One Little Suitcase

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     You may have noticed that Fr. Seraphim's Orthodox Word magazine did not copy articles from other English magazines, such as Orthodox Life magazine.  With one rare exception: Metr. Philaret's "Sorrowful Epistles," because these were so important.  Fr. Herman's Platina kept this policy after Fr. Seraphim died, to include the Tree of Life magazine that was published by the HOOM cult that Fr. Herman was then leading into (vagante) Orthodoxy.   I threw out all my Tree of Life magazines when I found Orthodoxy, never realizing that some of the stories would be lost to me forever.  

     One such story I've missed all these years is the story, "One Little Suitcase."  But now I have found it on a Russian website.  We know that Fr. Seraphim also sent materials to Russia, and apparently a biography of St. John was sent to Russia with information that we never had in English, except maybe in bits & pieces such as in the Tree of Life magazine.  

     Lesna nun Zinaida Yulem (Julem) wrote her memories of St. John while she was confined to a hospital bed.  Probably in the 1980s.  Copied below is her memory of the "one little suitcase."  I  have filled in a most important line I remember well, that did not come through in this Russian website version:  "...not even one little suitcase."

https://azbyka.ru/otechnik/Serafim_Rouz/blazhennyj-svjatitel-ioann-chudotvorets/1_12

. . .  Later, we had to endure much sorrow and grief.  Even the atmosphere in the church seemed to dim. A new priest was appointed who had evidently been instructed not to trust Blessed John.

  One fine day, we received joyful news from Father Mitrofan.  He wrote that our dear Blessed John was planning to visit and wished to stay in the cell he loved so much.  I began preparing for his arrival, and soon everything was ready.  We eagerly awaited his visit, however brief it might be.  Finally, he arrived, and I ran to him to receive his blessing.  He headed toward the altar, while I hurried to help carry his belongings up to his cell.   Later, he came out of the altar and wanted to go up to his room. 

  I asked, "Your Eminence, I am about to make some coffee.  Shall I bring it to you?" 

  "No, Zina, don't trouble yourself.  I will come down and have it with you all.  Call me when it’s ready."

  Ten minutes later, everything was ready.  I went up the stairs from the kitchen, passed through the corridor between the staircase and the church, and called out to the Archbishop.  He came out and began to descend.  At that moment, the newly appointed superior also emerged from his cell upstairs and started coming down, but he stopped three steps from the bottom.  Glaring sternly at me, he said, "His Eminence will have his coffee in his cell."

  I immediately objected, pointing out that His Eminence had specifically expressed a wish to have his coffee downstairs.  But the superior repeated, even more sternly, "I am telling you that he will have his coffee in his cell.  I am in charge here; I give the orders!"

  These words hit me like a knife, I covered my face with my hands and froze, unable to look at either Blessed John or the abbot.  Finally, I looked at my dear blessed John.  He stood with his hands and head down.  A few seconds later he began to slowly climb the steps, entered his cell and locked himself.  I went to the kitchen, prepared everything, put it on a tray and brought it upstairs.  Since I couldn’t go in to see him, I left everything on the table in the next room.  After that, I immediately rushed home:  I couldn’t stand it anymore.  About an hour later I returned to the temple, opened the door and immediately stepped back: in the corridor and throughout the temple it was dark and cold, like a tomb.  My heart sank and the thought immediately flashed: grace has left us!

  I rushed upstairs and opened the door to his cell without knocking.  It was empty!  Tearfully, I sank to the floor and began to pray, asking God for Blessed John’s return.  Then I began to sob aloud: "Oh, my dear Bishop!  Why did you leave me?! Why did you leave me?!  Why have I been left with nothing of yours?  Not even one little suitcase."

  I lay on the floor in that state for a long time.  Finally, I stood up, walked out of the room mechanically, and stopped when I reached the stairs.  Suddenly, I heard the door below opening slowly; Blessed John entered — his head bowed again, as if in guilt, a small suitcase in his hand.  He climbed the stairs and entered his cell.  I followed him in silence; he set the suitcase on the floor and said, "Here, I have brought a little suitcase for you!"

  And at that very moment, everything within me grew bright!  It was as if he had never left us.  Oh Lord, there was my dear one!  He had returned — having sensed in spirit that I was weeping — wearing an expression of such contrition, as if to say he felt terrible about having caused anyone pain.  It is a terrible thing to wound a man of God.  When he had departed, grace had left the church; but once he forgave everything, grace returned.  True, he never stayed with us again after that; instead, he would stay with a priest of the French Orthodox Church whose wife was gravely ill at the time.  

  She had a malignant brain tumor, and Blessed John prayed for her recovery, and she was healed. He lived in Paris for a time then—this was his final visit to us, in 1965—and the following year, 1966, he left us for good. As for that rector, he later regretted his actions and publicly repented that he hated Blessed John at the suggestion of the enemy.  But it was already too late.

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 I do not know when Zinaida died.  Probably circa 1990.  Certainly her soul would delight in being commemorated at true ROCOR altar (Agafangel) or a Sister Church.  Please do not do her the disservice of having her commemorated at a world-Orthodox altar, or in the ROCOR-MP, which is now in world-Orthodoxy whether they realize it or not.