Hope For 'Lost Americans' -- And Us All

Holy Saturday With Fr Seraphim Rose, St. John The Wonderworker, & The Holy Fire

Father Seraphim Rose

I did not intend to write again this weekend, but I simply must put in front of you this new Paul Kingsnorth essay about the life and example of Father Seraphim Rose (1934-1982), a lost and wandering gay American intellectual who became an Orthodox monk, and who many believe is a saint. Here’s how it begins:

Last year I was invited to give a talk about Christianity and nature at Canisius University in Buffalo, New York. After the talk, I took some questions from the audience. One of the questions, asked in sweet innocence, was a deadly honeytrap for a visiting Englishman:

“What do you think of America?”

I had just been talking about the dangers to the soul of the technological culture of Silicon Valley, and the impact of its machine-like ways of thinking on the world, so I said the first thing that came into my head. This is rarely a good idea, especially in public.

“America is Babylon,” I said, referring to the corrupt city which, according to the last book of the Bible, “rules over the kings of the earth.” Then, remembering I was speaking to an audience of Americans, I quickly added a qualification.

“It’s Babylon,” I said, “but it might also be the place that counters Babylon. It’s as if one force somehow begets the other. After all, California is home to Silicon Valley, but it’s also home to the monastery of Seraphim Rose.”

Somebody else in the audience put their hand up.

“Who’s Seraphim Rose?” they asked.

It was a fair question. The strange name I had conjured is hardly widely known. It is the name of a man who in many ways embodied the 20th-century West’s aching search for meaning. A man who pushed himself out of the desert of modern materialism, through a banquet of “alternative spiritualities,” and into an ascetic, monastic life in the oldest and most traditional stream of Christianity: the Eastern Orthodox Church. Seraphim Rose is the unofficial patron saint of lost Western people, and only America could have made him.

I won’t spoil the rest of it for you, but boy oh boy, you should read it. Seraphim Rose, born Eugene, is a singular American figure. A brilliant intellectual who searched for Truth, he tried being a Beat, but it didn’t work. As an atheist, he cursed God for not existing. And then, one day, he wandered into the Russian Orthodox cathedral in San Francisco with his then-lover … and found Christ. He was eventually made a monk by the Russian archbishop, later canonized as St. John Maximovitch.

About St. John, a tiny man who was an intense ascetic — he went barefoot everywhere — there are so many miracle stories. He was a true worker of miracles and wonders. Take a look at this account. This, from his life in Paris, testifies to his asceticism (“Vladyka” is an Orthodox term of endearment for bishops):

From this period of Vladyka's presence in Western Europe, Mrs. E. G. Chertkova reminisces: "On several occasions I visited Vladyka when he lived in the Cadet Corps building near Paris. He had a small cell on the top floor. In the cell were a table, an armchair and several chairs and in the corner—icons and a lectern with books. There was no bed in the cell since Vladyka did not lie down to sleep, but prayed by leaning on a tall stick with a cross-bar on top. Sometimes he prayed on his knees; most likely when he prostrated himself he would then fall asleep for a little while in that position on the floor. That is how he exhausted himself! Sometimes during our conversation it seemed to me that he dozed. But when I stopped, he would immediately say: "Continue, I hear you.'"

There are many healings attributed to his intercession while alive. And there were even stranger miracles:

In Shanghai, a voice teacher, Anna Petrovna Lushnikova, taught Vladyka the proper method of breathing and pronunciation of words, thus helping him to better his diction. At the end of each lesson Vladyka paid her 20 dollars. In 1945, during the war, she was gravely wounded and happened to be in a French hospital. On a very stormy night, feeling that she might die, Anna Petrovna began asking the nurses to call Vladyka John, who was in France, so that he would give her Communion. The nurses refused since the hospital was locked up during the night due to war-time conditions. Anna Petrovna was beside herself and kept calling upon Vladyka. Suddenly, around eleven o'clock in the evening, Vladyka appeared in the ward. Unable to believe her eyes, Anna Petrovna asked Vladyka, weather this was a dream or did he really come to her. Vladyka smiled, prayed and administered communion to her. Following this she calmed down and slept. The next morning she felt cured. No one believed Anna Petrovna that Vladyka visited her that night since the hospital was tightly secured. However, her ward neighbor substantiated the fact that she also saw Vladyka. The greatest surprise was that under Anna Petrovna's pillow was found a 20 dollar bill. Thus Vladyka left a material evidence of his visit.

Here is another incidence of St. John’s clairvoyance:

Our parishioner, Mr. L.A. Liu recalls, “In San Francisco, my husband, who had been in an automobile accident, was extremely ill. He had lost his equilibrium, and suffered greatly. At that time Vladyka was enduring a multitude of troubles. Knowing the power of Vladyka’s prayers, I thought to myself: If I ask Vladyka to visit my husband, he will recover. However, knowing that Vladyka was so busy, I was hesitant to invite him. Two days passed, and suddenly in came Vladyka, accompanied by his driver, Mr. B.M. Troyan. Vladyka was with us for only 5 minutes, but I began to believe that my husband would recover. After Vladyka’s visit, he endured a crisis, then began to improve. I later saw Mr. Troyan at a Church gathering. He told me that as he was driving Vladyka to the airport, suddenly Vladyka said to him “Let’s go now to the Liu’s.” He had protested that they would be late for the plane. Vladyka said, ”Can you take a man’s life upon yourself?” He had no choice, and drove Vladyka to our home. As it turned out, Vladyka did not miss his flight, for it was delayed.”

This morning, I went to my local Starbucks to enjoy the last coconut milk latte of Lent (observant Orthodox Christians abstain from dairy products during Lent). When I left, one of the baristas was sitting outside on a bench, taking a break. She called me over, and told me that she had read Chapter One of Living In Wonder on the Internet (you can do so here). “It really touched me,” she said. “I study theology at university.”

That’s the chapter in which I tell about the miraculous healing of Ian Norton, a rough-hewn fellow from the East End of London, who experienced deliverance from his heroin habit on the banks of the River Jordan. He subsequently became a Christian. I showed her this photo of Ian from my phone; I met him and heard his story the day after Easter, 2022, in Jerusalem:

It turns out, though, that Julcsi, this young woman, is a fallen-away Catholic. She said she hasn’t been to church in years, because she could not tolerate the corruption and the sexual abuse. I told her my story, but added that Jesus is really and truly present in the liturgy, and that He suffers too from the sins of the priests. I told her that Jesus loves her, and is waiting for her to return with open arms. I asked her to consider going to Easter mass tonight. She seemed hesitant, but I pressed on. Eventually we hugged, and I went back to my place.

I found a single hardback copy of Living In Wonder herein my apartment. I am about to take it over to her now. Please pray for Julcsi, that she will find her way back to Christ. I was thinking when I saw the book on my shelf: This is my only copy; do I really want to surrender it? Then I thought: You idiot, we are talking about a young woman’s soul!

I think St. John Maximovitch, the Wonderworker who was willing to miss a flight to minister to a soul, would have blessed it.

St. John Maximovitch (1896-1966)

It was on this afternoon — Holy Saturday — in Jerusalem, in 2022, that I experienced the Holy Fire miracle. And man, did I ever need it. Precisely one week earlier, I woke up to an e-mail from my wife informing me that she had filed for divorce the day before. We had never spoken of divorce. I showed up in Jerusalem on Palm Sunday as a wreck.

From Living In Wonder:

The next day, Holy Saturday, I went back to the church for the Holy Fire ceremony. All but unknown in the West, this is one of the most important events of the year for Orthodox Christians, especially the Arabs. Since at least the fourth century, Christians have gathered around the tomb of Jesus on this day. The patriarch ritually enters the aedicule, the small chamber built over Christ’s tomb, and prays with two candles before him. A mysterious blue light enters the darkness and lights the candles. This is the miracle of the Holy Fire. The patriarch emerges to general clamor in the basilica and passes the fire to the faithful, all of whom are holding candles and singing hymns. The Orthodox see this as the first light of the resurrection.

A former Orthodox patriarch of Jerusalem, Diodoros, who served from 1981 to 2000, described what happens after he enters the tomb in the darkness:

In the tomb, I say particular prayers that have been handed down to us through the centuries and, having said them, I wait. Sometimes I may wait a few minutes, but normally the miracle happens immediately after I have said the prayers. From the core of the very stone on which Jesus lay an indefinable light pours forth. It usually has a blue tint, but the colour may change and take on many different hues. It cannot be described in human terms. The light rises out of the stone as mist may rise out of a lake—it almost looks as if the stone is covered by a moist cloud, but it is light. . . .

At a certain point the light rises and forms a column in which the fire is of a different nature, so that I am able to light my candles from it. When I thus have received the flame on my candles, I go out and give the fire first to the Armenian Patriarch and then to the Coptic. Thereafter I give the flame to all the people present in the Church.

So, look, I’m Orthodox, I believe in miracles, and I have seen lots of videos of the Holy Fire on YouTube. The fire doesn’t behave like normal flame. You can see clips online of people holding their hands in the flame and not being burned. This effect lasts for the first half hour or so, after which it becomes like normal fire—or so they say. Besides, the Israelis search the patriarch before he enters the aedicule to make sure he’s not carrying matches or a lighter.

Despite all of that, I was skeptical. How could one not be? There have even been some Orthodox clerics in Jerusalem over the years admitting it’s a fake. I expressed my doubts to an Arab Christian woman I had met. She scowled and said, “You’ll see.”

Standing in the crowd of thousands packed inside the ancient church, I watched a joyful mob of Arab Christian men proceed in, some riding the shoulders of others, chanting, “We are the Arab Christians! We have always been Christian, and we always will be!” Monks paraded by, and priests, and, finally, Patriarch Theophilos, the Greek Orthodox bishop of Jerusalem, and the 140th one in a direct line of succession from James, the stepbrother of Christ. All of this history marched by in a frenzy of jostle and acclamation.

And then the patriarch entered the aedicule. The air in the basilica was thick and electric with anticipation. When he emerged bearing the fire in his hands, a bell sounded urgently and the crowd erupted in praise.

The fire passed quickly among the faithful, from candle to candle, each pilgrim’s sheaf of thirty-three blazing up with a thick flame several inches high. I held out my candles when the flame passed me, and with fire four or five inches tall blazing in front of my face, I brought my right hand to the fire, then moved it through slowly.

I felt nothing.

I did it again. Nothing.

Nothing.

Around me, everyone was experiencing the same thing. A Serbian pilgrim from London standing next to me held his lighted candles under his chin, with the flames bathing both of his cheeks. His eyes were wide. He felt nothing. He was not burned. Nobody was.

I kept returning my hands to the fire of my candles—not rushing my palms through, but moving them slowly—and it did not burn. At last I knew that, whatever the debunkers say, this was a true miracle. A Swedish woman in our group took a photo of me holding an icon of the resurrection in one hand, the Holy Fire in the other. In the photo my face looks as bright as the sun, such was my joy. In that moment, the miracle of the Holy Fire burned away all my sorrow in the light of the resurrection.

(And, yes, after some minutes, as we were told would happen, the flames on our candles were normal again: you could not stand to touch them. To foreclose the idea that the candles, which the faithful buy in little shops throughout the Old City, had been specially treated with chemicals, I bought an extra sheaf to take home to America. Back in Louisiana, I lit it with matches—and the flame was impossible to touch from the start.)

I keep the photo from the Holy Fire ceremony on my smartphone to revisit now and then when I am feeling down. Yes, the man in the photo is in defeat and disgrace, but you wouldn’t know it to look at him. You would never know that his marriage had failed. You would never know that he feels crushed by the prospect of returning to America to unwind his life. You would never know that, for a very long time, that man would have preferred to die than to keep living in this grinding way.

No, you see in that photo a blessed man—a man who has just beheld a great miracle in the holiest place on the planet. That man knows that God exists, that Christ is risen, and that he is loved. He is confident that life remains a blessing, although he cannot bless. But he thinks maybe he can bless others, if he tells them the story of how Jesus the Lord is at work making things new and turning suffering to his glory for those who are willing to share in his passion.

This is what the experience of holy wonder can do for you.

Here is the photo the Swedish woman took of me that day, holding the Holy Fire in one hand, and my Orthodox icon of the Resurrection in the other:

That’s what wonder looks like. Here is a short YouTube video of the Holy Fire ceremony … which is happening now in Jerusalem, as I write.

One more quote from Kingsnorth’s essay about Seraphim Rose, the spiritual son of St. John Maximovitch:

The end of Rose’s life, though, was to be the beginning of his reputation, which continues to grow among many who see him as an inspiring and uncompromising example of a genuine, unworldly Christianity. Today, there is a growing thrum of support for the notion that Seraphim was, and is, a saint, and that the Orthodox church should recognize him as one. Whether or not that happens, his life and works seem more and more relevant by the year, as the culture war continues, the materialism of the West intensifies, and as young people in particular begin seeking older, deeper, and more serious forms of faith in order to fill the void of meaning that has opened up around them. The endless political arguments and cultural divisions of the modern West, which seem only to grow, can easily disguise what Rose saw beneath: a spiritual void. Without a wider and deeper meaning to life—which in Rose’s view meant without Christ—only nihilism beckons. More and more people, especially the young, seem to agree.

Yes! We keep hearing reports of more and more young people discovering Christianity — especially what Paul calls “older, deeper, and more serious forms of faith.” If you, reader, have been away from the church, or have never been part of the church, there is no better time than this night, Pascha, to return, or to make your first visit. And if you are curious about Orthodoxy, go tonight to your nearest Orthodox church (you are more likely to hear the liturgy in English if you go to an OCA or Antiochian one, but many other jurisdictions also celebrate in English). There will be a crowd there. You will not be set apart or looked at. Be present, and see what worship in the still-living ancient church is. It will change your life.

You might be one of those “lost Americans” (or of any nationality) of whom Kingsnorth writes. If you are prepared to be found … you will be. But you have to want it, because it’s going to cost you something. But what will you gain? God! Life!

Go to church for Easter, friends. Jesus is waiting for you. In the Orthodox churches this night, all around the world, we will hear the famous Paschal sermon of St. John Chrysostom, Patriarch of Constantinople, who died in the year 407. It celebrates the gift of abundance given freely by Our Lord to all called to His feast:

If any man be devout and love God, let him enjoy this fair and radiant triumphal feast. If any man be a wise servant, let him rejoicing enter into the joy of his Lord. If any have labored long in fasting, let him now receive his recompense. If any have wrought from the first hour, let him today receive his just reward. If any have come at the third hour, let him with thankfulness keep the feast. If any have arrived at the sixth hour, let him have no misgivings; because he shall in nowise be deprived thereof. If any have delayed until the ninth hour, let him draw near, fearing nothing. If any have tarried even until the eleventh hour, let him, also, be not alarmed at his tardiness; for the Lord, who is jealous of his honor, will accept the last even as the first; He gives rest unto him who comes at the eleventh hour, even as unto him who has wrought from the first hour.

And He shows mercy upon the last, and cares for the first; and to the one He gives, and upon the other He bestows gifts. And He both accepts the deeds, and welcomes the intention, and honors the acts and praises the offering. Wherefore, enter you all into the joy of your Lord; and receive your reward, both the first, and likewise the second. You rich and poor together, hold high festival. You sober and you heedless, honor the day. Rejoice today, both you who have fasted and you who have disregarded the fast. The table is full-laden; feast ye all sumptuously. The calf is fatted; let no one go hungry away.

Enjoy ye all the feast of faith: Receive ye all the riches of loving-kindness. let no one bewail his poverty, for the universal kingdom has been revealed. Let no one weep for his iniquities, for pardon has shown forth from the grave. Let no one fear death, for the Savior’s death has set us free. He that was held prisoner of it has annihilated it. By descending into Hell, He made Hell captive. He embittered it when it tasted of His flesh. And Isaiah, foretelling this, did cry: Hell, said he, was embittered, when it encountered Thee in the lower regions. It was embittered, for it was abolished. It was embittered, for it was mocked. It was embittered, for it was slain. It was embittered, for it was overthrown. It was embittered, for it was fettered in chains. It took a body, and met God face to face. It took earth, and encountered Heaven. It took that which was seen, and fell upon the unseen.

O Death, where is your sting? O Hell, where is your victory? Christ is risen, and you are overthrown. Christ is risen, and the demons are fallen. Christ is risen, and the angels rejoice. Christ is risen, and life reigns. Christ is risen, and not one dead remains in the grave. For Christ, being risen from the dead, is become the first fruits of those who have fallen asleep. To Him be glory and dominion unto ages of ages. Amen.

This is for you too, you know. It really is.