Photo: pravoslavie.ru
A psalm is a city of refuge from the demons; a means of inducing help from the angels, a weapon in fears by night, a rest from the toils of the day, a safeguard for infants, an adornment for those at the height of their vigor, a consolation for the elders, a most fitting ornament for women (St. Basil the Great).
One time, when I was reading some Church literature, I came across the recollections of our Russian intelligentsia from the early twentieth century. Living as an émigré in Paris, many of them shared amazing stories related to Orthodoxy. And one of them struck me, which I’ll remember for the rest of my life.
Some people in black came to one of the Orthodox churches in Paris and asked the parishioners to read the Psalter for a deceased Frenchman for a rather large sum. Two parishioners, a former White Guard officer and a Russian woman, were delighted and decided to help. Many of the Russian emigrants were in need of financial assistance at that time, and just work.
They got together in the evening and went to the address they were given, where they found a beautiful wealthy mansion. A servant in a livery let them in and led them to the chambers of the deceased, whose luxurious coffin was placed in the middle. Taking their position at the head of the deceased, they started reading. This was a routine matter for them. Especially since in France, many of the Russian refugees, who had absorbed Orthodoxy with their mother’s milk, had discovered their faith anew.
A little time passed, and suddenly the woman felt an intense anxiety, uneasiness, and fear. Her fear intensified so quickly that she couldn’t stand it. She exchanged glances with her companion and realized the same thing was happening to him, and it was very scary. Unable to endure it any longer, they both quit reading and left the luxurious mansion.
In the morning, all the Parisian newspapers announced the death of the leader of one of the most famous Masonic lodges in France. The day and place of the funeral were given, and our psalm readers saw a familiar address.
Remembering this story I’d read long ago, I unconsciously began observing my own state while reading the Psalter for the deceased. And I made some unusual conclusions. One time, while reading in church all night over an elderly Orthodox woman whom I didn’t know, I was surprised to note that the Psalter flowed like a song. The night flew by in an instant. And in the morning, as I was leaving the church, I felt an amazing lightness and joy.
At that time I already had experience reading the Psalter, and I admit, not always successfully as with this old woman. One time, I was reading over a former communist who came to faith in the last years of his life. Then it was time for another person to read and I sat down and fell asleep. Then I jumped up in horror from an attack by the demon who had tormented the deceased in his time. I knew this man, as well as his stories about temptations. Often, those who pray for the deceased feel the state of the one who has departed for the other world on an almost physical or emotional level.
When a deacon’s family that my friends from Novosibirsk knew died in a car accident, they told me about how Deacon Alexei loved to read the Psalter for the reposed. As soon as he learned about a need for prayer, he would immediately go to help. And he helped all kinds of people. He once told his wife, “Sometimes the reading is so difficult that my face gets covered in sweat.”
The first church in my life was the Church of the Exaltation of the Cross, which had amazed the visiting architects in its time. They had never encountered such architecture before. In the 80s–90s, there were few functioning churches in Irkutsk, and many people began their acquaintance with Orthodoxy at this one, as it was the most well-known in the city. We were baptized there, we baptized our children and husbands there, we got married there, and only later did we finally find our way to our spiritual father at the other end of the city, receiving hope for the path to salvation.
But now I’m talking about something different. Unfortunately, different kinds of people come to work in the church. After all, the Church is, first and foremost, we ourselves. And our batiushka taught us at the time that those of us working at the candle desk are the first to greet people. How we deal with them may affect their further path to God. And if we alienate someone from God with our rudeness and coarseness, then we’ll have to answer for it at the Dread Judgment. Meanwhile, the Church of the Exaltation of the Cross was simply famous for the gloominess and harshness of its workers. Both my friends and I “got it” in our time, but thank God, it didn’t push us away and we continued our search for faith. But many left for sects where they were always treated “kindly and tenderly.” After all, people often intuitively run to the Church seeking consolation in times of sorrow and illness.
And here’s a story I heard. One of the oldest workers at the church died, and her friends gathered together to read the Psalter over her. But they couldn’t. Everyone ran away. Of course, there are no saints among us. And the severity of the presence of the evil spirits that sometimes surround a dead man is far beyond our strength to bear. Yet, according to the Holy Fathers of the Church, the Psalter drives away evil spirits.
And once again I came to the conclusion that we can spend our whole life within the walls of the Church, partake in its Sacraments, but still not become true believers and be saved in Christ. Moreover, we can remain the “playthings of demons.”
