St. John of Kronstadt is one of Orthodoxy’s
most popular, most illustrious saints. Many people, however, are unaware that
he was a married priest. Among the numerous photographs taken of him, we know
of only one–a group shot–which shows St. John with his wife, Elizabeth
Constantinovna, and even here she is scarcely distinguishable from the others
who surround him. The following account, written by her niece, shows that she
herself elected to remain in the background, concealed from the world by her
meek and humble spirit.
At the outset of their married life, St. John
said to his bride, “Liza, there are enough happy families in the world without
us. Let us together devote our lives to serving God.” To strengthen their
dedication, St. John requested they forgo marital relations and live as brother
and sister. Elizabeth agreed. Such an arrangement–a rare form of
asceticism–could not have been easy, but for the next 53 years Elizabeth was a
faithful help-mate. Her Christian charity and wholehearted, selfless devotion
to her husband and her neighbor can serve as an exemplary model not only for
wives of clergy presbyteras, matushkas, “popadijas” but for all Orthodox women
today.
On May 22, 1909, at 9:30, after prolonged
sufferings, the widow of Fr. John of Kronstadt, Elizabeth Constantinovna
Sergiev quietly departed this life. According to her doctor, the cause of death
was general infirmity with weakening of the heart. The Lord granted that she
prepare long and fervently for her move into eternal life: in her latter years
Matushka Elizabeth, following the counsels and instructions of her husband,
that man of prayer, communed often either at the cathedral or at home when her
legs were too weak to take her out of the house; in the last year she communed
daily. On May 21, she communed as was her custom–for the last time, it turned
out. At 6 o’clock in the evening her eyes closed and after 10 o’clock she gave
no more signs of consciousness. Her last word was” I want,” spoken in response
to an offer to drink some holy water. But she was no longer able to swallow.
She died peacefully the next morning as the canon for the soul’s departure was
being read. On St. Thomas Sunday she had received Unction at her request, and
afterwards said several times. “How happy I am that I received unction and
prepared myself.” She was buried on Sunday, May 24, in Kronstadt, on the left
side of the cathedral yard.
The
deceased was born May 4, 1829, in Gdov, where her father, Archpriest Konstantin
Nesvitsky, served in the city cathedral and was rector of a parish in the
Gdoyak district. Transferred to Kronstadt at the request of the sacristan of
St. Andrew’s Cathedral, his weak health did not permit him to serve there long,
and in 1855 he gave his post to the young priest, John Ilyitch Sergiev, who had
married his daughter Elizabeth. As a new bride she had to care for an elderly
father (who became a widower that same year), three grown brothers and two
sisters. They all lived together, and Elizabeth–fulfilling the responsibilities
of housekeeper and mother–shouldered a heavy yoke. Several years later her
brothers were able to support themselves and moved out on their own, while
Elizabeth arranged for her sisters to marry teachers at the Petersburg
Seminary, who then became priests. She and Fr. John did everything to get the
girls established. Lacking sufficient financial resources, Fr. John in both
cases approached well-to-do parishioners, asking if they wouldn’t contribute
toward doweries for his sisters-in-law. Many willingly did so, but others
responded coolly to the young priest, an attitude which not infrequenty greets
benevolence among us here.
After
they were married, the sisters would go to Kronstadt on visits. On one such
occasion, in 1870, there in Fr. John’s apartment, the younger sister gave birth
to a daughter: that was I. I was eventually taken home, but it pleased the Lord
God that my true home was the quiet, peaceful apartment of that ever-memorable
Pastor, beneath his blessed roof.
In 1872
my father died, leaving my mother without any financial means. My uncle, seeing
our helplessness, said to his wife, “We have no children of our own. let’s take
her and bring her up as a daughter.” It was no sooner said than done. And so it
happened that, by God’s will, I came into the care of these infinitely dear to
me uncle and aunt, who tirelessly looked after my welfare as the most loving
parents would care for a favorite child.
Just as
Fr. John never had a life of his own, giving himself to the service of his
neighbor, so also E.K. never lived for herself; the circle of her activity was
circumscribed by service to her relatives and close ones: she rejoiced at their
joys and grieved over their sorrows. I remember her at the age of 45. She had
kind, noble features, and was very active, forever rustling about. She liked to
fuss over people, warm and feed them. I can see her now, in the kitchen, a white
apron tied around her waist, making a sweet pie. She enjoyed cooking, going to
market, looking over everyone and making sure that everything was clean and the
food tasty. How many times did Uncle, tasting his favorite apple pie, remark,
“You are my master pie baker!”
Elizabeth
Constantinovna was warmhearted, always ever;-tempered, affectionate. She liked
having people visit her; then she would provide an abundant spread, and Uncle,
seeing her hospitality and sincerity, would say about the bustling mistress of
the house: “She’s a real matushka.”
With all
her housekeeping tasks, Aunt did not overlook me. She spent all her free time
with me, slept in the same room with me, taught me to read in Russian and in
French; later, when I entered school, she prepared my breakfast, daily
accompanied me to school, picked me up and quizzed me on my lessons. I remember
that before Aunt began teaching me, Uncle served a molieben in St. Andrew’s
cathedral, to Ss. Cosmas and Damian and Prophet Naum. Uncle himself took me to
the entrance examinations, paid for my education out of his own meager salary,
and followed my progress with unwaning interest, weekly looking over my
notebook with my grades and signing it. Given such favorable conditions, it is
hardly to be wondered that I became a top student. This brought great joy to my
guardians, and Uncle hurried to inform many acquaintances of the good news:
“Our niece and ward, Ruth, graduated with a gold medal.”
From my
earliest memory, I recall that Aunt always treated her husband with reverent
love and respect. When he came home tired from making calls on parishioners or
serving she hurried to take off his boots and help him undress, insisting that
he lie down to rest. Then, dead silence reigned in the apartment; Aunt jealously
guarded the brief rest periods of her hard-working pastor.
Uncle had
a rather weak constitution and frequently fell ill. At those times Aunt turned
into a tireless nurse: she spent whole nights at the patient’s bedside. In 1879
Fr. John became dangerously ill with pneumonia. He lay for hours with closed
eyes, in a state of semi-consciousness. When he came around, he would often
say, “My head aches unbearably, as thought someone is hitting it with a
hammer.” Once, Aunt was sitting near Uncle’s bed weeping. Opening his eyes,
Batiushka looked at her and said, “Don’t cry, Liza. God willing, I shall
recover, but if not, God and kind people will not abandon you.” Several days
passed and one morning Aunt rushed into my room, trembling with excitement:
“Uncle is better; the crises is over!” We looked at one another, hugged each
other tightly and both burst out crying; they were tears of happiness…
When
Batiushka undertook his frequent – and later, daily – trips to Petersburg, Aunt
always waited up for him, even if this was very late, despite the fact that her
health wasn’t the best; she constantly suffered from headaches and for several
years was troubled by insomnia. In time her physical weakness forced her to cut
back on her ministrations; for her, poor dear, this was a severe deprivation!
The
following incident comes to mind: Some years ago, in winter, Uncle went outside
after a bath wearing tight shoes. Aunt became very upset an, no longer able to
walk fast herself, sent me to tell Batiushka that he risked catching cold,
going out dressed so lightly after a bath. Coming in form the outside hallway,
Uncle sent straight to Aunt in the sitting room and said, patting her shoulder,
“Thank you, my dear, for your concern, but don’t worry, my feet are warm.”
Uncle
deeply appreciated this attentiveness on her part, and reciprocated in the same
manner. When he was too ill to go to Petersburg, and later even around
Kronstadt, he never sat down to eat without going into the sitting room or into
Aunt’s room, depending where she was, and calling her to the table. “When I eat
alone,” he said, “I have no appetite.” Not an evening went by that Uncle didn’t
go to Aunt to say good night and bless her before going to bed: “I wish you
good night,” “Sleep peacefully,” “God be with you,” “God protect you” – he used
to say to her before retiring to his study to sleep. Not long before Uncle
died, Matushka came down with influenza, and at this time his care for her was
especially evident. It was so moving to see how the dear sufferer, barely able
to walk, would go in to bless her several times a day and in the evening before
going to sleep, stroke her head and say, “Poor dear, poor dear, we are sufferers
together.” He would stand for a long time beside her chair, shaking his head
and looking compassionately at his sick wife; sometimes he would turn his gaze
towards the icon corner and for a long time silently pray for her. Usually,
when someone asked Uncle about his health or Aunt, he would answer, “We are
both poorly,” or “We are both preparing for death.” Once, when he was told that
Aunt was failing, he came to her and said, “Do not be despondent; the Lord is
merciful; He will give you patience to endure this suffering and get well.” In
November, dining together with Aunt and two guests, Uncle told them that his
health was altogether bad. Aunt, wishing to encourage him, said, “You always
feel better in the spring; when spring comes–you’ll recover.” “In spring, you
say?” Uncle replied, “You’ll live to see the spring, but I–will not.” And he
was right: he died in December, and she, in May. When, from the 6th of
December, Batiushka no longer had powers to serve Divine Liturgy but communed
daily at home, he would come into the room of his sick matushka, with the
chalice and commune her, saying, “My Lord and my God!” “With fear of God and
faith draw near,” “Receive the Body and Blood of Christ,” “Peace to you, my
eldress, I congratulate you.” On the morning of the 17th he communed her for
the last time. From the 18th he did not leave his study.
After
Uncle’s repose, aunt’s health began to deteriorate even more rapidly. She
became very weak; her legs and hands barely functioned, her heart gradually
began to fail. She sorely missed her ever-memorable husband and couldn’t hear
mention of his name without tears; she could not accept the thought that Uncle
was no longer among the living and would tell people, “I keep thinking that
Ivan Ilyitch has not died but has simply gone off on a trip somewhere, as he
used to go to Moscow, and that he will return.” Not long before she died
Matushka saw a sketch of Batiushka at the home of an acquaintance and burst
into uncontrollable tears: “Ivan Ilyiteh, Ivan IIyitch,” and when they tried to
console her with the thought that he was now blessedly happy, she replied,
“It’s wonderful for him, but it’s so hard for me; after all, we were together
for 53 years.”
Sensing
her imminent death, Matushka, sitting in her chair, frequently lifted her gaze
to the , icons and said, “I must get ready, I must ask God – to forgive all my
sins.” She often remembered and was consoled by the words of her ever-memorable
Batiushka, our mutual intercessor before the Lord God, which he spoke on
December 17, when he was told that his sick matushka was sorely grieved that
she could not come into his study and take care of him: “Tell my wife that she
is always with me and I am always with her.” These words greatly encouraged
Aunt in her prolonged sufferings, consoling her with the hope that even after
his death Batiushka would not leave her and soon take her to be with him, that
he would greet her in the heavenly mansion and through his intercession would
lead her to the Throne of the Most High. At night, Aunt would usually put on
Uncle’s under-cassock or she would cover herself with it. Every time I went to
the St. John of Rila convent she would say to me, “Make a prostration for me
before Uncle’s tomb,” and she would weep unconsolably. If her hands or legs
began to ache badly, she would immediately ask to have the afflicted places
anointed with oil from the vigil lamp burning over Batiushka’s tomb.
Deeply
religious, Matushka placed all her hope in God’s mercy and devoted herself
wholeheartedly towards the salvation of her soul. “Ivan Ilyitch, bless me, pray
for me,” she would repeat several times a day, sorrowful that she had outlived
her great husband-pastor. After his repose, she would pray sincerely with
tears, but in her great humility Aunt feared that her prayers would not soon be
answered, and always asked others to pray for her. When I would go home for the
night, after saying goodbye she would invariably say, “Pray for me.” If I went
to Vigil or Liturgy, I always heard this same request, coming from the depths
of her heart: “Pray for me,” and I prayed for her, us best I knew how.
One day,
before I arrived, Aunt took a bad turn and consoled herself with no other
thought than the fact that “Today is Saturday; Ruth will go to the Vigil
service and pray for me.” Such was her faith in the power of prayer that even
through my weak prayer, she trusted to receive an alleviation of her
sufferings.
In
concluding this brief sketch, dedicated to the memory of this unforgettable
matushka, I cannot neglect mentioning two of her most remarkable
characteristics: a profound humility and meekness; in these two virtues all the
greatness of her soul was expressed.. She was never angry at anyone, she never
held a grudge against anyone. If someone offended her or was unpleasant, she
bore this unmurmuringly and forgave the person from the bottom of her heart. In
answer to the question, “Have you any ill will towards anyone?” Matushka
invariably answered, “No, not towards anyone.” Being herself forgiving, she
taught others to act likewise; she would say, “Don’t be angry; God Himself will
show who is right, who is at fault, while we shoud forgive.”
Aunt
never allowed herself to interfere in Batiushka’s affairs; she never tried to
put herself forward or stand on a par with him; remaining always in the
shadows, she shone with the reflection of his glory, his wondrous Christian
deeds; like a tender sister and loving mother, she guarded the common treasure:
sick, weak, virtually without the use of her legs, she pleaded with everyone:
“Be quiet, Batiushka is sleeping,” “Don’t receive anyone for now, Batiushka is
not well.” Batiushka himself knew her soul, highly esteemed her purity,
meekness and humility, and said about her: “My wife is an angel.” Did many know
that behind the great saint, Fr John, stood a protectress, ready to lay down
her life for him? If people did not know it then, may they know it now and may
they sincerely pray for this pure eldress, this meek eldress, the servant of
God, Elizabeth!
May a
boundless gratitude to you-wonderful, self-sacrificing mother-educator–and
memory eternal—dear virgin-wife, lamp of the Russian land–live in our hearts,
and in those of our children and grandchildren!
From the reminiscences of R. G. Shemyakina,
reprinted in Otets Ioana Kronshtadtsky by P.M. Chizhov, Jordanville, 1958
Source: http://www.roca.org/OA/96/96g.htm
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