A story of the priest's life
instructing by life
I began my deacon and priestly service in a church whose rector was the distinguished Archpriest Sergius. Over the years, he mentored many young clergy in the diocese and earned his rightful respect.
Father Sergius was simple and good-natured. But our relationship didn't work out, and now I realize I was to blame for that. I wanted to serve in a cathedral, not on "that outskirts." I prided myself on my higher education and dreamt of finishing seminary and academy. Father Sergius, meanwhile, hadn't graduated from a university or attended an academy. Even his correspondence seminary studies were a visible struggle for him. His universities were his large family, his relationship with his neighbours, and attentive churchly services. Although he often opened the Holy Scriptures and the patristic literature. In short, I couldn't accept or love our rector.
And then one day, an event occurred that made me change my mind about Father Sergius. Early Sunday morning, we arrived at the church. But there was no one to open the door. The guard, a powerful man who had volunteered to protect us, one of the local New Russian Cossacks, had misplaced the keys. And he himself... Anyway, we found him asleep, after a copious libation, right on the wide table in the refectory, which also served as the guardhouse.
Father Sergius tried to wake him. He refused. He started cursing, and swearing improperly, as was unbecoming, especially in the presence of a priest. He even tried to fight him off with his fists. The rector was "nobody" to him, and he wanted nothing to do with anyone, ever again. He even resorted to obscenities. It was time to call the police to have this "hero" taken away. Or his brethren, who had volunteered to guard the church: they would have taught their wayward brother the proper way of life among them, the Cossacks on the Circle...
However, the priest continued calmly and gently to persuade him: "Why are you doing this, brother? You are a servant of God, a minister of Christ! Remember where you hid the key, reclaim your image of God, my dear!" And again and again. Our guard suddenly groaned. He quacked in a new way. He straightened his hair, which had flown about in his sleep. Buttoned the collar of his uniform shirt. And suddenly, almost theatrically, he fell to his knees, hitting his head on the wooden floor. "Forgive me, Father! I've sinned!"
The keys were found. The service began on time. No one except Father Sergius and me ever learnt of the incident. The Cossacks continued to guard the peace of our church. And as for me... I realized the true wisdom, patience, and love of this gray-haired shepherd. For him, the parish was his family, and the parishioners his children.Priest Igor Salnikov
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