Hieromartyr Anatoly Zhurakovsky: “The zeal of Thine house hath eaten me up...”

May 23, 1927

 

 

Before us is Jerusalem, the majestic Temple, gleaming with white columns and gold; priests in white garments solemnly, with censers in hand, perform their service to the Lord. Everything is filled to capacity, a multitude of people. The singing of hymns and chants resounds in the air. But amid these sounds, which offer praise to the Lord, there is a mingling of some noise, some shouting that disrupts the solemnity and harmony of the service to the Creator. What is it? It turns out that right here, in the courtyard, are housed merchants selling doves and animals, filling the air with their cries. Here takes place the selling of animals intended for sacrifice, here there is buying and selling, money exchange, deceit, lies.

And what about the priest, the Pharisees, the teachers? They not only pass by, but some stop and themselves take part in this buying and selling — they themselves have a vested interest in it. True, there are some who find this inappropriate, but they are shamefully silent. And indeed, what can they do, when the majority of the merchants are relatives of the high priest Annas?

But behold, at the gates appear new worshippers. Their garments are covered with dust, their faces sunburnt and weathered. They have come from afar, from Galilee. Leading them is One to whom the others show signs of special respect and reverence. His face is full of goodness and mercy. They make their way further. Suddenly, He stops abruptly, struck by the cries of animals and the clinking of coins. His face is instantly transformed — the eyes, until now full of kindness and meekness, are now filled with indignation and wrath; His most pure hands, whose touch heals illness, which work wonders, raise the dead — swiftly begin to bind cords into a whip, with which He drives out the animals. He overturns the tables with the money, which fall with a crash and roll into the corners of the temple, and with a voice in which strength and authority are felt, He turns to the merchants and says: “Take these things hence; make not My Father’s house an house of merchandise” (John 2:16). And all obey. All feel the authority, the power of this young rabbi, still unknown to anyone, who, along with His words, overthrows all their traditions and customs upheld from time immemorial. Coming to their senses, the Jews asked whether He had the authority to do this. He answered: “Destroy this temple, and in three days I will raise it up” (John 2:19). The Jews did not understand. The Pharisees, the teachers, harbored malice within themselves — they would not forgive this humiliation before the people If I were an architect, I would depict this scene on the doors of the temple: Him, with a face full of wrath; the frightened faces of the merchants; and the hidden malice and hatred in the eyes of the Pharisee-teachers. And what next? The parishioners would come, bow down, kiss it. And then? They would grow accustomed. For people, while kissing the Cross, forget the Crucified; people kiss the Gospel without pondering or remembering the truths written in it, and do not fulfill His commandments.

The times have passed, those who lived with Him have vanished, the Temple of Jerusalem is destroyed. In its place a new temple has been built — our Church... But what has changed within? The same trafficking in the temple, the same buying and selling, the same clinking of money. The clergy, just as then, are majestic in their vestments and servile toward those in power. The same falsehood, the same deceit penetrates here, beyond the threshold of the temple. True, animals are no longer offered as sacrifices, but the Sacrifice of the Lord Himself is offered. There, beyond the Royal Doors, is not merely the Holy of Holies — there is the very Throne of God Himself, leading us to Heaven. And yet, even beyond those Royal Doors creep lies, and uncleanness, and clots of human passions. I shall say nothing of my own today, but will bring forth the words of a hierarch venerated equally with John Chrysostom and Basil the Great — the words of Gregory the Theologian. He succeeded in establishing Orthodoxy in Constantinople, then full of heresies. One might think he had only to rejoice — but it was precisely then that he came to the decision to withdraw, and seeing the abomination, the falsehood, the servility, the complete misunderstanding of the lofty station to which the clergy are called, he bitterly utters these words: “Was it not in vain, O Lord, that Thou camest to earth and gavest Thy most pure hands to be nailed, for all this to be done now?”

Yes, the holy hierarch must have endured and suffered greatly to say this. I cannot add anything to it. I would wish to lessen it — but that too I cannot.

When, before the great feasts, people see hundreds around the church, they speak with joy and pride: “Look, there are still believers, entire hundreds — you can't even get inside!” But what about the thousands, the millions who have gone off to distant places — where are they? Do they not trouble you? Those who do not come even for Matins? Our sisters and brothers, our children — we have lost them all. Where are they?

They say the present time is to blame, the time of persecution... Yes, propaganda — and a great deal of propaganda — has been waged against the Church for ten whole years. But the work of building up the Church — was it carried out for only ten years? Was it not as though for hundreds, a thousand or more? And has it all come to nothing? Whose fault is this?

Yes — ours, and only ours. It is we, the clergy, who pushed them away, who failed to respond to the needs of their souls. They say the worst have left, and the best have remained. That is a lie. Many, many people with very good, honest, sensitive souls have departed. Why is it that, in private life, when a doctor prepares for a serious operation, he is filled with attention, with tension? Why does an artist, as he begins his creation, feel full of trembling, of rapture? And the priest, preparing for his service and prayer?... The most educated, the most cultured people say that neither art nor science can give such rapture, such intensity and happiness as only prayer can. Only here, in the church, can we know what beauty and happiness truly are. Why, then, do those who come by chance into the church from afar not perceive this beauty and feel none of this rapture? Very simply — because they are no longer in our present churches. Priests conduct the services coldly, carelessly, with omissions; into the sanctuary has entered the same falsehood, the same trading spirit, the same uncleanness as in the time of Jesus Christ. These chance travelers, standing for a little while, begin to feel such boredom, such despondency, that they go away even farther into a distant land. We love to come to church to stand by the wall and weep. Life is so hard for us. We want to find peace here. We are weary. We close our eyes, stop our ears, so as not to see or hear the strife and quarrels taking place in the Church. “What concern is it of yours? You cannot do anything anyway, so just stand and weep, so as not to be known as troublesome people who meddle in matters not their own.” When Jesus Christ drove out the merchants from the temple, the disciples remembered that it was written: “The zeal of Thine house hath eaten Me up” (Psalm 68:10; John 2:17). This, of course, speaks not of that zeal which is the companion of base passion, but of the zeal of a higher love — a love that cares for the beloved, is jealous for his good, for his benefit. Jesus Christ proved through His actions of zeal for the temple that in His veins flowed not water, as in those who, though inwardly disagreeing, pass mutely and submissively by those who trade in the temple. Jesus Christ, at the end of today’s Gospel, gives consolation: “Destroy this temple, and in three days I will raise it up.”

He speaks of a new Temple, of the New Jerusalem, and we shall pray to God that He may grant us a place therein. Amen.

 

About Hieromartyr Anatoly: Zhurakovsky Anatoly Evgenyevich, priest. Born in 1897. In 1920, he graduated from Kiev University and was ordained a priest. In 1923, he was exiled to the Mari region. In 1924, he returned to Kiev and became rector of the church of St. Great Martyr Barbara at the church of St. Nicholas the Good in Podol. In 1928, he did not recognize the declaration of Metropolitan Sergius (Stragorodsky) and joined the Josephites. Arrested in 1930 in the case of the All-Union Center of the True Orthodox (Catacomb) Church. Sentenced to execution by firing squad, commuted to 10 years in a concentration camp. On December 3, 1937, he was executed.

 

Russian source: https://golos.ruspole.info/node/6274