able to utter a word, N fell to the ground at the feet of Fr. John and, catching the hem of his robe, nervously pressed the shepherd's robe to his lips. Sobs squeezed the chest of the unfortunate drunkard, his eyes darkened, he lost consciousness... How long Pyotr Ermolaevich lay unconscious, he himself does not remember, but he woke up under a bush on the shore of the bay, a few fathoms from the place where he saw Father John for the first time. In all likelihood, someone from the crowd carried or, rather, dragged the unconscious N aside, and he lay there, mistaken for a drunk. Be that as it may, Pyotr Ermolaevich woke up in the evening. Two days passed without him drinking or eating anything. Vaguely remembering everything that had happened, he began to think about his situation; Although hunger and fatigue did not particularly torment him, the weakness was so significant that he could hardly stand on his feet; there was not a single penny in his pocket, it was impossible to get to Kronstadt, and what would happen in Kronstadt?.. He saw Father John, but where is the priest now? He was surrounded by such a crowd that he, a ragamuffin beggar, would never be able to not only talk to him, but even see him closely... Tears silently rolled down the haggard cheeks of the terribly exhausted face of the drunkard, leaning against a tree and standing like an idol. - Here it is a tree... Here to the side, they won’t notice it soon... A minute and it’s all over... Where am I, pathetic, unfortunate, naked... And how I dreamed, hoped... Thoughts, each darker than the other, crowded into Pyotr Ermolaevich’s head, and the more he thought, the more pessimistic his mood became. The sun was setting, a chill blew in from the bay, it was beginning to get dark... Passengers passed by N, he heard noise, conversation... - I'll try! – he almost screamed and went to the pier. The ship was leaving now. Pyotr Ermolaevich, staggering, approached the captain and, bowing low, began to say something incoherently. - Go, go, sleep it off, where are you going in such a state, look, you’ve cut yourself, you can barely stand on your feet. “The captain said this in a mocking tone and made a sign to the sailor. - Come on in, come on in, there’s nothing for you to do here, otherwise we’ll take you to the unit now... “Yes, I’m not drunk,” Pyotr Ermolaevich said barely audibly, “but I didn’t eat for the second day, I came on foot to Father John... “There are a lot of you hanging around here visiting Father John.” Get lost... There are many beggars in Kronstadt even without you. “Please allow me,” N tried to ask. “They said leave and go if you don’t want to go to the police.” What can I allow you?.. And Pyotr Ermolaevich, accompanied by a sailor, left the pier. It had already become completely dark and a quiet warm night had set in. Pyotr Ermolaevich continued to wander around the Oranienbaum piers without any specific purpose and without realizing his wanderings. The last trains and ships left, the movement of passengers stopped, Oranienbaum was empty and stood still in the silence of the night, but N did not leave the seashore, still waiting for something; he saw that the station attendants were not sleeping and heard fragmentary phrases from which he could conclude that they were waiting for an emergency train with Father John. I note that Father John three times a week, and sometimes more often, has to travel with emergency trains, and the Baltic Railway always has a steam locomotive with a 1st class carriage in reserve in case of an emergency request for Fr. John. This, however, is not at all surprising, because the time of the Kronstadt shepherd is too valuable to be constrained by the railway schedule; when you constantly have to rush to the dying or suffering, then there is no way to rush to the train... The clock at the station struck midnight when three lanterns with bright, trembling lights appeared in the distance. The train was racing, and before N could reach the platform, the locomotive stopped. There were almost no people, but the carriage in which Fr. John, however, was quickly surrounded by a group of about 20 people; N could not understand where they came from. The venerable shepherd quickly left the carriage, quickly blessed those standing and walked along the platform to the steamship pier, where the emergency steamer was already standing with the separated couples. As always Fr. John was kind, fresh, did not feel any fatigue, and his usual friendly smile shone on his face. “Father,” N groaned, with difficulty catching up with the retreating priest. Father John stopped and turned to the ragamuffin running with small steps. They met face to face... N felt the “father’s” gaze on him; he could not withstand the surge of feelings and fell at his feet, tightly grasping Fr.’s cassock. John. “Get up, my dear,” the shepherd said affectionately, but firmly, almost imperiously, “let’s go to the ship.” N jumped up, as if from an electric current, and, not daring to raise his eyes to the priest, walked behind him. On the way there were people he met who came up for blessing and it seemed that they were looking at him with hostility, as if he had done something wrong to them. Here is the ship. Father John, without turning around, walked along the ladder. “Will they let me in?” flashed through N’s head, but the sailor, noticing his hesitation, politely invited him: - You're welcome. Are you with your father? “Yes, with my father,” N repeated and entered the ship. “Go away,” came the command. The rudder frothed the quiet mirror surface of the bay, the wheels rumbled, spun, and the steamer floated ponderously across the bay... N stopped in the corner of the stern part of the steamer and did not dare not only go into the wheelhouse, where Fr. John, but did not want to accidentally catch his eye. He now began to repent of his courage, he was worried about the thought that he would tell the priest what he needed, why did he call out to him, follow him, and now he was going to Kronstadt? -Are you going with your father? - a sailor, apparently looking for him on the ship, interrupted N’s thoughts. - Come to the control room, the priest asks you. Father was sitting in the cabin when N entered, barely moving his legs and hanging his head low. “Hello, come closer,” said Father John in his soft voice, “what is your name?” “Peter,” N whispered, not daring to move. - Well, come, Peter, sit here with me... Father John indicated a seat next to him, and N mechanically carried out the order, although he considered sitting next to the priest in his current state almost sacrilegious. - Tell me your past. How did you get to these rags? Did you drink right? “I drank, father,” N repeated, sobbing. - It’s okay, calm down. Remember that all things are good for those who love God... If you have lost everything, but remember and love God, you have not lost anything yet. It is not good to reach this rags through a tavern, but who knows what paths the Lord leads us to himself. Maybe, otherwise you would never remember about God, about His Glory, for which we must live. Every breath praises the Lord, the grass also praises Him, but you are a man, the father of a family, perhaps the owner of many workers, you yourself have forgotten God and prevented others from praising Him... The more the priest spoke, the lighter N’s soul became, his heart beat with such force, as if it wanted to burst; the whole being was filled with some kind of joyful trembling. – For a person, spiritual rags are scary, not physical ones. In rags you can be deeply happy and prepare for yourself eternal life, but in poverty of spirit no earthly treasures will give a person either happiness or salvation... - Father, I did not come to ask you for help in need: I only ask to cure me of drunkenness, of weakness to wine... – Heal your soul with love for God and your neighbors; fill your heart with faith and love, and recovery from drunkenness will come by itself. Ask first of all for the Kingdom of God and His Glory, and everything else will be added to you... - Father, I only want a Christian life or death in peace with God and people... - Ask God for help with firm, unshakable faith and decide to correct your life according to the teachings of St. Orthodox Church... The conversation continued in the same direction; N became more inspired with every word; the sobs subsided, firmness, even some confidence, was heard in the voice. The transformation from a timid, humiliated, downtrodden ragamuffin into a man with a strong will, determination and almost enthusiasm took place so quickly that N only needed a suit to become completely unrecognizable. N still remembers this transformation as the greatest moment of his life. He grew up in his own eyes; he felt in himself that human dignity that he was obliged to protect more than anything else in life, and in his soul he felt an influx of unprecedented joy. When the ship docked at the pier, N no longer hid in the darkness and did not hang his head low; on the contrary, he stood up straight, threw his head back slightly, and every movement was accompanied by such confidence, as if someone had just made him an advisor in commerce or awarded him a large order... “You find somewhere to stay for the night and come to early mass in the cathedral tomorrow.” We will pray with you, then you confess, take Holy Communion. Tain and go back to St. Petersburg. Father John extended his hand to N, and he felt the presence of pieces of paper. - Take this, you will need it, you need to get dressed and get yourself in order. N wanted to say something, to protest, but a crowd had already poured onto the ship. Father John found himself surrounded in one minute and N could no longer get to him. Pyotr Ermolaevich found 94 rubles in his hand. He had not had such a sum for several years, but the money did not please him at all, and he completely indifferently put it in the pocket of his holey jacket. Somewhere on the tower clock it struck two; in Kronstadt everything was closed and quiet, the streets were deserted. It was beginning to get light... N went wandering, looking for St. Andrew's Cathedral. We had to walk for a long time until the high dome and bell tower of the white cathedral emerged on the sunbathing horizon; The vast area, the beautiful iron grille, the immaculate cleanliness and the powerful appearance of a huge, completely new, as if a cathedral had just been built, made a gratifying impression on N. He climbed the steps to the porch, knelt down and began to pray... The ragamuffin stood there for a long time in this position, but could not concentrate his thoughts on God, could not forget everything around him and surrender to prayer; if he hears a rustle to the side, he will immediately raise his head and begin to peer; whether to notice a policeman or a pedestrian in the distance, he will fuss, he becomes embarrassed, he wants to leave, hide; and then thoughts come to mind about the past, about a pleasant, cheerful company in a tavern; Now he has money, he could treat everyone, have a good time; he begins to think, argue with himself, dream about the future, and here again there is a pedestrian, a cry in the distance... “I’ll go for a walk around the city,” N decided. Before he had time to go out onto Sobornaya Street, someone called out to him. N turned around. Some ragamuffin who looked very similar to him was catching up with him. “You’re a dear fellow from St. Petersburg, right,” he attacked him. - Well, get out of here. Now leave, otherwise I’ll call the policeman... - Why are you talking! What have I done to you? - I didn’t do anything, but I’m just telling you to leave here well... - Why should I go? Isn't it possible to walk here? - It is forbidden. Our places are near the cathedral; We’re locals, we’ve been begging on the porch for almost ten years... - Yes, I didn’t come to beg at all... - Okay. We know you from St. Petersburg. Why did you come from St. Petersburg if not to beg? We have more than enough of our own, some days there is nothing to eat... - Leave me alone, please. Look how much money I have... N pulled out of his pocket a stack of credit cards received from Fr. John. Well, that's another matter. Sorry, darling. I thought you wanted to stand with us on the porch. You really look like that... It’s as if you haven’t eaten for three days... “I definitely haven’t eaten for three days, but in Kronstadt I didn’t think of going to beg and get pennies from you.” - Oh, dear, if you only knew how many people come here to beg! Another is dressed like a dandy, and he himself catches the priest in order to beg for his needs; and you won’t recognize him, with what intentions... - Does the father serve it to everyone? – And... and... and... passion! You should see what merchants are coming; he’ll come in first grade, but if Father doesn’t give him help, he’ll just go back on foot... Yes, and our brother has several hundred beggars waiting here every day. It is he, our dear father, who comes out and begins to count... Ten people count out - a ruble, ten again and another ruble. So he will give it to everyone, and after the ruble we divide it into a ten-kopeck piece and are alive today... It happens that visitors of their own free will serve well; Senka the lame man once received ten rubles from the master. “Take it,” he says. Pray for the health of Father John. May God grant him many years of good health...” How can we not pray for him? And so we pray day and night... He lost government money, he wanted to hang himself in a hotel, but Fr. John rescued him. Well, now I’ve returned everything, earned some more, and came to thank my father. And our case is that you can use it... Pyotr Ermolaevich inquired about the past of his new acquaintance. - I am a townsman. My name is Peter Levsha. About a thousand and a half of our townspeople beg here. - How long have you been begging? - Almost thirty years. My parents managed to get by somehow, and out of childhood I went to beg... - What kind of work... I don’t have a right hand, it dried up in childhood, but in Kronstadt in the winter and with two hands you can earn five kopecks a day from your grub. The beggar showed N his tiny, almost child-like hand hanging in his right sleeve... – Wouldn’t anyone have given you a place?.. - Eh, dear man, what a place for an illiterate cripple; If only I knew the skill or could buy into the artel, otherwise what a place. Thanks to the priest, many of us got a job, some bought into the artel, some began to earn a living as a trader, but where can I go... Just so as not to die of hunger. And so when the priest leaves Kronstadt - at least die! - What fun. Well, dear man, we must go to the cathedral; Now they will begin to evangelize... - Let's go together. Here you go, accept Christ for the sake of... N gave the beggar part of his credit notes received from Father John, and wiped the tear that rolled down his cheek with his sleeve. “I am healthy, strong,” he thought, “I know skill well, but this unfortunate doomed to beg for the rest of his life and there is no glimpse in the future, no way out, no hope... And how many such unfortunate people are there... Aren’t we ashamed, healthy people who know how to work, to rob such a needy and miserable... The sexton opened the church door. It turned completely pink. A wonderful summer day has begun. The sun rose above the horizon of the distant bay. Kronstadt quickly began to awaken. Life was in full swing at sea and on the shore. “How beautiful the nature is here,” N admired, looking at the beautiful panorama from the steamship pier. With the first strike of the bell, a line of pilgrims flocked to the cathedral. Along all the streets adjacent to the cathedral, the most diverse public walked in whole parties: women with children, merchants, officials, officers, old people, young people. N was amazed: as if on Easter Sunday, the people were rushing to matins. “And where does this mass of public come from,” he turned to Lefty, who was finally moved by emotion, having received a large alms from a beggar like him. “Every morning is the same,” the beggars answered, “the priest only serves early mass and there are always so many people; everyone knows that you have to come in the evening, otherwise you won’t get to see Fr. John. Father John himself read the hours before the liturgy. N immediately recognized this characteristic voice, which is difficult to forget once you have heard it. Each word was heard clearly in all corners of the church. Pyotr Ermolaevich's heart was filled with such tenderness that he passionately wanted to embrace the whole world, all his enemies, all those who prayed in this church... His eyes filled with tears, but these were tears of joy... Father John served the Liturgy without a deacon, going out to the pulpit himself to proclaim the litany. The priest's movements were impetuous, quick, but imbued with deep reverence. When the service ended, the people did not “rush out of the church,” as always happens during a “casual analysis.” On the contrary, everyone remained in their places and only crowded closer to the pulpit. Everyone was waiting... Some for blessings, some for confession, some had a request to the priest, in a word, everyone had some kind of “business”. “Where can I see the priest here,” thought N: “a thousand people are waiting for him.” There is no way to squeeze through here. And the priest ordered me to come to the cathedral. N had already lost hope of receiving Father John’s blessing when he saw him on the pulpit. Father took off his vestments and was in a cassock with a large cross on his chest. He approached the people... Hundreds of hands reached out to him... Having blessed everyone with a common sign of the cross on all sides, Father John leaned over to some, said something and then began to look into the crowd, as if looking for someone with his eyes. N's gaze fixed on the priest met his eyes, and N felt an invitation. “Come here,” they seemed to say. Quite instinctively, N went to the left aisle of the church, passed the crowd and, approaching the bars, easily found the doors; but Father John managed to be surrounded by about thirty people who had broken through the bars before N. Father carried on a conversation with them, moving from one to another, and fragmentary phrases could be heard from N: “I can’t, I can’t, I absolutely don’t have time.” Tears, prayers, sobs - all this was mixed, and Father John had to finally hide in the altar, because the crowd of those who had broken through the bars was growing. – Did your father invite you? - asked N the watchman, who asked strangers to leave the pulpit. “Come on, I’ll confess you, and tomorrow at early mass you will receive Holy Communion.” Tain (Fr. John has been celebrating the Liturgy, early or late, every day for 35 years), said Fr. John N. They stepped aside to the lectern. N knelt down... The confession was accompanied by a lengthy instruction from the shepherd, after which he knelt next to N and read a prayer for passion for wine. Having then blessed the confessor, the priest said: – Go in peace and try not to sin. First of all, do not allow sinful thoughts, after thoughts evil deeds will come, then it is more difficult to fight; If you feel the weight of the struggle, that you cannot cope with evil on your own, run to your spiritual father and ask to commune with St. Tain. This is a great and all-powerful weapon in the fight against drunkenness. Do not be ashamed in front of the priest to call your sin by its real name and do not hide anything in your soul, otherwise you will not receive forgiveness and strength to fight. The Orthodox Church does not deny St. to any of its sons. Sacraments, and liturgies are celebrated with us daily. Go... Subsequently, N spoke a lot and willingly about his “strong emotional shock” after confession. This mental state of our hero has always occupied me more than the circumstances of the very fact of the transformation of a drunkard into a hardworking and pious family man and citizen. I often still talk with him regarding his “inner rebirth, but, unfortunately, as an underdeveloped person, he does not know how to give himself an account of his feelings. I have a whole collection of personalities like N, that is, who received internal and external rebirth through the prayer of Father John, and among them are quite intelligent. The stories and analyzes of “myself” by all these individuals, and mainly by the venerable and respected person in Kronstadt, will serve me in the future as material for essays on the influence of Fr. John on the internal rebirth of man. In this regard, there are facts even more striking and edifying than those I have collected so far. Currently, many magazines and newspapers, not to mention market publishers, provide “essays on the life” and activities of Fr. John, but, unfortunately, they are all limited to one paraphrase of the facts I collected (in a book published by the editors of the newspaper Den). No one paid attention to that inexhaustible source of new, rich materials for the observer, which provides the inner world of the “life and activity” of Father John and several hundred thousand of his spiritual children!.. The most superficial acquaintance with this world can simply enrich our literature, which is poor in terms of psychological observations, and I simply feel sorry for my many imitators who prefer the desk work of translating “from Russian into Russian.” I will quote N’s actual words. – Before confession and prayer, Fr. John, I was always in some kind of doubt. When I received the money and was wandering around Kronstadt, I had the thought for a moment: “It wouldn’t be bad to find myself in Sidorov’s tavern with my old friends with this money... What would we have done?” I was horrified by this thought, but... but if it had been during the day, when all the taverns and taverns are open, I can’t guarantee that instead of St. Andrew’s Cathedral I would have found myself, perhaps, in a tavern for decanter. Fortunately, it was night. Even with all my desire, I could not get vodka; I drove away the terrible thought from myself in every possible way, and then the sound of the church bell... Confession and the blessing of the priest regenerated me so much that the tavern lost forever in my eyes the attractive power, only for a great punishment they can now send me to the tavern, and if they offer a tavern or prison for elections, I will without hesitation prefer the latter. It remains for me to add a little about my hero Pyotr Ermolaevich N. The next day he received Holy Communion. Tain, having previously changed his appearance; in Kronstadt he bought himself underwear and a dress and returned to St. Petersburg a quite decent gentleman. The first thing he did was rent a small apartment, buy a workbench and the remaining 12 rubles. sent in a letter to his wife, asking her to immediately go to him with the children. “Thanks to God and Father John of Kronstadt, I have become a man again,” he wrote to his wife; - come back to me; forget and forgive the past; I am firmly convinced that the holy Orthodox Church will no longer have reason to consider me its lost, lost son. With God's help, I hope to lead the working life of a Christian. N wrote the truth. Now six years have passed since he remains true to his decision, and nothing foreshadows a return to the past, the past. On the second day of returning to St. Petersburg, he easily got a job for one store; neat and impeccable execution, at reasonable prices, he was soon overwhelmed with work, so that in the first month he hired an apprentice, and a year later he again had his own workshop. The wife immediately fulfilled her husband’s demand and never subsequently reproached him, because N’s behavior not only gave her no reason to be dissatisfied with anything, but, on the contrary, more care and consideration could not have been desired; Every Sunday and holiday the family went to church, every evening was dedicated to reading St. scripture and prayer; growing children were assigned to educational institutions; Not a single poor man was refused help by N, but the subject of his special care was the local parish church: he gilded vestments and church utensils, repaired chandeliers, bought icons, in a word, did everything in his power to decorate and splendor the church. “The Church gave me everything, would I regret anything for it,” N often said. Two years later, Pyotr Ermolaevich opened his own store, and recently bought a stone house; he clearly saw that every sacrifice he made for the church, every help to the poor was returned a hundredfold, in the form of good orders, profitable jobs, and therefore did not skimp on good deeds. The more he gave away, the more he gained, justifying the word of St. Scripture - the hand of the giver will not fail. Of all the types of poor people, bitter drunkards evoke his sympathy the most, but he cannot understand why people get drunk and how they are unable to resist? He came up with this aphorism: – The human heart is afraid of emptiness; If we evict a good spirit from ourselves, an evil spirit will take its place, but the heart cannot remain empty!.. This aphorism is far from stupid.