The Catalog of Good Deeds

Today, just like a present for the Church New Year, Batiushka Nektary gave us a new semiprecious stone from his inexhaustible little treasure-box, where the precious treasures of his memory are kept.

"In my childhood," he told us, "there were only a few of us in our little dwelling. There was Mommy, me — still on all fours — and our gray kitty. Oh, I tell you, how marvelous was that kitty of ours!... Just listen to what I'm going to tell you about him and me!

"I was still quite a small child, so small that I didn't so much walk as crawl across the floor, but mostly I sat on my chair, though somehow or other I was already able to speak and express my thoughts. I was a meek child, obedient to a sufficient degree that my mother rarely had to punish me. I remember that at that time there were still just the two of us, Mommy and me, living together; we didn't have a cat. And then, one fine day my mother acquired a kitten for our modest household. That round and happy kitty was remarkably pretty, and we quickly made friends, so that you might say we were inseparable. I would crawl across the floor and there he would be, rubbing against me and arching his little back. I would sit at my bowl of food and he would sit right beside me, waiting for his portion from my generosity. I would sit down and he would climb up on my lap and reach his face up to mine, trying to get me to pet him. And I would pet his silky fur with my hand and he would lie down on my lap, squint his eyes, and purr his little song....

"That friendship between us lasted for a long time, until it was dampened by an incident that is terrible to recall even now.

"The spot where I usually sat was at the table, where my mama would occupy herself with sewing, and near my seat a cushion was nailed to the wall, into which Mama stuck her needles and pins. Of course, I was forbidden to touch them under any circumstances — even more so to take them out of the cushion — and I submitted to this ban without question.

"But one time I climbed up to my usual place, and right after me the kitten jumped up into my lap. At that time my mother had gone off somewhere to do the housekeeping. My friend jumped up and snuggled up to me and poked his little pink nose into my face. I petted him on the back and looked at him; and suddenly, for the first time, my eyes met his so very closely. Ah, what sweet eyes they were — clear, bright, and trusting!... They astonished me — before this incident I had never suspected that my cat had such brilliant adornments in his face.... And Here we were, looking one another in the eye, and we were both glad that it was so good for us to be together. And suddenly the thought popped into my head to try, with my finger, to find out what those brilliant little pearls under the cat's eyebrows, which were looking at me so merrily, were made of. I brought my finger up to him — the kitten squinted and hid his eyes. I took away my finger — and again they looked out. This really amused me. Again I poked my finger at them, and his eyes dove under his eyebrows. Oh, what fun this was! But the idea that I had such eyes, and that they would squint the same way if someone put a finger up to them, never even occurred to me. Whether it was a long or a short time that I amused myself that way with the kitten, I don't remember — only suddenly He idea came into my head to vary the fun. The thought had barely managed to flash across my mind when my hand set about to bring it to fulfillment. 'What would happen,' I thought, 'if I took a needle out of my mother's pillow and stuck it into one of the cat's little pearls?' I reached over to the pillow and pulled out a needle.... Just then, Mama entered the room and, not looking at me, began to busy herself with tidying up. I involuntarily refrained from the amusement I had thought up. With one hand I held the needle and with the other I petted the kitten...

"'Mommy!' I said, 'don't we have a good little kitten?'

"'How else can he be?' Mommy answered, 'I wouldn't have gotten a bad one for anything.'

"'And what has he got under his eyebrows — are they eyes?'

"'They're eyes — just like you have.'

"'And what would happen,' I said, 'if I stuck a needle in the kitten's eye?'

"My mother dropped her cleaning and as she turned to me she cried out, 'God preserve you!' And she tore the needle out of my hand.

"My mommy's face was so frightened that I remember her expression to this day. But even more ingrained in my memory is her cry, 'God preserve you!'

"My mother didn't punish me then, she didn't spank me, but only tore the needle out of my hand and threatened me — 'If you ever pull a needle out of the cushion again, I'll chop off your hand!'* From that time on I was afraid even to glance at the forbidden cushion.

"Many years went by. I was already a hieromonk. It was winter. It had turned out to be a nice, clear day. Resting after the noon meal, I was thinking about setting the samovar to boil and taking it easy with some aromatic tea. I had water in my cell but it wasn't fresh.... I poured this water out of the pitcher, took the pitcher, and trudged with it to the barrel that usually stood in the skete by the black porch of the refectory. I was going along peacefully, and not without pleasure, foretasting the joys of the boiling samovar and the fragrant Chinese herbs. There wasn't a soul in the skete garden. It was quiet, deserted....

"I went up to the barrel and saw that one of our old monks had climbed up and was getting a scoop of water for his samovar. Because of a recent snowstorm, the barrel could only be reached from one side, along one path. I quietly walked along this and came up behind the monk who was scooping water out of the barrel. Being busy with what he was doing, and also a bit deaf, he didn't notice my approach. I waited until he finished and thought, 'Why does the ladle need such a dreadfully long handle, and with such a sharp split end? What good is it? It might even hit someone in the eye!'... I had only just had this thought when my monk, with a sharp movement of his hand, suddenly swung the ladle so that the end of the handle moved right towards me! I barely managed to jump back. I still would have been a hairsbreadth away from having my eye poked out, but the unintentional culprit, who had threatened me with such peril, climbed down from the barrel, turned around, saw me and, not suspecting anything, came up to me with his pitcher for a blessing. 'Bless, Batiushka!'

"I gave him a blessing, but in my heart I was annoyed. 'What a lout!' I thought. However, I overcame that feeling within me — he wasn't at fault, really, for the fact that he didn't have eyes in back of his head; and with that I was pacified. Suddenly my heart became so light, so joyful, that I can't even convey it to you. I went to my cell with the pitcher full of water and just about jumped for joy, that I had escaped such terrible danger.

"I came home, heated up the samovar, made some 'fragrant tea,' and sat at the table... and suddenly it was as if a bright ray lit up in my memory the long forgotten incident from my early childhood — the kitten, the needle, and my mother's exclamation, 'God preserve you!'

"Then, it had saved the kitten's eye, and many years later, that of her own son. If I had poked out the cat's eye at that time, I would now be without an eye.

"And just think," Fr. Nektary added to his story, "after this incident they cut the handle of the ladle in half, though I hadn't complained to anyone. It's obvious that all this had to happen, so as to remind my unworthiness how for everything in our life, from the cradle to the grave, we must give the strictest account to God."

From the Recollections of Sergei A. Nilus

Source: https://www.fatheralexander.org/booklets/english/nektary_e.htm

From a young age, my parents taught me the importance of two very important realities: two experiences that we lived. These two realities were that of culture and family.

I grew up in the Mississippi Delta; the North Western part of the State of Mississippi. It is a very impoverished area but, like many places in the South, it is rich with culture. The Mississippi Delta Blues Festival was literally right down the road from our house. I remember walking down to it, in an open field. The bands were all there playing music and many people came to hear them. It was a real cultural experience, part of the life of the people. As with kindness, being gentle and taking care of others is a part of the culture down there. We helped our neighbors and they helped us. Even though we were from the North — my father from Chicago area and my mother from Indianapolis, Indiana — people welcomed us and we welcomed them. They treated us like we belonged there. We were family to them and they were family to us.

The reality of family is another thing we lived. We were close knit. Family was important to us. We even travelled back many times to Indianapolis to see our family and relatives — aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents. I was raised zealously nominal Roman Catholic. This was part of both family and culture. It was what we did as a family. Everybody in the family was Roman Catholic so we were too. It was a meeting of family and culture for me growing up.

Moving ahead to my senior year in High School, we moved to Phoenix. I met my future wife, Veronika, at the Catholic Church youth group. I graduated and got a job. My future wife and I both decided to go to Catholic Universities for our undergraduate degrees. I went to Franciscan University of Steubenville in Ohio and she went to Duquesne University in Pittsburgh. We graduated and moved back to Phoenix. I moved in with my Dad. We got married six months later. My Dad’s neighbor was a retired French Chef from France and my Dad asked me if I wanted a job. I said yes and I began working for the Chef, Bernard. He taught me how to cook. (I am now the cook at St. Tikhon’s Seminary and cook for all the Seminarians) I worked under the Chef for two years. After my wife and I got married we became catechumens in the Orthodox Church and then were Baptized Orthodox.

I had first been exposed to the Orthodox Church at the University. I had a friend who became my mentor; an old gentleman I met there named Todd. He taught me about the Orthodox Church, the Theology of the Orthodox Church, Patristics, St. Gregory Palamas and the Cappadocian Fathers. I had never had any experience with the Orthodox Church. There are Orthodox Churches in Mississippi, but there aren’t many and thus not many people know about the Orthodox Church there. I wasn’t taught anything about the Orthodox Church growing up. I had a little bit of experience of the Divine Liturgy and Orthodox Spirituality before going to University because I had visited some Byzantine/Greek Catholic Churches, but it wasn’t the fullness of the Orthodox Church. Todd introduced me to the Orthodox Church, but for me it was still just an intellectual knowledge of Orthodoxy, not the fullness. My future wife and I would drive up to a Greek Catholic Church in Northern Ohio while I was at University. I was searching for more. Not to say anything bad about Roman Catholicism, but if I’m honest with myself, I would say I was going to hell as a Roman Catholic, for a lot of reasons. The Orthodox Church — Christ saved me. I was looking for more, for culture. I was looking for the Orthodox Church, to experience it.

Culture is not just something that you do. I was looking to live the Christian culture. We do this as Orthodox Christians. We say our morning prayers and our evening prayers. We have icon corners in our homes. We live out our tradition, our faith. Our Faith is our lived-out Christian culture. We have culture in Christ. The Church is our Family. That’s what I was looking for; what I was yearning for. My wife and I were trying to live out Orthodox faith and spirituality without being Orthodox — so we became Orthodox because we realized you couldn’t be Orthodox without being in the Church.

An article by Seminarian Alex Baldwin

Source: http://journeytoorthodoxy.com/2012/11/culture-and-family/

One day a few years back, I went for a walk with my three year-old godson, Antonios, and his five year-old brother Evangelos. We stopped at a busy intersection and waited for the light to change. Thinking this was a teaching moment, I motioned toward the flashing signal and said, “Do you know how to cross?” Without missing a beat, Evangelos said, “Oh yes, Nouna Sarah!” (makes the sign of the cross very boldly and proudly). Ah yes, Evangelos knew how to cross. This sign is one of the most fundamental things we teach our children! Even toddlers understand that the cross is central to who we are, as children of God.

As a hospice chaplain, I spend my days journeying alongside people who are dying and their families. People of all faiths and of no particular faith. All of my patients are aware, on some level, that they are on a journey to the end of earthly life. For those people who have neglected their relationship with God and family, those who intentionally or unintentionally have neglected their spiritual health, this is often a profoundly fearful time. For those who have loved God and neighbor, those whose spiritual eyes are open, those who have meditated on the mystery of death and life, this can be a journey of grace and spiritual healing. I have seen my patients enter into their dying process with astonishing courage. It can become a process of prayer and trust, of lifting one's eyes to the hills, of lifting up one's heart to the Lord, in total hope and total peace.

Ginny, my beautiful patient who died a few months ago, saw “orbs of light” and felt God’s love, a comfort brought by a lifetime of faith. She cried as she said this to me, the day before she died peacefully in her home, surrounded by her children; we sang to her as she took her last breaths. Like Christ in the garden, my patients grieve, and cry, and suffer weakness in body and spirit. Like Christ, they yearn for understanding. Like Christ, they break bread with their loved ones, knowing this may be the last time. Like Christ when he said, “Woman, behold your son,” my patients lovingly entreat their family members to care for each other after they are gone. And like the thief on the cross, they are united with Christ in paradise.

Let us listen carefully to the words of our Lord: “Whosoever desires to come after me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross and follow me.” (Matthew 16:24) The choices we make, over the course of our lives, and the struggles we bear are our personal crosses. But even more so, to take up one's cross means to prayerfully embrace one's death. To take up one's cross means to see our death in light of the healing offered in the life-giving cross. Venerating the cross on the Feast of the Life-Giving Cross is not merely a remembrance, but an actual partaking in Jesus' passion. Walking up, prostrating down, and lifting our faces to the cross to give thanks and glory. All this liturgical practice is the Church's way of teaching us to live in constant mindfulness. We learn, as do our children, through the blessed repetition found in our liturgy, to see our lives in relation to the cross. We learn to see the cross as the way in which Christ tramples down death by death.

Almost ten years ago, I served my first night as an on-call ICU chaplain. The pager rang at five a.m.; a man named Andrew was about to go into major surgery. The nurse said he was tearful and anxious, and could I go visit him? She said he was Jewish. I entered the ICU, which was silent but for the beeping monitors. Andrew was elderly, with a scraggly beard and tearful eyes. He was on a ventilator and therefore could not speak. I said to him, “Hi Andrew, I'm Sarah the chaplain, and I'm here to stay with you until you leave for surgery. I know this is very difficult for you. I understand you're Jewish,” I said, thinking that I might try to locate a Rabbi. He shook his head, and went like this (weakly attempting to cross himself in what I realized was an Orthodox manner). “Oh!” I said, “You're Orthodox! Actually, so am I!” Apparently, his religious tradition was misunderstood upon admittance. His eyes registered strange surprise and joy. I taped a paper icon on the wall, made the sign of the cross and chanted the Trisagion prayers and a prayer before surgery. As I said Amen, Andrew again weakly made the sign of the cross on his ailing body. The possibility of death lay before him. With this sign, this one gesture, beyond all words, beyond everything and anything I could have said or done, Andrew saw his own death united with Christ's death on the cross.

In the hymn to the Resurrection, we sing: Through the cross, joy has come into the world, let us ever bless the Lord! What is this joy? The joy of the cross is the gift of a new life - the ability to live in peace and to become likened to God. This is referred to in Scripture as becoming a new creation. Healing through the cross brings clarity to our lives and reveals the wonder of the life to come. It replaces fear and bitterness with light and peace; it quenches our earthly thirst with the sweetness of Living Water.

St. Ephraim the Syrian uses a wonderful image to illuminate this. He describes how the Tree of Life – the tree in the Garden of Eden – goes way down into the depths of the earth, and then this wood emerges up out of the ground to form the wood of cross. We sing of this in our funerals: “You are our God, who descended into Hell, and loosed the bonds of those who were there.” The wood of the cross redeems Adam and Eve and everybody else from the grave. And St. Ephraim says the birds hop for joy in Paradise! What an image. The birds hop with the joy found in the resurrection of all creation. “With the Saints give rest, O Christ, to the soul of thy servant, where there is neither sickness nor sorrow, nor sighing, but life everlasting.” These words from the funeral service confirm that death is not an absurd end, which deprives life of meaning, but a movement towards union with the God who loves us – the return home to God, in whom is all peace, all joy, all light. It is a movement toward Paradise.

When Andrew made the sign of the cross, in this simple act, we had profound fellowship. I knew him as a Christian, as a brother. I recognized him, in the making of the sign of the cross. And we all recognize each other in the sign of the cross. May we never make this sign mindlessly. May this sign, whether it is made by a sweet child at a crosswalk or an elderly man facing death, be a constant, loving reminder of the reality of God's kingdom among us.

By Sarah Byrne-Martelli

***

Sarah Byrne-Martelli is a Board Certified Chaplain. She received her Master of Divinity from Harvard Divinity School in 2002 and currently serves as staff chaplain with Beacon Hospice in Beverly, MA. She serves as a mentor for Orthodox women discerning a call to chaplaincy, and regularly offers presentations and workshops for Orthodox churches on end-of-life issues. She is also a member of the Boston Byzantine Choir.

Source: https://www.goarch.org/-/healing-through-the-life-giving-cross

Among the great elders of Optina monastery, its last Starets Nektary enjoyed an especial love. Born in 1858 of poor parents Basil and Helen Tihonov, he was christened Nicholas. His father, who worked at a local mill, died at an early age. Nicholas and his mother had a very deep spiritual bond. While being strict with him, she usually applied kindness and knew how to reach his heart. However, she too died early leaving Nicholas a complete orphan.

In 1876, Nicholas arrived at the Optina forest with a bundle swung over his shoulder, containing nothing but a copy of the New Testament. Many years later, the holy father recalled his first impressions of Optina: "Lord! How beautiful it is with the sun flooding the area from sunrise, and the flowers! Just as though in paradise!" Nicholas was received by none other than elder Ambrose, and his initial dialogue with this great sagacious elder produced such a deep impression that he remained there for the rest of his life. Elders Ambrose and Anthony (Zertsalov) became his spiritual mentors.

Nektary’s first act of obedience was to look after the flowers, followed by serving as a sexton. The door of his cell (where he spent 25 years) faced the side of the church.

Because of his many responsibilities of obedience, he quite often arrived late for church services, appearing with bloodshot and swollen eyes, as though he overslept. To the complaints from some of the brothers, elder Ambrose would usually reply in rhyme, "Wait. Nicholas being oversleepful – to all will be useful."

Obedience had great meaning: "The first and greatest virtue is obedience. Christ came to us because of His obedience to His Father, and a person’s life on earth is obedience to God." Later, in his more mature years, Father Nektary would say, "Without obedience a person is first gripped by an aimless urge, then acrimony which later leads to weakening and coldness. Initially, obedience is difficult to perform, but subsequently, all the impediments are smoothed out."

During these years, Father Nektary read extensively and pursued a program of self-education. He read not only spiritual material but educational books. He studied mathematics, history, geography, Russian and foreign classic literature, learned the French and Latin languages. In 1894, Father Nektary was consecrated as hierodeacon, and, 4 years later, Kaloozhski Archbishop Makarius ordained him hieromonk. This is what he had to say about his consecration: "When Archbishop Macarius was consecrating me as hieromonk, he foresaw my spiritual turmoil and, upon its conclusion, offered me some brief yet powerful words. These words were so potent that even though many years had elapsed, I still remember them to this day and will not forget them for the rest of my life. And did he say much to me? He called me into the altar and said, ‘Nektary, when you are sorrowful or depressed and heavy temptation overtakes you, just keep repeating one thing: "Lord, be merciful, pardon and save this servant of Yours."’ That is all that vladiko (the Bishop) told me! But this advice saved me many times, and is still saving me to this day because it was spoken with authority."

It is not known from what specific grief he was saved by these words, although the Starets did reveal some of the temptations he encountered. One occurred during the early days of his spiritual probationership. In his younger days, he had a magnificent voice and his ear for music remained with him into his old age. During his first few years at the Optina, he sang in the choir on the right side of the hermitage church, and was also required to sing " ." However, there was a custom at the hermitage: Once a year, the choirmaster from the monastery would come over to listen and select the best voices for his choir. Those chosen were then transferred to the monastery. Even though he did not want to leave, Brother Nektary’s fine voice threatened him with this fate. At the same time, to sing solo was both flattering and comforting. Nonetheless, during singing sessions in front of the choirmaster, he falsified his voice by singing off-key and earned a relegation to the lower ranks in the choir. Needless to say, there was no further question of his transfer to the monastery.

Another temptation overtook him while being a hieromonk. Becoming a semi-recluse, he even covered the windows of his cell with sheets of paper, in order to intensify his prayers and enhance his self-education. Although having completed secondary schooling only, his constant reading gave him a many-faceted knowledge, so that he could converse freely on general social and specific subjects, as well as spiritual ones. He could discuss Pushkin and Shakespeare, Milton and Kriloff, Spengler and Hogarth, Bloch, Dante, Tolstoy and Dostoevsky. After lunch, during his one hour of rest, he would ask someone to read to him folkloric stories – Russian or from brothers Grimm.

Having read about earth’s wide variety of wonders, he developed a passion to travel so that he could see them for himself. At that time, Optina received instructions from the Holy Synod, directing them to appoint an hieromonk as the chaplain aboard a ship that was to circumnavigate the globe. The Archimandrite offered this post to Hieromonk Nektary. Returning to his cell, he was so excited and anxious that he started to pack, forgetting that at Optina, nothing is undertaken without first receiving a blessing from the Starets. It was some time later that having remembered this, he immediately went to Starets Joseph for his blessing. However, the Starets did not bless him and Father Nektary accepted this submissively.

So as not to develop any pride, Father Nektary started to act the fool for Christ. For example, over his under-cassock, he would wear a floral, woman’s jacket: when he sat down to eat, he would put all his food into one container, be it sweet, sour or salty: he would wear a felt boot on one foot and a leather shoe on the other. During his period of "starchestvovania," he used to perplex his fellow monks by surrounding himself with toy automobiles, ships, cars, and planes.

His transition from living a solitary life in a cell to serving the public did not come easily to him. In 1913, upon the insistence of Father Benedict (Father superior at Borovsko and an ecclesiastical Superintendent), the Optina brotherhood met to choose a new Starets. It was first offered to Archimandrite Agape who was retired and lived at Optina. This was a man of wide knowledge and high spirituality. Author of the brilliant autobiography of Starets Ambrose’s life, he had steadfastly refused the post of Bishop offered to him on a number of occasions. Here, he too flatly refused to be Starets. At that time, he had a few close pupils among whom was Hieromonk Nektary.

When the brothers asked Father Agape to nominate a worthy candidate, he named Father Nektary, who due to his humility was not even present. The brotherhood unanimously chose Father Nektary as their Starets and sent Father Averky to fetch him. Arriving at the cell, he advised, "Reverend father, you are needed at the meeting," to which Father Nektary refused, saying, "They will be able to make their selection without me." However, Father Averky insisted with "Father Archimandrite sent me to ask you to come." Obediently, Father Nektary put on his cassock and wearing his usual felt boot on one foot and a shoe on the other, went to the assembly.

Upon arriving, he was greeted with "Father, you were chosen as the spiritual head of our abbey and our Starets." Father Nektary objected "No, fathers and brothers, I am simple minded and would not be able to carry such a heavy load." Finally, on hearing archimandrite’s determinate words – "Father Nektary, accept this obedience," he submitted to the call.

During this period Starets Nektary became close to Constantine Leonti Bolotov, a scholar who became a monk living in Optina, and who used to read his original literary works to him. He studied painting under this academic and throughout his life maintained an interest by sketching icons and closely following new developments in trends and techniques. For example, his sketch of the Annunciation was made in the final year of his life at Optina.

Having a talent for painting, this art was especially close to Starets Nektary. He used to declare, "Currently, the art of painting is on the decline. Previously, before commencing a painting a painter used to prepare himself – both internally and externally. Before sitting down to the task, he would prepare all the necessary items: canvas, paints, brushes etc.... and would then paint not only a few days, but years, and sometimes a whole lifetime, like painter Ivanov’s ‘Appearance of Christ to the people’. Great masterpieces were created in those days. Today, painters work hurriedly, without thought or feeling… For example, when painting a spiritual work, it is necessary for the light to emanate from an angel rather than it fall upon him."

The Starets badly wanted a painting to be done of Christ’s Birth. "It is necessary for the world to remember this enormous event. After all, it happened only once in the entire history!… The shepherds are dressed in short frayed clothing, facing the light with their backs to the viewer. And the light should not be white but slightly golden, be totally whole – not as rays or clusters – and only the far corner of the painting should be darkened, so as to remind us that it was night. In order to make it quite clear that this beauty was not human but heavenly and not of this world" added the elder with particular emphasis, "the light from the angels’ configurations must be soft, barely discernible." Another time the Starets mentioned to a girl: "Why were the shepherds worthy to see the angels that night? – Because they were vigilant."

Once the elder was shown an icon, depicting Christ’s Transfiguration, where the light from Mount Tabor contrasted with the dark ganglionic trees in the foreground. The Starets ordered their erasure, explaining that "where there is light from Tabor, there is no room for darkness… When there is this light, every nook and cranny is illuminated."

Father Basil Shoostin and his wife, who used to visit Starets Nektary, had some valuable recollections of him. As Father Basil recalled: "Batushka says to me, ‘empty out the samovar and fill it up with fresh water. The water is standing in the corner, in a copper jug. Take it and pour it in.’ The jug was massive. I tried to move it, to no avail – I didn’t have the strength. Batushka continued, ‘Just take the jug and fill up the samovar.’ ‘But Batushka, it is too heavy. I cannot move it.’ Then Batushka came up to the jug, blessed it and said ‘Pick it up.’ I did so and found it to be quite light."

After evening prayers, the brothers from the monastery used to visit Elder Nektary to receive his blessing before going to bed. This occurred in the morning and evening of every day. The monks would come up for their blessing bowing, and some would openly confess their thoughts and doubts. Batushka would comfort some, enhearten others and granted remission to all those that confessed their sins, dispelling their uncertainties and lovingly allowing them to leave in peace. It was a very emotional scene. During the blessing, Batushka had an extremely serious and concentrated appearance, and each of his words was filled with love and concern for the agitated soul. Afterwards, Batushka would withdraw to his retreat and pray for 1 hour, returning after a lengthy absence to clear the table.

"During one of my visits to Optina," recalled Fr. Basil, "I witnessed how Fr. Nektary read sealed letters. He approached me with approximately 50 letters that he had received and started to sort them unopened. Some he would put to one side with the words ‘These require replies, while these are letters of gratitude and require no response.’ Without reading them, he knew their contents. Some he would bless, while some he even kissed, and he gave my wife 2 letters saying ‘Here, read these aloud as this will be beneficial to you.’

"In 1914, my elder brother [Fr. Basil’s] entered Optina as a novice and at times acted as a lay brother to Starets Nektary. As he was establishing his own personal library, he often wrote and asked our father to send him money so that he could purchase religious books. I was always perturbed by this and often said: "Once you have left the material world through your calling, you must sever your ties with your passions." And he had a passion for books. I wrote to Fr. Nektary, voicing my concerns on this matter. Batushka did not reply and my brother continued his purchases. I then wrote a somewhat sharp letter to Batushka, accusing him of not curbing my brother’s passion. Once again, Batushka did not respond. In 1917, my wife and I were able to leave the front and visit Optina. Batushka greeted us with a low bow and said: "Thank you for your candor. I knew that after the letters you would come personally and I am always glad to see you. Always write these types of letters and then come personally for answers. Now I can tell you that soon there will be a famine of spiritual books and you will not be able to obtain them. It is very good that he is collecting this spiritual treasure, as it will be extremely useful. Heavy times are upon us. The number six has been and gone on earth while the numeral seven is approaching – the age of silence is approaching. ‘Keep quiet, keep quiet,’ said Batushka, tears streaming from his eyes. The Emperor is enduring humiliation for his mistakes. It will be worse in 1918 – the Emperor and his whole family will be murdered, martyred. One pious girl had a vision: Jesus Christ is sitting on His throne with 12 Apostles near Him while terrible moans are heard coming from earth. Apostle Peter asks Christ: ‘Lord, when will these torments cease?’ and Jesus Christ answers him: ‘I am granting a period up to 1922. If people will not repent, will not come to their senses, then they shall perish.’ And here, in front of God’s Altar, stood the Emperor with a martyr’s crown. Yes, this Emperor will be a great martyr. In the closing stages, he will redeem his soul, and if people do not turn to God then not only Russia, but the whole of Europe will collapse.’"

Right from the beginning, Father Nektary did not want to be Starets and was overwhelmed with this obedience. Most of the time he spent in isolation in the cell of former Starets Ambrose. Showing great humility, he would say of himself: "What kind of Starets am I and how can I be a successor to the former Elders? They had benevolence within them the size of a big loaf, while mine is that of one small slice." He always had a book lying on the table of his ante-chamber, opened on a specific page. This was done so that the visitor, in having to wait for an audience, would invariably start reading the book, not realizing that it was one of Father Nektary’s methods of hiding his perspicacity by using the open pages to give a warning, or indicating the question or advising the answer in the forthcoming conversation. He blessed all his visitors with a very large sign of the cross. He was slow in movement and very focused, giving the impression that he was carrying a cup filled with a precious fluid that he was afraid to spill.

The Revolution ushered in a period of heavy trials for Starets Nektary. With the collapse of Optina, he wanted to relinquish his position of spiritual administrator and conclude his life as a wanderer. However, during the night he had a vision in which the former deceased Elders appeared to him and said: "If you want to be with us, do not leave your children." Elder Nektary resigned himself to the cross that was placed upon him.

The Optina hermitage survived until 1923 when all of the churches were shut. Very little is known of the post-revolutionary period. One eyewitness related that because of the measures taken in liquidating the neighboring women’s monasteries, all the nuns, like birds that had their nests destroyed, hastened to Optina. They found refuge there as they had nowhere else to go. Crowds of laity also brought their grief, asking how to pray for their missing loved ones: the horrors of the revolution and civil war brought losses to nearly every family.

After banishing Starets Nektary from Optina, the Bolsheviks brought an occultist into his cell, hoping to find treasure. It was night and a kerosene lamp was burning in the cell. The sorcerer-occultist began his witchcraft, and while the lamp continued burning, the cell was filled with a dim fog. A nun in the adjoining cell took Father Nektary’s rosary beads and made the sign of a cross with them, in the direction of his cell. Immediately, his cell became bright while the occultist was gripped in an epileptic fit, convulsing and thrashing around on the floor.

The fundamental features of Starets Nektary were humility and wisdom. He approached everybody on a personal and individual level with a specific objective. He used to say: "You cannot demand that a fly do the work of a bee." The reverend father was not tall with a semi-circular face; long tufts of grayish hair protruded from under his skullcap, hands clutching rosary beads made out of granite. When he took confessional, he would wear a red velvet epitrahelion with blue crosses. His face seemed ageless: first it may be old and fierce, then young and full of expression, then childlike, pure and serene. During his days of being Starets, he was stooped, wore a wedge-shaped beard, was thin and his eyes wept continually. Consequently, he always had a handkerchief in his hand with which he frequently wiped his eyes. He loved to keep a low profile and be unnoticed. As a result, he was against being photographed and consequently, there are very few photographs of him. This was very characteristic of him.

Starets Nektary died on April 29, 1928, in the village of Holmisha in the district of Briansk. He was buried in the local cemetery. When he was alive, he used to say that he would not have a grave and indeed, there was fierce fighting and obliteration in that area. However, the memory of Elder Nektary was alive among the faithful.

Nonetheless, despite the devastation of the revolution and changes during the long years under communism, the grave of Starets Nektary was located. In 1992, brothers from the restored Optina monastery arrived at his gravesite and began digging. At 1.5 meters, they unearthed the coffin of schemanun(?) Nektarii(?) Kontsevich – mother of Bishop Nektary of Seattle – one of Elder Nektary’s novitiates. Digging further and slightly to the side, they came upon the coffin of the Starets. When they opened his grave, all those present became aware of a very fragrant aroma emanating from the coffin. It also revealed his mantle remained whole and uncorrupted. On Sunday, July 16, the remains of Starets Nektary were ceremoniously relocated from the cemetery at Holmisha to the Annunciation cathedral at Optina.

This was the beginning of Elder Nektary’s reassuring prophecies: "Russia will awaken and while she will not be materially wealthy, she will be spiritually rich, and Optina will have another seven lightgivers, seven pillars."

An article by Bishop Alexander Mileant

Source: https://www.fatheralexander.org/booklets/english/nektary_e.htm

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