visions.
“I woke up one night to see the mother of God before me,” he told me. “She was weeping. She said she was weeping for the sins of mankind, and asked me to go forth and cleanse the people of their sins.”
Inspired by this vision, he returned to his village and started holding prayer sessions, but those around him didn’t trust him. They knew him as a libidinous drunk and laughed at him.
“Everyone watches he who seeks salvation as though he were some kind of robber,” he told me, an unsettling rancor festering in his eyes. “All are too quick to mock him. But that is the suffering one must endure. It is part of the journey.”
So he left again. He told me it was then that he stopped smoking and drinking, stopped eating meat and sweets. He walked thousands of miles, from the Siberian hinterland to Kiev and Petersburg and back, with no more than a knapsack over his shoulder. He stayed in churches and monasteries or with peasants who admired his devotion and offered him shelter and alms. He spent time getting to know, and understand, many dozens of people. And his journeying had eventually brought him here, to this monastery, where he hoped to find salvation and healing from his inner torment through the relics of Saint Simeon.
I had been here myself for months, following the same quest. I was here to be saved, only I still hadn’t found the salvation I was yearning for. I was still unable to let go of the notion that had been embedded into me from my earliest days: that God was to be found in the wonders of science. The science that had already caused me so much torment.
The more we spoke, the more this man bewildered me.
How could a man change like that? How could he go from a self-confessed thief and serial fornicator and become a sincere
strannik
—a pilgrim? For he is a sincere believer, of that I am certain. He tells me he dreams of God. He speaks of searching to understand the mysteries of life, of hoping to get closer to God. Of hoping to be saved.
As do I.
For unfathomable reasons, I found myself sharing my secrets with the man, despite the fact that I had sworn to myself that no one would ever know what I had discovered. And yet, here I was, telling this mysterious wanderer everything. I could not resist his will or the comforting inner strength that radiated out of his eyes. And when I was finished, I felt a great sense of relief knowing that someone else shared my burden.
My tale brought satisfaction to Rasputin as well, but in a very different way.
It lit a great fire inside him. I could see it in his stare, which rose even more in its unbearable intensity. Once I was finished, he remained quiet for an uncomfortably long moment, just studying me in silence.
“It is all very clear to me now, Misha,” he finally said.
“What is?” I asked.
“Us, here, you and me. There is a reason we are here.” He reached out and cupped my hands in his. “God is that reason, Misha. God wanted us to meet. That’s why He brought us both here. Do you understand? What other possible reason could there be for us to be sitting here, together. We are here because of His great plan.”
“What plan?” I asked, stupefied, my mind entranced by his commanding gaze.
“His plan to save the Russian people. That is His plan for me. And that is why He has sent you here, to meet me. Because you, Misha, are going to help me achieve it.”
* * *
This man is truly a gift from God
, Rasputin thought as he studied Misha .
He wasn’t sure if the man of science’s brilliance would save all the people of Russia. What he did know, however, was that it would certainly be his own savior.
It would save him from the tedious, miserable existence he’d suffered so far.
He felt a deep gratification at his decision to come to the monastery. And while what he’d told Misha was partly true—that it had been the result of a hunger to find some kind of meaning to his life—his spiritual quest had also
“I woke up one night to see the mother of God before me,” he told me. “She was weeping. She said she was weeping for the sins of mankind, and asked me to go forth and cleanse the people of their sins.”
Inspired by this vision, he returned to his village and started holding prayer sessions, but those around him didn’t trust him. They knew him as a libidinous drunk and laughed at him.
“Everyone watches he who seeks salvation as though he were some kind of robber,” he told me, an unsettling rancor festering in his eyes. “All are too quick to mock him. But that is the suffering one must endure. It is part of the journey.”
So he left again. He told me it was then that he stopped smoking and drinking, stopped eating meat and sweets. He walked thousands of miles, from the Siberian hinterland to Kiev and Petersburg and back, with no more than a knapsack over his shoulder. He stayed in churches and monasteries or with peasants who admired his devotion and offered him shelter and alms. He spent time getting to know, and understand, many dozens of people. And his journeying had eventually brought him here, to this monastery, where he hoped to find salvation and healing from his inner torment through the relics of Saint Simeon.
I had been here myself for months, following the same quest. I was here to be saved, only I still hadn’t found the salvation I was yearning for. I was still unable to let go of the notion that had been embedded into me from my earliest days: that God was to be found in the wonders of science. The science that had already caused me so much torment.
The more we spoke, the more this man bewildered me.
How could a man change like that? How could he go from a self-confessed thief and serial fornicator and become a sincere
strannik
—a pilgrim? For he is a sincere believer, of that I am certain. He tells me he dreams of God. He speaks of searching to understand the mysteries of life, of hoping to get closer to God. Of hoping to be saved.
As do I.
For unfathomable reasons, I found myself sharing my secrets with the man, despite the fact that I had sworn to myself that no one would ever know what I had discovered. And yet, here I was, telling this mysterious wanderer everything. I could not resist his will or the comforting inner strength that radiated out of his eyes. And when I was finished, I felt a great sense of relief knowing that someone else shared my burden.
My tale brought satisfaction to Rasputin as well, but in a very different way.
It lit a great fire inside him. I could see it in his stare, which rose even more in its unbearable intensity. Once I was finished, he remained quiet for an uncomfortably long moment, just studying me in silence.
“It is all very clear to me now, Misha,” he finally said.
“What is?” I asked.
“Us, here, you and me. There is a reason we are here.” He reached out and cupped my hands in his. “God is that reason, Misha. God wanted us to meet. That’s why He brought us both here. Do you understand? What other possible reason could there be for us to be sitting here, together. We are here because of His great plan.”
“What plan?” I asked, stupefied, my mind entranced by his commanding gaze.
“His plan to save the Russian people. That is His plan for me. And that is why He has sent you here, to meet me. Because you, Misha, are going to help me achieve it.”
* * *
This man is truly a gift from God
, Rasputin thought as he studied Misha .
He wasn’t sure if the man of science’s brilliance would save all the people of Russia. What he did know, however, was that it would certainly be his own savior.
It would save him from the tedious, miserable existence he’d suffered so far.
He felt a deep gratification at his decision to come to the monastery. And while what he’d told Misha was partly true—that it had been the result of a hunger to find some kind of meaning to his life—his spiritual quest had also
Similar Books
