Irina Gurova
I first learned of Saint John,
the Wonderworker of Shanghai and San Francisco, from the book by Hieromonk
Seraphim (Rose) and Abbot Herman (Podmoshensky), Blessed John the
Wonderworker, published in Moscow in 1993. This was about a year after my
baptism, and the book was the first in Russia about Saint John. It was
impossible not to love him after the very first reading of the book… And then,
over the course of 30 years, I reread it, either in its entirety or in separate
fragments, many times, so that the condition of the book can no longer be
called good, especially since it has a soft cover, and in those days the paper
used was usually not of the best quality.
I remember my joy when a large
full-length icon of Saint John appeared in the Church of Saint Nicholas in
Pyzhi. From that time on, whenever I was there, I tried to place candles not
only before Saint Nicholas the Wonderworker and the Tsar-Martyr Nicholas, but
also before dear Vladyka John. However, I cannot recall praying to him about
anything specific during the 25 years after becoming acquainted with him
through the book. For the most part, briefly: “Holy Father John, pray to God
for us!”
Only from 2019 did I begin often
to turn to him in various sorrows and illnesses and to receive swift help from
the Lord through the prayers of the Saint. That summer, with great delay, I
read an announcement that a part of Saint John’s belt had been brought to the
Church of the Great-Martyr Catherine on Vspolye, and that after the Liturgy on
his feast day (July 2 N.S.) it would be taken back to San Francisco. At that
period, by the mercy of God, I continued to travel to services at the
Marfo-Mariinsky Convent, although for a year already an old illness had sharply
worsened and new ones had appeared. In 2019, July 2 fell on a Tuesday. The Lord
vouchsafed me on that day to be at the Liturgy and to partake of the Holy
Mysteries of Christ at the convent. And from there one can walk to the American
Metochion, which I did, in the hope of still finding the holy object
there. Despite the multitude of those who wished to venerate it, I managed to
venerate the belt of Vladyka John, and afterward all those present joyfully
heard that it would not be taken away that day, but would be left at the metochion
until August 13. And by the mercy of God, that summer I was able to come
again to venerate the holy object, and I acquired oil blessed on the relics of
the Saint in San Francisco. Then, too, I received manifest help from Vladyka
John in an illness that had tormented me for more than two months, and in a
difficult situation at work. And subsequently there were many instances of his
grace-filled help.
However, now I would like to tell
about one event on the eve of the feast of the Transfiguration of the Lord in
that same year, 2019. Without doubt, our faith must not be based on miracles.
Strictly speaking, they are not needed for it. The Lord can work them for the
strengthening of faith, for the conversion of unbelievers, when He considers it
necessary. We can read about this in many lives of the saints. But often a
miracle is God’s answer to a person crying out for help in misfortune, illness,
and grievous circumstances, and not simply to one who wishes to see some sign.
I remember the words from Holy Scripture: “It is good to keep close the secret
of a king, but it is glorious to reveal the works of God” (Tob. 12:7). But it
is very difficult to speak about such “works” of the ineffable mercy of the
Lord, manifested in multitude even upon me, sinful and unworthy, even about the
smallest portion of them.
About this incident, when
obviously and in the shortest time the “order of nature was violated,” I, a
person with a natural-scientific education, had long wished to tell, but I did
not dare, it did not work out, and so forth. And in August of last year, I
promised Saint John to write it down and send it to Pravoslavie.Ru (of course,
after yet another instance of his intercession before the Lord). And still, I
could not begin. Even now I cannot manage to set it forth well, but even if it
comes out “awkwardly,” it is necessary to fulfill the promise. Lord, bless!
On the evening of August 18,
2019, on the eve of the feast of the Transfiguration of the Lord, I returned
from church rather late, and I needed to prepare something for supper for the
household, fry fish for the next day, wash and prepare grapes and apples for
blessing, and still manage to do some household tasks. And most importantly, to
prepare for Holy Communion: the Transfiguration of the Lord is my favorite
feast after the Bright Resurrection of Christ and His Nativity. Of course, I
was hurrying: I wanted to do things faster, I was taking up several household
tasks at once, although I know that this leads to nothing good. Thus, I turned
on a burner of the electric stove to high power and put an empty frying pan on
it so that it would heat up, but I was distracted by something else and
completely forgot about it. A great deal of time passed, and in the process of
cooking I needed to put a pot on that burner (it is the most conveniently
located). Seeing that an empty frying pan was “simply standing” on it, I
decided to move it farther away. Here a comment is unavoidable: this frying pan
is made of stainless steel, with very thick sides and bottom (about 5 mm),
still of Soviet manufacture. Such ones have not been produced for a long time.
My mother gave it to me in the 1980s, and she may have bought it even earlier.
But the fastening of the handle was not very strong, and by the time of the
events being described it had long since fallen off. And so, in order to free
the needed burner, I tightly grasped this empty, red-hot frying pan with both
hands (all 10 fingers of my hands were involved in this), lifted it, and moved
it to the far burner. I did not slide it, but lifted it and held it for some
short time before setting it down. During those moments I felt rapidly
increasing pain, but still I did not throw it or drop it, but lowered it onto
the stove (it has a glass-ceramic surface).
After that everything was
measured, it seems, in fractions of a second, according to my subjective
sensation, of course: the increase of the sharpest pain, the realization of the
situation, horror at the prospects, and an involuntary inward, silent cry to
Saint John. Simultaneously with this, I rushed into the room, managed to seize
the little bottle with oil blessed on his holy relics, unscrew the cap, and
abundantly anoint, or rather even pour it over, the burned fingers.
Now again I will have to make a
digression, necessary for understanding the situation. The matter is that I
always, even from the most insignificant momentary touches to the surface of a
hot kettle or pot, would get blisters on my skin, which then turned into little
wounds that took a long time to heal. The same thing happened when drops of
boiling water fell on me, even if some time had passed after boiling. And yet
the temperature of the water and of the kettle (if all the water has not boiled
away) is only 100 degrees Celsius [212°F], and sometimes even lower. I do not
remember ever managing in such cases to get away with first-degree burns. This
peculiarity of the skin, apparently, was inherited from my mother. My husband
used to say ironically: “You get calluses from a bath broom.” And in fact such
things did happen…
But here there was a red-hot
empty steel frying pan. Probably one could look for data in order somehow to
estimate and assess the temperature of the metal, but I do not see the need for
this. That it was significantly, many times, higher than 100 degrees is
obvious. What thoughts flashed through my mind in those moments? What was I
hoping for when, in a silent cry, I turned to Saint John: “Help!”? It is
difficult to answer these questions. Probably that, perhaps, through the
prayers of the Saint at least a little “living place” would remain on my hands.
And all this was taking place in so brief a time that any reasoning and
analysis of the situation in the usual sense were simply impossible.
Returning to the kitchen, I sat
down on a stool and tried somehow to pray… The strongest pain gradually began
to weaken, starting with the main, “working” fingers: the thumbs and index
fingers. The more “delicate” ones—the ring fingers and little fingers—hurt
longer. But they too began to hurt less when the “working” fingers had stopped
hurting altogether. It is very difficult to describe this, especially almost 7
years later. But I can testify reliably: after 30 minutes (perhaps even a
little less), not a trace of the pain remained! And what is especially
astonishing—there were no visible signs of a burn on my hands: no wounds, no
blisters, not even a slight reddening of the skin. The fingers did not hurt and
looked as usual.
Not only now, but even then, I
would not have been able to describe what I felt. It seems impossible to do
this with the words of our native, mighty, and rich, yet still earthly,
language. To put it very crudely, together with the feeling of immeasurable
gratitude to God and to Saint John, I felt fear that just now, directly upon
myself, I had visibly observed and felt how the “order of nature is violated.”
That evening I managed to do
everything that was required and that I had planned…
Since then, there have also been
other instances of the wondrous help of dear Saint John. But now I wanted to
tell precisely about this episode with the red-hot frying pan, and I fear that
it turned out badly. With the passage of time, the awareness grows stronger that
such a miracle, even one in an entire lifetime, ought to lead to a radical
change, to the correction of one’s life, in essence—even to holiness. It ought
to, but—alas… And this is frightening.
O God, be merciful to me, a
sinner!
Holy Hierarch Father John, pray
to God for us!
Irina Gurova
July 2, 2026
Russian source: https://pravoslavie.ru/178692.html
No comments:
Post a Comment
Note: Only a member of this blog may post a comment.