第129章

Don't be anxious, they will understand everything, the orthodox heart will understand all! Let him read them about Abraham and Sarah, about Isaac and Rebecca, of how Jacob went to Laban and wrestled with the Lord in his dream and said, "This place is holy"-and he will impress the devout mind of the peasant.Let him read, especially to the children, how the brothers sold Joseph, the tender boy, the dreamer and prophet, into bondage, and told their father that a wild beast had devoured him, and showed him his blood-stained clothes.Let him read them how the brothers afterwards journeyed into Egypt for corn, and Joseph, already a great ruler, unrecognised by them, tormented them, accused them, kept his brother Benjamin, and all through love: "I love you, and loving you I torment you."For he remembered all his life how they had sold him to the merchants in the burning desert by the well, and how, wringing his hands, he had wept and besought his brothers not to sell him as a slave in a strange land.And how, seeing them again after many years, he loved them beyond measure, but he harassed and tormented them in love.He left them at last not able to bear the suffering of his heart, flung himself on his bed and wept.Then, wiping his tears away, he went out to them joyful and told them, "Brothers, I am your brother Joseph" Let him read them further how happy old Jacob was on learning that his darling boy was still alive, and how he went to Egypt leaving his own country, and died in a foreign land, bequeathing his great prophecy that had lain mysteriously hidden in his meek and timid heart all his life, that from his offspring, from Judah, will come the great hope of the world, the Messiah and Saviour.

Fathers and teachers, forgive me and don't be angry, that like a little child I've been babbling of what you know long ago, and can teach me a hundred times more skilfully.I only speak from rapture, and forgive my tears, for I love the Bible.Let him too weep, the priest of God, and be sure that the hearts of his listeners will throb in response.Only a little tiny seed is needed- drop it into the heart of the peasant and it won't die, it will live in his soul all his life, it will be hidden in the midst of his darkness and sin, like a bright spot, like a great reminder.And there's no need of much teaching or explanation, he will understand it all simply.Do you suppose that the peasants don't understand? Try reading them the touching story of the fair Esther and the haughty Vashti; or the miraculous story of Jonah in the whale.Don't forget either the parables of Our Lord, choose especially from the Gospel of St.Luke (that is what I did), and then from the Acts of the Apostles the conversion of St.Paul (that you mustn't leave out on any account), and from the Lives of the Saints, for instance, the life of Alexey, the man of God and, greatest of all, the happy martyr and the seer of God, Mary of Egypt- and you will penetrate their hearts with these simple tales.Give one hour a week to it in spite of your poverty, only one little hour.And you will see for yourselves that our people is gracious and grateful, and will repay you a hundred foId.Mindful of the kindness of their priest and the moving words they have heard from him, they will of their own accord help him in his fields and in his house and will treat him with more respect than before- so that it will even increase his worldly well-being too.

The thing is so simple that sometimes one is even afraid to put it into words, for fear of being laughed at, and yet how true it is!

One who does not believe in God will not believe in God's people.He who believes in God's people will see His Holiness too, even though he had not believed in it till then.Only the people and their future spiritual power will convert our atheists, who have torn themselves away from their native soil.

And what is the use of Christ's words, unless we set an example?

The people is lost without the Word of God, for its soul is athirst for the Word and for all that is good.

In my youth, long ago, nearly forty years ago, I travelled all over Russia with Father Anfim, collecting funds for our monastery, and we stayed one night on the bank of a great navigable river with some fishermen.A good looking peasant lad, about eighteen, joined us; he had to hurry back next morning to pull a merchant's barge along the bank.I noticed him looking straight before him with clear and tender eyes.It was a bright, warm, still, July night, a cool mist rose from the broad river, we could hear the plash of a fish, the birds were still, all was hushed and beautiful, everything praying to God.Only we two were not sleeping, the lad and I, and we talked of the beauty of this world of God's and of the great mystery of it.