My Visit to Elder Nektary in 1918
By Archpriest Sergius Shchukin
By Archpriest Sergius Shchukin
For the first time I heard about the existence of the Optina elders while I was a student in Moscow. There I became acquainted with young people from a very believing and pious family D. from the city of Kozlov. Two of the brothers and two sisters were studying in Moscow, and one of the brothers was my fellow student. From them I learned that all of them — eight brothers and sisters — were spiritual children of Elder Anatoly of Optina, visited him almost every year, and did nothing without his blessing. They strongly advised me to visit the Optina Hermitage, but the circumstances of student life somehow always prevented me from carrying out this trip. Studies at a special technical educational institution required a great deal of time, and during vacations I always went either home or to student practice. And only after completing the course, already under the Bolsheviks, did circumstances allow me to get to Optina.
In the summer of 1918, when all Russian life had already been shaken to its foundations, before me — as before the whole intelligentsia — stood the question: what to do next? Many categorically refused to enter service in the new Bolshevik institutions, counting on the quick fall of their power. Others awaited foreign intervention and held back. And when private and public institutions were closing, unemployed intellectuals preferred to trade in all sorts of old things or live by selling their belongings rather than enter the service of the Bolsheviks. Finally, such a moment came for me as well, when the institution in which I worked had to close. Of course, having an engineer’s diploma, I could easily find a position, but where exactly? There were many possibilities; my comrades and professors invited me to various newly opening Soviet educational and scientific-technical institutions. But all this somehow attracted me little; I wanted to preserve my inner freedom and strengthen my spiritual life, still so weak and unstable. It was precisely in those days that I began especially to think about the necessity of going to Optina in order to consult with an elder.
It happened that our institution, having announced its liquidation, proposed to its employees to come in three days for settlement. In order to make use of these days, I decided to go to Optina with my acquaintances: this was Misha D., a student of Moscow University, and his fellow countryman, an elderly merchant, to whom, in connection with the revolution, complete ruin was threatening. In a word, all three of us stood at a crossroads and did not know how to act further in the revolutionary confusion that had set in.
With great difficulty we managed to get onto a freight train going to Kaluga, because it was impossible to board passenger trains. In order to have the right to visit Optina, it was necessary to appear at the city executive committee and obtain a pass — but I will not dwell on that. By evening we finally reached the monastery and spent the night in the monastery guesthouse. Everything there was still as before, but visitors, in view of the anxious time, were few. In the skete there then lived two elders, Anatoly and Nektary. Most of the visitors strove toward the elder Fr. Anatoly, but for some reason we decided to turn to Fr. Nektary. Entering the skete, which was located outside the monastery, we saw the little gardens and the houses of the elders, familiar to us from Bykov’s book “Quiet Refuges,” as well as from the description of the skete in Dostoevsky’s novel “The Brothers Karamazov.”
Each of us, as probably all the other visitors to Optina, carried in his soul confusion, pain, and uncertainty, brought about by the first months of the revolution. Many of them, like our older companion, were seeking an answer to the main question: how long would Soviet power still hold out?.. And many were convinced that the Optina elders must know this exactly…
Unfortunately, at the time I did not write down the details of our visit to Fr. Nektary; I thought that my memory would preserve these unforgettable impressions anyway. The main thing, of course, has been preserved, but far from everything. We attended the monastery services, prepared for Communion, but most of all there remained in the soul the impressions from the meeting with the elder. We entered the reception room of the elder in his little house. There were about 10–12 of us, men of various ranks. After a few minutes of waiting, from the door, with quick and noiseless steps, came out a small, somewhat stooped old man with a small gray beard, wearing an epitrachelion. Having prayed before the icons, he blessed us all and began to approach each one in turn. We stood in a line along the room, and the elder moved from one to another and conversed. The conversations were short; Fr. Nektary rarely lingered with anyone and, sometimes interrupting a long account of the visitor, hastened with an answer; his answers were quick and brief, after which he immediately passed to the next in line.
What struck me most was the manner in which Fr. Nektary spoke with everyone: he would approach the person without looking at him, stand beside him somewhat sideways, half-turned, and incline his ear toward him, as if he did not hear well or simply giving the one speaking the opportunity to set forth his needs not too loudly. While listening, Fr. Nektary looked somewhere downward, but the impression was created that he was listening to you not with his ear, but with some other, inner organ of perception, that what was important to him was not the very words, but something else, hidden in your soul, which the elder tried to grasp…
When Fr. Nektary came up to me, I began as briefly as possible to explain to him my situation, but, as often happens in such cases, I did not succeed in brevity and clarity. I tried to explain myself better, but the elder, already as if having understood me, began to speak himself. As I have already mentioned, my difficulty consisted in what service to choose and by what to be guided in this. And Fr. Nektary answered me approximately thus (I do not remember the exact words, but their sense is as follows):
"Yes, yes, serve, of course... you're a learned man, after all. But don't go chasing after big things... just take it slow, little by little..."
That was all — and he passed to the next one. At first it even seemed to me that I had received no answer at all to my needs; rather, I expected something more from the elder than these simple words… But I recalled that elders very often answer not directly, but figuratively, forcing one to reflect on the true meaning of the answer. Indeed, reflecting further on his answer, I soon became convinced that I had received a completely clear and definite response to my doubts. And having understood this, I immediately felt in my soul an extraordinary lightness, joy, and peace; all the confusion and contradiction of the surrounding revolutionary situation ceased to exist, and my personal problems became simple and clear. The same were the feelings of my companions. Both of them returned home free and strengthened, although in essence they also did not receive the answer they had been seeking. The elder, for example, GAVE NO ONE THE SLIGHTEST HOPE that the new government would soon come to an end. On the contrary, Fr. Nektary spoke to many about the necessity of patience, prayer, and preparation for even greater trials… But nevertheless the general state of all those returning from him was cheerful and joyful. We were returning from Optina in order to fall again into the chaos of the Bolshevik revolution, but everything was perceived by us quite differently. And the words of the Gospel came to my mind: “Fear not, little flock!”…
Such an impression from the conversation with the elder became even more strengthened in me after my return to Moscow and remained firmly embedded in my life. My entire subsequent life served as a continuous proof of the wisdom of Fr. Nektary’s counsel. And what happened to me after returning to Moscow revealed even more the full significance of my trip to Optina. That is why it is necessary to speak about all this in more detail.
On the first of September 1918 we arrived in Moscow, and I parted with my companions: they went to their home in Tver province, while I went home so as to be at my institution by twelve o’clock to receive my final settlement. But in order to understand what follows, it is necessary to pause and explain what the political situation in Moscow was in those days.
Fearing an attack on Petersburg, the Soviet government had moved to Moscow in the summer of that year. But in Moscow as well things were not calm. In the month of August a series of anti-Bolshevik uprisings began: the uprising near Moscow of the so-called “Left SRs,” the killing by bomb of the German ambassador Mirbach (to whom great influence on Bolshevik policy was attributed), and finally the attempt on Lenin carried out by Kaplan. Enraged, the Bolsheviks in response proclaimed the “Red Terror”: in Moscow and in the provinces the Cheka raged, everywhere there were arrests, roundups, and shootings; the prisons and the administrations of the extraordinary commissions were overcrowded. In these very terrible days I, together with all my fellow employees, ended up in the famous Lubyanka — in the internal prison of the Cheka. Everything happened very simply. When we gathered in our institution to receive our settlement, suddenly it turned out that the entire building was surrounded by Chekists — this meant that we had fallen into a roundup. All of us, about eighty people, were driven into one hall and began to be searched and have our documents taken. Then, in groups, we were loaded onto open trucks and, under guard, taken across all of Moscow to the Lubyanka. There we were registered again and distributed among the cells. All night long, below in the courtyard, motors rattled, vehicles came and went, and new groups of arrested people arrived…
I will not describe in detail those six days that I spent in the Lubyanka. I will say only that the population of our cell changed daily: some were released, others were taken out to be shot, still others — those requiring investigation — were transferred to Butyrka prison, in order to make room for the newly arrived. It should be noted that in those times the judgment of the Cheka, though not “merciful,” was swift; the arrested were rarely held long and were often released without any consequences… Among the varied population of our cell there prevailed, of course, a depressed, heavy mood. Some, implicated in something, kept silent, withdrawn into themselves. Others, who had fallen in by chance, wearied everyone with their proofs that they were guilty of nothing. Still others, likewise not feeling any guilt, were greatly anxious for themselves and for their relatives. Among those arrested were career officers, intellectuals, merchants, clergy, members of the Bolshevik party, foreigners, and even a Jewish boy of thirteen years, arrested for appearing on the street later than the established hour. But I myself was among them, it seems, the only one who bore calmly both the sudden arrest and the whole oppressive atmosphere of the Lubyanka. That inner peace which I had brought from Optina preserved me from fear, and I was not at all anxious; my friends who remained at liberty were far more anxious for me. I, however, was sure that everything would end for me quite favorably.
Among those sitting with me, I especially remember two bishops, still rather young, without a single gray hair in their heads. Unfortunately, I have forgotten their names. Both of them were in a very grave condition and mostly kept silent. I tried several times to speak with them, told them that I had just returned from Optina, about my impressions there, but they were very uncommunicative. Later I understood that I might have seemed too strange to them because of my calmness and my open conversations, so that they could even have thought that I had been specially sent to them… Two days later they were called at night for interrogation — and they never returned. The next day a duty officer came into the cell for their “things” — their outer cassocks were lying on the bunks. This meant that they had been shot that night. Such cases happened with us every night, since special cells for those condemned to death did not yet exist.
I was called twice for night interrogation. The investigator was a very young and intelligent man; later I learned that he was one of the beginning futurist poets of those years. With a bored look he studied my notebook and asked about all those whose addresses were there, but most of all he was interested in my political convictions and with what political organizations I had been connected. I asserted that I had never had any connections with parties, and had acquaintances only in scientific and church circles. In those first years of the revolution this could still be spoken openly, since church circles were not yet regarded as counterrevolutionary. But after two or three years this view changed, and all church figures began to be persecuted.
In view of the overcrowding of the Cheka, I was soon transferred to Butyrka prison, where I stayed about ten days. It also was overcrowded; in each cell there were twice the number of people as normal. They fed us much worse than at the Lubyanka, so that people who did not receive parcels could hardly walk after several months. There I began to receive parcels from my friends, and, among other things, in the very first parcel I received from them a book of the New Testament, which was allowed through without delay. Later even this privilege, accepted in all countries, was abolished.
When I was again transferred to the Lubyanka, I was informed that I was being released. The next day I received my documents, the things taken from me — my watch, penknife, and the like — and a pass to leave the Cheka building. With a feeling of relief and gratitude to God, I went out onto Malaya Lubyanka. The September sun was shining; quieted and poorly cleaned, Moscow awaited a harsh and hungry winter. Those who had been imprisoned with me gave me a number of addresses to visit their relatives. But one of my fellow employees remained for another two months in Butyrka, although all our other employees had been released. Finally, already in November, he was released — it turned out that his name had been omitted from the list of those to be freed…
My recollections would not be complete if I did not say how I carried out in practice the counsel of Fr. Nektary. From the practice of eldership it is known that the counsel of an elder must without fail be fulfilled; otherwise all kinds of misfortunes will befall you. But if you follow the counsel of the elder, then God will help you, and as it were “all things work together for good.” All this I experienced in the course of my life.
Soon after my release I entered service. But, remembering the words of the elder, I took for myself the most modest and in no way promising position of secretary to the technical council of one of the “glavki” of the Supreme Council of the National Economy (the “glavki” being the chief administrations of individual branches of industry). The chief advantage of this position consisted in the fact that the glavk was located on the same street where I lived. However, many of my fellow engineers and acquaintances were very surprised at my choice, considering that I could have arranged myself much better. But it is always so that God’s ways, according to human reasoning, seem at least “strange.” Yet as soon as the severe winter set in, all the advantages of my choice immediately became clear. As soon as snow fell, tram traffic ceased for the entire winter: there was no one to clear the tracks. People who worked in various commissariats in the center of Moscow were forced to spend a great deal of strength and time on walking. It was even worse for those who had two jobs and from morning till evening made long journeys on foot. But even more I gained in a purely spiritual respect. My simple secretarial duties were not burdensome, and therefore I had comparatively much time and strength, which I invested in church life. And in that year, thanks to the wise leadership of His Holiness Patriarch Tikhon, church life in Moscow became extraordinarily lively. Moscow was covered with a network of brotherhoods, circles, and unions, since the Patriarch abolished parish boundaries and permitted the formation of inter-parish brotherhoods. Laypeople were widely involved in the activity of these brotherhoods, directed by the most zealous shepherds: they sang, read on the kliros, conducted talks, and even delivered sermons. In the evenings akathists were served with congregational singing and talks afterward. For children deprived of lessons in the Law of God, talks were arranged with lantern slides from Sacred History; the youth gathered separately and studied the church typikon, the Gospel, and so on.
I took an active part in the Brotherhood of St. Alexis, Metropolitan of Moscow, at the head of which stood Archpriest Roman Medved, former rector of the Sevastopol cathedral. Several parish churches in different parts of Moscow were also attached to the brotherhood, where its members carried out work. In the brotherhood’s own church an early liturgy was served daily, and members could attend it even before their work. Three times a week in the evenings there were services with talks, and the members of the brotherhood tried to partake of Holy Communion monthly and took an active part in the work.
Thanks to my not being overburdened with official duties, I had the opportunity to devote my strength to work in the brotherhood, and therefore this time brought me enormous spiritual benefit; here I was strengthened spiritually and began to live within the enclosure of the Orthodox Church. At that same time the beginning of my preaching activity was also laid, especially after in 1919 His Holiness Patriarch Tikhon tonsured three of us members of the brotherhood as readers, giving us the designation “evangelists” (“blagovestniki”); such “blagovestniki” then appeared in many brotherhoods and delivered sermons from the church ambo.
Thus, by fulfilling the counsel of Fr. Nektary, I received the opportunity to strengthen my connection with the Orthodox Church and to receive very valuable preparation for my further missionary work. And throughout my entire subsequent life in the Soviet Union his words were always fulfilled: as soon as I began to rise on the service ladder, troubles and complications soon appeared for me; but when I was content with little, life flowed more calmly. However, this is already a separate subject on which I will not dwell here.
In conclusion I will briefly touch upon that further spiritual connection which quite unexpectedly was established for me with Fr. Nektary and continued until his death. Although my first and last meeting with him already bound me with invisible ties to the elder, yet by the will of God he did not leave me until the end with his prayers.
In 1920 I left Moscow for my homeland, to the North Caucasus, where I lived thereafter. At almost the same time one of the participants of our brotherhood, Mrs. T., the daughter of a priest, soon having accepted secret monasticism, left for Tula province. Living not far from Optina Hermitage, she became a spiritual daughter of Fr. Nektary and often visited him. When the monastery was closed, she did not cease visiting the elder in the places where he later lived. We corresponded occasionally, and in her letters I always received blessings from Fr. Nektary. Knowing how I venerated Fr. Nektary, she informed me that he prayed for me and my family, and sometimes even risked sending me from him little icons or sheets of instruction. Thus, for almost eight more years I continued to feel the grace-filled support of the elder and sensed in my life the protecting action of his prayer. In 1928 T. informed me of the death of this last Optina elder. And precisely in the following years my life noticeably became more complicated, and very difficult years came upon me. It seems to me that here also the cessation of spiritual prayerful support from the elder played a role…
Source: Shchukin Sergius, Archpriest. My Visit to Elder Nektary in 1918. // Russian Renaissance (Paris–Moscow–New York). 1979. Vol. 2. No. 6. pp. 108–120. Translated by John Sanidopoulos.