This November 8 marks the second anniversary of the repose of His Eminence Peter (Loukianoff), Archbishop of Chicago and Mid-America. I write this memory of him with great delay, especially when taking into consideration who he was and what he meant to me—to many of us. I was overcome by sorrow and a profound sense of loneliness, the loneliness of an orphan, knowing that he was gone. But I was also met by the realization of where he was and Who he is now with—realizing that now he will always be with us, ready to intercede for us at any moment, just as in life he was always ready to pick up his phone when called. There were some who loved him and some who did not—but none were indifferent. Indifference is impossible towards the kind of man, to the kind of bishop he was. He had convictions, but more than that, he had character. I am not writing a eulogy; too much time has passed since his repose. My hope is to bring to light some recollections of our adventures together, and to set them as humble candles before his memory.
June, 2015 marked the 25th anniversary of the canonization of St. John of Kronstadt by the Moscow Patriarchate (he had been canonized decades earlier by the Church Abroad in 1964). To mark this anniversary a large pilgrimage had been organized to Sura, the small northern village where St. John was from. The pilgrimage was a great gathering of people. Hierarchs, priests, deacons, monastics, and laity alike were to gather in St. Petersburg and then travel by a specially chartered train into the far north. The train was not ordinary, it had a car that was a chapel with an iconostasis and an altar, and a nave decorated with great dignity. In the mornings they had even arranged to read the morning prayers over the train’s intercom system. The bishops, abbots, and other highly appointed clergy were put onto one car together, in sleeping compartments. Vladyka had asked me a few months prior to go with him; he needed help traveling and none of his subdeacons were available. Before I knew it, I was tonsured a reader and was there with him, on this unusual train, going to some far and remote place. The journey itself was complicated. From St. Petersburg we had to make a number of tightly scheduled stops along the way to refuel. Some of these stops came with a greeting committee organized by the town or village the stop took place in. The places we stopped at were either mostly rural or remote in some other sense, and for them this was a big event. Lying in the sleeping compartment I recall watching the clock closely, following the schedule.
Despite some insignificant delays, we mostly arrived on schedule. Looking out the window I would watch the bishops descend from the train to be greeted at the train station with bread and salt. The greetings always went something like this: The town’s mayor with various other politicians would be waiting in front of the train station with a small group of women in traditional Russian costume to present the bread and salt. Then there would be a small concert involving some song and dance, after which the bishops blessed the delegates, and following a short moleben boarded the train and we continued on. Great emphasis was put on maintaining the schedule, and those running the pilgrimage were under immense pressure to adhere to it. This meant that unfortunately the bishops did not have the opportunity to get off at all the stops. Nor was anyone waiting to greet us at these stations, and if there had been the stops were only fifteen minutes long- hardly enough time to do much of anything.
I must mention for those outside of Russia, and those who have never visited, that in Russia the faithful are genuinely excited and honored when they see bishops. This is not to say that in other places it is otherwise. It is just to a completely different degree there. Vladyka on a few occasions mentioned to me that bishops are the princes of the Church, and in Russia this is very palpable. But though Vladyka always bore the dignity of his station, he was never ostentatious. He even chose to travel with a small cross instead of a panagia so as not to draw attention to himself. This was futile. The faithful would run up to him everywhere we went, in the airport and in the streets, and making a reverent bow would say, “Master bless.” This is because Vladyka was not only a bishop, but also a monk. Though he took on the episcopal mitre, mantle, and staff without reservation, his many years of monasticism and his time as the cell attendant of St. John of Shanghai had imbued him with a spirituality that shone upon all those around him.
Yes he was a bishop, but he was also a mystagogue. This latter quality was oftentimes obscured by how approachable he was and his sense of humor, but it became strikingly evident to me when we were traveling on this train. It was a long way, and we had a lot of time to pass. We would sit in our sleeping compartment at the table with the other bishops drinking tea; there were four others if memory serves, and they would all listen and watch him as he spoke. They would listen as all of us listened, captivated by his charisma and genuine spirituality. They listened to him seemingly as sons listening to a father and I didn't fully understand until one of them, when the others had left, uttered the word “starets.” Vladyka was no desert ascetic, but he was unique, and it wasn’t just I who saw this. The bishop who said this was young; his heart and his soul were moved by being with Vladyka. I could tell that though they had only met a few days ago, he would genuinely miss Archbishop Peter. He wanted to give something to him, maybe so that he could remain with Vladyka in some small way, so he took his panagia off his neck and handed it to him. It became the panagia that Vladyka wore most often while traveling, wearing it when he wasn't wearing his unassuming cross.
It was evening, and though at this time of the year the sun does not fully set this far north, the sun was low in the sky. The train approached a small village and slowed to a stop at the train station which was hardly more than a platform. Our next big stop with greetings was Arkhangelsk, and this was just a relatively short stop to get us there. We were told not to leave the train, but as we approached the platform we saw people outside the window. There weren't supposed to be people. They were standing there, a whole congregation with their priest, in front of their humble little church by the train tracks. They stood there most likely not expecting anything, but perhaps hoping to be noticed—they were trying to gather money for their church. In such remote places this can be very difficult. We stopped and Vladyka kept glancing at them out the window. He turned to me and asked, “Are we supposed to get off here?” “No” I replied, “looks like we have about thirty minutes here, though.” Vladyka fell silent. Some of the bishops walked past our compartment stretching their legs. “They are waiting for us,” Vladyka said to them, gesturing towards those gathered outside. The bishops acknowledged his remark and kept walking. Vladyka sat there looking out the window, occasionally glancing down at his watch. Turning to me he said, “Get my small vestments,” his eyes glimmering. “They won't leave without us, we will be quick.” I quickly gathered up his vestments and we rushed off the train. “We only have time for a very short moleben,” Vladyka directed as we walked toward the congregation. Their faces lit up as they saw Vladyka coming towards them, they looked the way people look when they are noticed, when they are loved. The priest greeted Vladyka, showed him their small church, and then we stood outside and served the moleben with the faithful. At this point the other bishops had taken notice, they also descended from the train and came to the church to stand alongside Vladyka as he served the moleben. There was great joy among all those who waited outside their church with that big sign, hoping that someone would notice them. We finished the moleben and got back on the train. Vladyka looked out the window; he was smiling. Everything was as it should be now. They waved us on as we left the platform and we pushed onward.
