A strange thing happened. You might expect that after all these terrible events, people would have to repent and turn to God. But St. John the Theologian says that the people who were left didn’t repent, didn’t stop worshiping demons, golds, silver, copper, stone and wooden idols that neither see nor hear nor are able to walk. The people continued to serve idols and worship demons. Don’t think that serving idols only means worshiping statues of gods.
There are many idols today: our passions are idols; avarice is idolatry, and egotism is idolatry. This refers not only to those idols that were known to the ancient Greeks. The people didn’t repent, they continued to worship powerless demons. They didn’t repent of murder, witchcraft, fornication, or theft. There was no repentance. Are we surprised that repentance hasn’t awakened in people? Of course this makes an impression on us.
But we know that a man needs to humble himself in order to repent. There must be humility in the soul. A proud man will never repent. We’ve spoken about this a thousand times. The proud man is always correct. He always has a justification for everything, and the grace of God finds no place in his soul. For a man to repent, his heart must be open to God. Repentance is a gift, a gift of God. If you don’t humble yourself, you can’t recognize the presence of God in your heart. Repentance is born of humility and brings the grace of God to the soul.
I remember how I became a confessor. I was twenty-four. Our brotherhood on the Holy Mountain had a need, and the Elder sent me to see a bishop who was serving at Dionysiou. I didn’t know anything, they didn’t ask me anything. The Elder said, “Go to Dionysiou, the bishop will be serving there. Tell him to read the prayer for you to become a confessor.”1 There is a whole story about how I went there and how it all happened. I became a confessor. I went back, trembling and moaning: “What am I going to do now?” I was very embarrassed to go and listen to other people’s sins—I was even more embarrassed than they were. The Elder said, “Don’t worry, you won’t have to confess anyone. No one comes here [we were living in a skete in the desert then]. You’ll read the prayer of absolution for the brothers.” Okay. About a week later, a young man came wanting to confess. The Elder sent me to him, saying, “Well, it’s just a young fellow. Don’t worry.” And so it began. And to this day you suffer because of me.
I went to see Elder Paisios and I told him: “Do you know what happened to us? I became a confessor. I’m twenty-four, I’m still young. I’m embarrassed—I don’t know what to say.” Some people came to confess, and I asked them to come in the evening. They asked me: “Why are you putting everything off until the evening?” I wanted to hear confessions in the evening so it would be dark, and we wouldn’t see each other. The churches on the Holy Mountain are dark. A man was sitting in the stasidia, and I sat down too, a little higher. I wasn’t as well-fed then as I am now; I was slimmer and I was hiding in the stasidia, trying not to look at anything. And I couldn’t be seen in the candlelight. The people would talk, then leave.
Elder Paisios said then, “You must help people repent, because through repentance comes the grace of God. This is what you should do in Confession—help people come to repentance so that the grace of God, the grace of repentance would draw nearer to them and God would help them.” And in order to repent, a man needs humility. You have to humble yourself and reveal your sins. Then grace comes and helps to repent and ascend the spiritual path. Repentance isn’t given to hard, egotistical, proud souls. Repentance comes to humble souls.
It makes a great impression on me when I see a very sinful man (you can say he turned into rags through his sins) on whom the grace of God rests, because he’s a very humble man who repents. And on the other hand, you see very good, respectable people who don’t do anything bad, who don’t know fornication or anything like that, but they’re so rigid, so unrepentant—you don’t dare touch them. And which of them do you think is more pleasing to God? This fine gentleman, who does everything perfectly, but whose soul is so rigid, and whose mind is so unhumble? This man has never humbled himself, never cried before God. Or this young fellow, who has committed many sins, but came to the Church and weeps about his situation?
Whom does the Lord receive? The Gospel answers this for us: the publican. He wept. Do you know how many examples we’ve seen of such people, how many useful lessons they’ve taught us? Very instructive. I often felt like dirt before such people in Confession. Such humility they had, such repentance, such sorrow, such tears! I was thinking that I’ve never wept like this, although I was a monk, and now a bishop. I’ve never wept and repented like that. And I’ve never felt like that. One man said: “Father, I have no right to be in the Church.” He came with the difficulties he was facing in life. He wept: “Where have I been all these years? It was only in difficult circumstances that I decided to come to Christ. I have no right, I shouldn’t be here. You shouldn’t help me—neither you nor God. I should be kicked out of the church. I don’t understand how God hasn’t sent me away yet.” I thought: “God is within you, my poor man. A contrite heart and a contrite soul God will not despise.”
Photo: afanasiy.net
I’ll tell you a story to distract you from the locusts, so you can go home with more pleasant images. I came to Cyprus after a whole marathon of back-and-forth arguments with the Elder: “You go—I won’t go!” I even decided to fight with him. We’dargue, shout, speak our minds, and I would do what I want—I’m not going to Cyprus, and in a few months I’ll ask forgiveness, saying I was wrong, and what else could he do? He’ll forgive me. And I’ll avoid this fate. I came one day to argue. But I realized that you shouldn’t joke with the Elder—he doesn’t accept such treatment, it wouldn’t be beneficial.
I came to Cyprus, but I decided I wasn’t going to stay: I’ll be here a few months, then go back. I didn’t gather my things. I left them on Mt. Athos (later, Fr. Arseny of blessed memory brought them to me); I came with a small suitcase. I went to Jerusalem, venerated the holy places, and also traveled around Cyprus. After the feast of the Dormition, I decided it was time to go back. I didn’t want to stay on Cyprus. The Elder sent me to serve here, but I didn’t take it seriously; I took it lightly. I got a ticket. I still remember: Monday, 5:00 AM, Olympic Airlines. On Thursday, I called the Holy Mountain and said, “Geronda, I’ve arrived in Cyprus, but there’s nothing going on here, there’s no future. It’s just a waste of time. I’m coming back. I already have my ticket for Monday at 5:00 AM.”
He yelled at me a little in response. I listened, and the ticket was in my pocket. I went to Kykkos Monastery to spend three days there, to pray to the Theotokos, and then on Sunday I was planning to go down to serve Liturgy somewhere, and on Monday I’d leave. I arrived at Kykkos Monastery. No one knew me there, and I knew no one. The brothers are very hospitable, most noble, very good people. They received me. In the evening I went to church and sat in a stasidia across from the icon of the Theotokos. I was very upset; I knew deep inside that what I was doing was wrong. I came at the Elder’s word, to do something, but I wasn’t doing anything and was just planning to go back. I wanted to act according to my own will, but that’s not pleasing to God. And on the other hand, I had the thoughts: “Why should I stay on Cyprus? To ruin my life here? After all, I left for the Holy Mountain—what am I supposed to do on Cyprus now? Let them find someone else for Cyprus.” Some of the brothers like it on Cyprus, but I didn’t like it at that time. I sat and prayed to the Theotokos. “Tell me what to do, Most Holy Theotokos! What is God’s will?” An elderly monk came and asked me:
“Father, are you from the Holy Mountain?”
“Yes, Father.”
“Are you a priest.”
“Yes.”
“Are you a confessor?”
“Yes.”
“Since you’re here, maybe you can go hear Confessions? Two or three young men have come. None of the confessors are here now, and they want to confess.”
I thought: “I’m the one who needs a confessor right now! Look who they’ve found to confess to. But since I’m sitting here, I might as well go do something useful—hear some confessions, pass the time.”
Immersed in my thoughts and torments, I went to the church where the fathers hear confessions. The young men came in. One came and started weeping and wailing: “Lord, have mercy!” I thought, “Where did a college student get such tears? How is he able to confess like this?” The second came, and it was the same. Then the third—this was the peak, the apotheosis. He fell at my feet and started weeping. He soaked my shoes with tears. I thought: “What a temptation! I’ve been on the Holy Mountain for so many years, and I never once saw such a confession. If even one person is saved by me staying on Cyprus, then it’s justified before God, if it be God’s will. Christ says that one soul is worth more than the whole world. I don’t know what I can do, but I’ll at least hear them out.”
Photo: mystagogyresourcecenter.com
I understood then—I can’t say it was a revelation—but I understood that this was God’s will and I had to stay. So I stayed. Later, of course, I was tempted, I got drawn in. But that’s not the point. What I wanted to say is that young people today might be ill-mannered, inattentive, but they possess the power of repentance. While we—people of my age and older, 45-50-60 years old—we’re seemingly “proper.” We haven’t done foolish things, we’re judicious, prudent, we haven’t wandered astray, haven’t indulged in drink, but we lack repentance. We’re hard-hearted people, we have very coarse hearts.
Of course, we also go through trials and our heart breaks gradually (if it does). But the repentance of noble, humble souls is wonderful. Out of humility, a beautiful and strong relationship with God is born. Although they’ve acquired God within themselves, they believe they’re unworthy to enter the church. “Where have I been all this time? Only in the hour of need do I come and dare to lift my eyes to God, demanding that God accept me,” they say. Such a mindset testifies to a high spiritual state. But we approach God thinking, “Just let Him try not to hear us! Woe to Him! Woe to Him if He doesn’t do what we ask, if we fall ill, if something unpleasant happens to us, if things don’t go our way!” We become scandalized at God. How can it be that God doesn’t understand us, so kind and good as we are? Is He treating us fairly, allowing such evil? After all, we’re so good! This is how we justify ourselves, become callous, and don’t repent.
