A Sketch of the Early Years of the Life of Our First Hierarch, Metropolitan Philaret

Archbishop Nathanael (Lvov) (+1986)

 

 

In the old Russian Lives of the Saints and chronicles, it is often said of those whose lives are recounted by the hagiographer: “He was a good branch from a good root.” One feels inclined to apply these words to our First Hierarch, Metropolitan Philaret.

His father, Archpriest Fr Nicholas Voznesensky, who later embraced monasticism and became Archbishop of Hailar, was one of the finest, if not the finest, of all the clergy of the Far Eastern Diocese of Manchuria, which was rich in good pastors.

A graduate of the Moscow Theological Academy, Fr Nicholas impressed others by the depth and breadth of his extensive theological and scholarly knowledge. He compiled the finest textbooks on the Law of God, from which Russian young people throughout the Far East were educated. It should be noted that in the Far East the Law of God was taught not in an abbreviated but in an expanded form, compared with the way it had been taught in old pre-revolutionary Russia.

Fr Nicholas Voznesensky moved to Harbin from Blagoveshchensk, a city on the Manchurian border, as soon as power in the Amur region passed into the hands of the Bolsheviks. In Harbin, Fr Nicholas became rector of the large and splendid Iveron Church, which before the Revolution had been the church of the Trans-Amur Military District.

If not already in Blagoveshchensk, then soon after arriving in Harbin, Fr Nicholas lost his dearly beloved wife and assumed full responsibility for raising his family—two sons and three daughters.

Fr Nicholas’s family was permeated by a radiant, genuinely Orthodox, deeply ecclesial spirit. The writer of these lines was a friend of the entire family. What a rich variety of interests occupied everyone in that household! What varied and profound subjects were discussed around the tea table in the cozy rector’s house beside the Iveron Church!

It was in this grace-filled atmosphere that the boy Yura first grew up, then the student Georgy Nikolaevich Voznesensky, who while still a young man became Father Georgy and soon afterward Father Philaret, and who is now our First Hierarch, His Eminence Metropolitan Philaret.

Harbin was an exceptional phenomenon at that time. Built by Russians on Chinese territory, it remained a typical Russian provincial city for another twenty-five years after the Revolution. Harbin had twenty-six Orthodox churches, twenty-two of them actual church buildings, an entire network of secondary schools, and six institutions of higher education. By the mercy of God, Harbin continued normal pre-revolutionary Russian life for a quarter of a century.

Even China’s recognition of the Soviet government in 1924, the transfer of the railway into Soviet hands together with all the rights previously enjoyed in Manchuria by the Imperial Russian government, and the appearance in Harbin of emissaries from Moscow—all this altered the way of life in Harbin relatively little, and only superficially.

Most noticeable was the cessation of material support for the Church on the part of the railway administration, and the Soviet authorities’ takeover of some of the institutions of higher and secondary education in Harbin and Manchuria.

There were many secondary schools and institutions of higher education in Harbin. But Harbin lacked one thing: there was no institution of higher theological education.

There was a Polytechnic Institute, a Faculty of Law, a Commercial Institute, an Institute of Oriental Languages, and a Pedagogical Institute. For a time, there was also a Faculty of Medicine, which was closed because of insufficient funds for equipment.

But there was no theological school. And many thought that there was no need for one—that there were no young men in Harbin who wished to become clergymen. Yura Voznesensky was among the very first. From his earliest childhood he loved the Church with fervent and devoted love. From his father he heard such profound and inspired testimony concerning the Church, grounded in broad scholarly learning. Reading the works of the Holy Fathers attentively and lovingly, he became, in the fullest sense of the word, thoroughly imbued with them.

He loved mathematics for its pure and dispassionate clarity. Therefore, in the absence of a theological school, he entered the Polytechnic Institute and graduated from it with distinction.

But his thirst for theological knowledge remained unsatisfied.

Fr Nicholas began making arrangements for his son to pursue theological studies outside Harbin. The young engineer G. N. Voznesensky was accepted into an American theological institute in Wisconsin. His admission, however, was subject to certain restrictions, and in the end Georgy Nikolaevich had to abandon the plan.

Another young candidate for the priesthood tried to avail himself of this opportunity, but he too was unable to do so. Several years later, when he spoke with regret about this to the famous Serbian hierarch and preacher, Bishop Nikolai of Ohrid, the latter said to him: “Thank God for that... It took me eight years to unlearn what I had learned in two years at an English theological school.”

After this failure, Fr Nicholas began working to establish a theological school in Harbin. Indeed, the opportunity offered by the Americans had revealed that, besides G. Voznesensky, there were other young men in Harbin who wished to prepare themselves for ecclesiastical service.

Eventually, Fr Nicholas Voznesensky succeeded in establishing the Pastoral-Theological Courses, which were immediately recognized by the Synod of Bishops as a fully accredited institution of higher theological education, although the Manchurian government did not recognize them as such until several years later.

Fr Nicholas was the driving force behind these Courses. He was chairman of the Academic Council and lectured on Holy Scripture, Church History, and Apologetics. But the other professors and instructors of the Theological Courses were likewise distinguished and engaging. For the most part, they were professors from the Kazan Theological Academy. Fifteen subjects were taught at the Courses. There were fourteen students in the first graduating class and eleven in the second. Almost without exception, all the students pursued their studies with fervor, diligence, and self-sacrifice.

Upon entering these Courses, G. Voznesensky immediately distinguished himself as the best student. At that time he was also ordained to the diaconate as a celibate—that is, without marrying and without becoming a monk. Some time later he became a priest under the same status.

Meanwhile, His Grace Nestor, Bishop of Kamchatka, who was living in Harbin but was not part of the diocese and occupied an independent position, established at that time the so-called House of Mercy—an orphanage for children and a home for the elderly.

A splendid church was built at the House of Mercy. There arose a need for clergy. In 1929, Bishop Nestor tonsured as a monk one of the students of the Theological Courses, who was a friend of Fr Georgy Voznesensky. Fr Georgy began visiting the House of Mercy and, after some time, decided to embrace monasticism, settling there with the hieromonk who was already living there. At his tonsure, Fr Georgy received the name Philaret. By this act, the foundation was laid for a monastic community at the House of Mercy.

Fr Philaret lived with his friend in the same cell for eight years, and recently, recalling that period, he said to the nuns of the Lesna Convent in France: “Fr N. N. and I lived for eight years in the same cell and never once quarreled.”

The two young monks took turns serving the daily divine services in the church, recited the prescribed liturgical prayer rules, and read the Holy Fathers. However, they did not yet have a proper understanding of specifically monastic services such as the Midnight Office and Compline.

But in 1930, two monks of the Holy Trinity Monastery, the so-called Shmakovka Monastery, fled from the Maritime Province. This was the sacred lavra of the Far East, founded at the very end of the nineteenth century by the great Spirit-bearing ascetics, Fathers Sergius and Herman. The monastery was situated halfway between Khabarovsk and Vladivostok, twenty kilometers from the Shmakovka railway station. Since the founders of the monastery had been tonsured at Valaam, the Valaam typikon was introduced in the monastery they founded.

The monastery had an extensive economy, with workshops for sewing, shoemaking, metalworking, carpentry, and blacksmithing. It had a printing press and a bindery. Through its books, the monastery enlightened the entire Russian Far East. There was also an apiary and a livestock yard, with a special section for breeding deer for their antlers. There were greenhouses and nurseries where, under the direction of Abbot Sergius, a graduate of the Higher Agronomic Institute, the monks acclimatized for the Far East all kinds of vegetable and fruit-bearing plants from Russia. There was a candle factory and a school. The number of monks and novices reached as many as 300. The monastery owned 3,753 desyatinas of land, for the most part remote, virgin, semi-tropical taiga of the Maritime Province.

Most importantly, there was a lofty ascetic spiritual life there, toward which Orthodox souls from throughout the Far East who desired “the ascetic life” were drawn as to a bright beacon. Among the brethren were not only Russians, but also Orthodox Chinese, Koreans, and several Japanese.

All of this was utterly destroyed by the Communists in 1926. The monastery was closed, the monks dispersed, and its economic enterprises seized and collectivized. Yet within two years nothing remained of them: the deer died out, and the acclimatized nurseries degenerated.

The widowed priest Fr Vasily Bystrov—later the late Archimandrite Innokenty of the Novo-Korennaya Hermitage in Mahopac—and the novice Brother Andrei, who had lived at the Shmakovka Monastery, fled to Manchuria four years after its closure, seeking refuge with Bishop Nestor, whom they knew from the bishop’s frequent visits to the Shmakovka Monastery.

Fr Vasily and Brother Andrei, who was soon tonsured a monk with the name Clement, settled in a room next to that of Fr Philaret and the other hieromonk. Fr Vasily and Fr Clement introduced into the monastic community of the House of Mercy, which had thus grown in number, a monastic rule modeled on that of Shmakovka—that is, on the Valaam rule.

The monks rose at 4:30 in the morning. At 5:00 they read the Midnight Office. Then came the Liturgy, which they served in turn. On Mondays and Tuesdays Fr Philaret served; on Wednesdays and Thursdays, his friend; and on Fridays and Saturdays, Fr Vasily Bystrov. On Sundays Bishop Nestor served together with all the clergy of the House of Mercy.

In the evening, after supper, the monks celebrated Compline. At Compline a canon was read, and during the canon an akathist. Their spiritual zeal led these monks to seek out what other prayer services might also be added to those already being performed.

From the end of Compline until the completion of the Midnight Office, all conversation whatsoever was strictly forbidden.

Spiritual fervor is always contagious. Church-loving young men began to gather around the young monks of the House of Mercy and were gradually drawn into monastic life. Some of them received monastic tonsure. By the mid-1930s, the monastic community of the House of Mercy already numbered nine monks.

Among them we should mention Fr Philaret’s close friend, Hieromonk Methodius (in the world, Kirill Iogel), who later became an outstanding preacher and died at a very young age. We should also mention Fr Nil, in the world K. Nosov, a self-sacrificing young man who in 1934–35 secretly crossed into Russia on anti-Communist assignments for Harbin patriotic organizations. He too died very young, after catching a severe chill and contracting tuberculosis because, while returning from one of his visits to Russia, he had been forced to remain sitting in the cold waters of the Amur River in the month of October. We should also mention the Orthodox Chinese priest Fr Elias, who organized a candle factory at the House of Mercy.

In 1932, Fr Philaret, together with the scouts of the Harbin troop, set out on foot for Maoershan Station, 107 kilometers away, where a summer camp was to be established.

The troop covered this distance in three days. On the first day they walked 40 kilometers, on the second 35, and on the third they expected to walk 28 kilometers, because, owing to the difference between versts and kilometers, the scouts had mistakenly been told that the distance from Harbin to Maoershan was 103 kilometers rather than 107.

It was precisely those last extra four kilometers that seemed especially difficult to the young men and children making the journey. The weather was hot and dry.

For a long time there had been neither river nor spring along the way. All the water in their canteens had been drunk. They were tormented by unbearable thirst. Suddenly a little pool of water came into view—a small marsh.

“Fr Philaret,” the children’s voices cried out, “bless the water, and then we’ll drink from the puddle and nothing will happen to us.”

Fr Philaret recited the Our Father and blessed it as “drink for the servants of God.”

The scouts rushed to the water.

“Fr Philaret, I swallowed a tadpole!” cried one little boy.

“It’s all right; the water is blessed. ‘If they drink any deadly thing, it shall not hurt them,’ it says in Scripture,” Scout Semyon, one of the regular attendees at the monastic services of the House of Mercy, explained sagely.

Then, during the last “extra” kilometers before Maoershan Station, when the children were utterly exhausted, sitting down and refusing to get up, suddenly Fr Philaret’s voice was heard, at first softly, singing alone: “Having passed through the water as though it were dry land, and having escaped the evil of Egypt...” The sacred words were immediately taken up by the children, almost half of whom sang in church choirs. A spark of renewed courage passed over their tired faces. They pulled themselves together and, singing the sacred irmoi, made their way to Maoershan Station, where they were met by another work party that had arrived by train.

At the camp, Fr Philaret and his friend, with the help of the scouts, built a field church woven from branches. There they celebrated the monastic services of the Midnight Office and Compline every day, the All-Night Vigil on Saturdays, and the Divine Liturgy on Sundays.

They also went on long hikes with the scouts. Especially interesting was a hike to Mount Maoershan, when they visited an old Chinese Buddhist monastery and found a cave in which they discovered tracks of an ancient saber-toothed tiger—a machairodus—imprinted in the clay.

In addition to the scout camp, Fr Philaret also provided spiritual care for a similar camp belonging to another youth organization that was a rival of the scouts.

Not far from the scout camp there was a large raspberry garden belonging to a Chinese merchant, who invited the scouts into his garden and admitted them for ten cents per person. The children could eat as many raspberries as they wished on the spot, but were not permitted to take any away with them.

One day Fr Philaret went with the children to the raspberry garden. Before beginning to eat the raspberries, Fr Philaret made the sign of the Cross. The boys followed his example, and one of the little Wolf Cubs remarked: “How good it is that the priests are with us; before, we used to gobble up the raspberries without crossing ourselves.”

Seeing how some of the children greedily threw themselves upon the raspberries and began quarreling over them, Fr Philaret said:

“We are now indulging without restraint in these delicious berries, but the ancient Holy Fathers did not regard such things in this way. Once, admirers of a certain holy hermit brought him as a gift a large bunch of ripe, sweet grapes. The holy father thanked those who had brought it, but did not eat it himself; instead, he sent the grapes to a neighboring hermit. He did the same. And all the holy fathers of the desert acted likewise. In the end, the bunch of grapes returned to the first hermit, and he rejoiced that all the hermits of that desert had proved so temperate.”

“And what became of the bunch of grapes?” one scout asked.

“I do not know, but I think the first hermit squeezed the juice from it and used that juice, once it had become wine, to celebrate the Liturgy,” Fr Philaret said.

“So does that mean we are not allowed to eat raspberries?” another little boy asked disappointedly.

“No, children, eat the raspberries and enjoy them. But do not give yourselves over to them with your whole soul. Do not become enslaved either to raspberries or to any other food. Eat with your mouth and stomach, but do not surrender your soul to it. I told you about the ancient hermits, those great heroes of the spirit, not in order to spoil your appetite for raspberries, but to remind you that our teachers and models for life are not those who become enslaved to bodily instincts, but those who knew how to master them—those who did not touch the delicious grapes, although of course they wanted to eat them no less than we want to eat these raspberries, but who knew how to subordinate their desires to the striving for ascetic struggle and to concern for their neighbor. That is what we must learn from them.”

* * *

To a considerable extent under the influence of Fr Philaret, the principal reading in the community of the House of Mercy consisted of the works of the Holy Fathers. The young monks sought to nourish their souls with these holy teachings and radiant examples.

All the monastics of the House of Mercy were deeply impressed by the Holy Fathers’ injunction to be as considerate as possible toward one another. It is related that one of the ancient monks would sometimes sit lounging back with one leg crossed over the other, which was not in keeping with monastic decorum. Not wishing to offend their brother by correcting him directly, yet at the same time desiring to remedy the matter, two holy elders agreed between themselves that one of them would sit lounging back with one leg crossed over the other in the presence of their brother, while the other elder would rebuke him for it. They did so, and the first monk corrected the habit that was unbecoming to the monastic bearing.

A couple of years after the community at the House of Mercy had been established, one of its monks was once reading a secular book. Brother Semyon, whom we have already mentioned, saw this and was troubled. But remembering the patristic injunction concerning considerateness, he walked around the monk who was reading for quite some time and finally asked:

“Fr N., what are you reading?”

“Mowgli, by Kipling.”

“I too, before I began coming to your monastery, used to read useless books.”

* * *

Not all the young men who regularly visited the monastery of the House of Mercy became monks, but all became closely attached to the Church.

In the mid-1930s, the Soviet government sold the Chinese Eastern Railway to Japan. Tens of thousands of Russians employed by the railway were dismissed from their jobs and had to choose whether to leave for the USSR or remain unemployed in Manchuria. Among those who remained were many young people educated in Soviet schools, where they had been instilled with an aversion to the Church and with the conviction that religion was incompatible with science and was a sign of backwardness.

Among these young people, the young monks of the House of Mercy undertook various forms of work, employing the simplest of methods.

Fr Philaret had always been very fond of fishing. Manchuria offered exceptionally rich fishing. On days free from services and other duties, Fr Philaret and the other young monks would invite former Soviet youths to accompany them on fishing trips. Often, around an evening campfire on the picturesque banks of the Sungari River or beside small lakes beyond the river, after heart-to-heart conversations, the spiritual eyes of these young men were opened to the fundamental truths of the Faith.

One day, three such young men, who only recently had been Soviet youths, came to Vespers, which Fr Philaret and his friend were serving. After the service, all five of them were supposed to go on an overnight fishing trip. But unexpectedly, one of the parishioners requested a memorial service after Vespers. The young men who had come would have to wait a while longer.

“Read something here,” the monks told them.

“What is there to read? Everything here is just religious stuff—nothing interesting,” the young men protested listlessly.

Fr Philaret opened the Acts of the Apostles to chapters 27 and 28 and gave it to them to read while the memorial service was being served. Twenty minutes later, after finishing the service, the monks came back to the young men.

“Well, we’re ready. Let’s go fishing.”

“Wait, let us finish reading. This really is interesting.”

And so these young men, who had never before seen Holy Scripture, became acquainted with it.

* * *

In addition to the daily services, the monks of the House of Mercy carried out obediences teaching the Law of God in the orphanage and in various secondary schools in Harbin. At the Aksakov Girls’ Gymnasium, the students later said: “Of all the Law of God lessons we had during those years, the only ones we remember are Fr Philaret’s.”

After becoming a monk and settling at the House of Mercy, Fr Philaret continued to maintain close ties with his father, Archpriest N. Voznesensky, who also soon embraced monasticism with the name Dimitry and became Bishop—and later Archbishop—of Hailar.

Although the House of Mercy and the Iveron Church, where Bishop Dimitry lived, were situated at opposite ends of the city, Fr Philaret often went to visit his father. One day, while returning from Bishop Dimitry’s residence, Fr Philaret encountered a beggar asking for alms for Christ’s sake. Fr Philaret had only ten cents with him—the price of the fare from the Iveron Church to the House of Mercy.

Nevertheless, he gave the ten cents to the beggar and set out on foot himself, a distance of some five or six kilometers—about an hour and a half’s walk at a brisk pace. As he walked, Fr Philaret reflected that it is said that if you give something for Christ’s sake, it will be repaid to you a hundredfold, and yet in actual life things do not seem to happen that way.

Upon returning to the House of Mercy, he remembered that the wedding of two of his spiritual children had been scheduled for that day, and that he was to perform the Crowning service for them. The fees for occasional services at the House of Mercy were placed in a common collection box, from which they were later distributed partly for the support of the orphanage and the home for the elderly, and partly to the clergy.

But on this occasion, after placing the appropriate sum in the collection box, the newlyweds brought Fr Philaret ten dollars, saying:

“Dear Father, please take these ten dollars for yourself personally, as a token of our great love for you.”

Thus, only a few hours after Fr Philaret had given ten cents to the beggar in the name of Christ, he received exactly a hundredfold in return. Coming to his fellow monks, he said sadly:

“For today’s good deed I shall receive nothing in the Kingdom of Heaven, since I have already received my reward in full in this present age.”

* * *

Metropolitan Anthony was still alive in those days. The young monks of the community at the House of Mercy revered and loved without measure the great elder-hierarch, a Father and Teacher of the Church. His works, especially Confession, Pastoral Theology, and A Dictionary to the Works of Dostoevsky, were favorite reading among these young monks. They grew up on the writings of Metropolitan Anthony, became imbued with them as they matured spiritually, and always kept before them the examples found in those works.

And despite the distance of more than 10,000 kilometers, the Metropolitan managed to find these devoted admirers of his. Fr Philaret and one of his friends wrote to Metropolitan Anthony. And though burdened with immense labors and the gravest cares involved in presiding over our long-suffering Church in exile, the aged Metropolitan Anthony found time to reply to these two young monks, who at that time seemed utterly insignificant.

Soon afterward, one of the monks of the House of Mercy—namely, the author of this collection [editor’s note]—had occasion to accompany Bishop Nestor on his journey to the Council of Bishops in Yugoslavia, and there to see Metropolitan Anthony.

Metropolitan Anthony received the young monk with heartfelt paternal love and, with warm solicitude, asked him by name about each of the monks of the community. He questioned him with particular care about Fr Philaret, whom he had singled out from among the others and had come to love with special warmth. Perhaps even then, in 1933, the great hierarch, through his grace-filled spirit, foresaw that the beacon he had kindled in exile would pass into the hands of this very hieromonk, who at that time was still quite young.

In one episode this became especially clear. Shortly before his departure from Yugoslavia, while sitting at table with Metropolitan Anthony, the monk from Manchuria asked the First Hierarch to give him a photograph with an inscription as a keepsake. Metropolitan Anthony readily agreed. His cell-attendant, Archimandrite Theodosius, brought a photograph, and the Metropolitan sat down to write.

The Manchurian monk looked over the Metropolitan’s shoulder and was stunned. Metropolitan Anthony was writing: “To my dear and beloved Hieromonk Philaret, with heartfelt love, Metropolitan Anthony.” Although another young hieromonk was standing right there beside him, scarcely half a meter away, Metropolitan Anthony’s thoughts and heart were directed toward the one whom he had come to know and single out without ever having seen him, from a distance of some ten thousand versts.

Only Fr N.’s disappointed sigh distracted Metropolitan Anthony from his writing. He raised his head, looked affectionately at Fr N., who was standing over him, and said:

“Ah, yes, it is you who need the photograph,” and, taking another copy, he wrote a similar inscription on it.

Thus, across thousands of versts, a thread of spiritual connection was stretched between two grace-filled heads of our holy Church Abroad: between the great hierarch Metropolitan Anthony and our present [third—ed.] First Hierarch, the gracious, meek, and Spirit-bearing Metropolitan Philaret.

 

Russian source:

https://azbyka.ru/otechnik/Nafanail_Lvov/ocherk-rannih-let-zhizni-nashego-pervosvjatitelja-mitropolita-filareta/

Metropolitan Vitaly (Ustinov): Recollections of Russia

 

I was born in 1910. In other words, during the first seven years of my life I still knew Imperial Russia. I remember it in detail, and above all I remember its spirit. I cannot describe exactly what I felt or what remained in the depths of my soul. But I know one thing: in the time of the Tsar, everything was peaceful and devout. Sometimes, when you went out into the garden, you would hear the pealing of the church bells. The soul felt so good and sweet, as though heaven were descending to earth, and one sensed an incomprehensible, profound peace. I remember all this not so much with ordinary memory as with the memory of the heart.

We “well-born” children were forbidden to go out into the street by ourselves. Only hooligans ran about in the streets, and we were not allowed to mix with those boys, since we were of noble birth. In Russia this distinction was very clearly observed, and no one took offense at it. It was an unwritten law. For us, of course, this was a temptation: precisely because it was forbidden, we were drawn to it. Sometimes you would look out onto the street and watch the people, the carriages, and so on. And so, one Sunday morning, I opened the gate and saw an old woman approaching, holding a little girl by the hand, probably her granddaughter. I now understand that they were on their way to church for the early Liturgy. The little girl and I waved to each other for a long time. There were various little secluded corners in the garden, among the bushes and flowerbeds, where one could climb in and hide. Sitting down in a place like that, you would experience something you could not quite explain yourself—above all, a sense of peace and stillness.

My dearest memory is of the visit of Sovereign Nicholas II and his family to Sevastopol. It was a genuine celebration. Flags were displayed on every house. A general sense of excitement could be felt in the air. I remember how the Empress and her daughters walked from the cathedral to the hospital. The younger one, Anastasia, kept having her stocking slip down, and she was constantly pulling it up. A soldier was carrying me on his shoulders, and I called out to her: “Your stocking is falling down, your stocking is falling down!” She looked at me, smiled, and waved her little hand at me. Now she is a martyr for our sins.

At that time the Sovereign himself, together with the Heir, was visiting the cruisers. While the Sovereign was speaking with the officers, the Tsarevich was going from one ship to another. The sailors’ cries of “Hurrah! Hurrah!” as they greeted the boy could be heard from far away. The Sovereign noticed this and, when he was told what was happening, he ordered that the Heir should not respond. Poor Alexei was terribly upset when his greeting to the sailors went unanswered. He was almost in tears. Then all the sailors answered him. After that, the Sovereign ordered that he be brought to him, and that was the end of the matter.

I remember that unforgettable contrast when the Revolution broke out. Everything changed. The very sky changed. A mysterious fear came over everyone. Everyone lost their peace of soul. People began to behave irritably. New songs appeared that we had never heard before, and they were so vulgar that I will not even repeat them—so repulsive was it all, so base and vulgar. Vulgarity, in general, appeared everywhere. I had a nanny with whom I often went into town. That day my nanny was going to the post office, and I went with her. At the same time, a Red Bolshevik demonstration was marching down the same street, singing: “Arise, rise up, working people...!” When they passed us, I clutched my nanny’s skirt and said fearfully: “Nanny, nanny, look, they are all wicked, they are all wicked!” You could see it in their eyes. You could see it in the way they walked. They were no longer really people at all, but evildoers. A child understands this with the penetrating perception of the heart. One must always be careful with children, because they understand far more than we think. This intuitive perception in children disappears as they grow up and enter into life, but while it remains in them it is something very precious. Thus, both my sister and I possessed what might be called the “discernment of spirits.”

At our house, evening gatherings were held quite often, to which officers and their wives and others were invited. They always tried to put us children to bed, but of course they never succeeded, because we were far more interested in the guests and the refreshments than in sleep. As we watched the guests, we would give them nicknames, and with such keen accuracy that, as the saying goes, they hit not merely the eyebrow but the eye. There was one rather stout naval officer whom we nicknamed “Boomchik.” We were very fond of him, despite being convinced that it was he who had broken one of our armchairs. In general, we did this sort of thing often and with remarkable success—so successfully, in fact, that Mother would marvel and say, “Where do you get this from?”

The Russian Revolution was an uprising of the Russian boor. I remember that at that time it was dangerous for an educated person to appear in the street. Bands of Black Sea sailors roamed about, and they were proclaimed “heroes of the Revolution,” because the Revolution had begun precisely with the sailors of the Black Sea Fleet. People belonging to the educated, scholarly class, when going out into the street, would put on dirty caps and their most worn-out suits. All this was done simply so as not to look like educated people. I remember how my uncle borrowed a dirty cap from the porter, together with a torn, patched jacket, and only dressed like that did he dare to go out into the street.

I was brought up well. Ours was a female household: my grandmother, my mother, her sister (Aunt Zhuka), my nanny, the cook, the maid, and my sister. My grandmother was the widow of a general. Her husband had been General Stopchansky of the Gendarmerie, who served in the Caucasus and, while there, learned all the local languages and became a highly valued man. In her youth, Grandmother had graduated from the Smolny Institute, and at a certain point fate took her to the Caucasus, where she was to educate Caucasian girls who, until then, supposedly did not know how to conduct themselves in a genteel manner. There Grandmother met and married the future General Stopchansky. They had many children, scattered throughout Russia. When Grandfather died, he was placed in a double coffin, and they waited until the whole family had gathered for the funeral. Everyone loved Grandmother and, above all, respected her. She was the “matriarch” of the entire family. Once a year all her sons would come to visit her, naturally bringing gifts, which my sister and I eagerly awaited.

Grandmother graduated from the Smolny Institute with an excellent command of German. The Institute educated young ladies, invariably of noble birth, each of whom, according to her choice, was required to speak and write fluently in one of the European languages—that is, German, French, or English. Once, when the Germans were occupying Sevastopol, our porter came to Grandmother and asked her to go and speak with the Germans who had stationed themselves in our courtyard. Grandmother drew herself up to her full height and said in a firm voice: “I do not speak with the enemies of my Emperor.” By this she showed that in her heart the Emperor was still alive, despite the fact that the Bolsheviks had killed him. And that was the end of the matter.

By that time the war with Germany had almost completely ceased, and the German army had reached the Crimea itself. In fact, it was the Germans who saved us from the Bolsheviks, who had appointed a “St. Bartholomew’s Night” for the complete extermination of the entire cultured and educated Russian class. They had also ordered that the children be killed, because, as they said, when they grew up they would take revenge on them, the Communists. We children were hidden in sheds and cellars. One fine morning we heard artillery fire, and after a while, to our great astonishment, soldiers on bicycles began riding past our house. They turned out to be Germans who had occupied Sevastopol. Thus the Bolsheviks fled to save their own skins. Next to our house stood a German Lutheran church, where, with the help of its pastor, about twenty Russian officers were hiding.

Yes, Sevastopol is my native city, and I know it inside and out. We lived at No. 55 Chesmensky Street. It is one of the city’s main streets and runs from Count’s Quay to the Historical Boulevard. On the Feast of Theophany, the waters were blessed at Count’s Quay, and at that time the cruisers would fire blank rounds in order to draw everyone’s attention to this great feast. The Historical Boulevard was remarkable. There stood the famous panorama of the Crimean Campaign. Beside the panorama was the so-called “boletus mushroom,” made of reinforced concrete and so enormous that, whenever it rained, people would take shelter beneath it.

Once a year, after Christmas, the naval officers would hold a Christmas-tree celebration for their children at the Naval Assembly. It was an unforgettable event. There were three large halls. In the first hall there were only refreshments—cakes, sweets, and so on. In the next hall there was a theater. The performance was Little Red Riding Hood. In the last hall stood an enormous Christmas tree. There were games for the children and a lottery in which everyone won a prize. One side was for the boys and the other for the girls. Tall shelves were piled high with gifts, and from each gift ran a long string leading into a common heap. Each child had the right to pull any string and receive the prize to which that string was attached. One of the prizes was a ship, and I very much wanted to win it. Of course, I did not, but instead I won a very beautiful set of skittles representing twelve bogatyrs, together with two balls for knocking them down. For my sister, who, as always, was ill, I drew a black doll. In all this one could sense that boundless expansiveness so characteristic of Russia. But before long, ominous clouds of revolution began to gather over our homeland, and slowly but surely everything began to change for the worse.

Another interesting moment comes to mind. My mother and her sister returned from town. They had gone there to buy various little “treats” for tea. Before leaving, they had told the cook to put on the samovar. When they returned home, Mother and my aunt busied themselves with preparing the tea and casually tossed the newspaper onto the table. I remember distinctly how Grandmother put on her glasses, picked up the newspaper, and said these words: “This is the end of Russia!” On the front page, in large letters, it was announced that the Sovereign had abdicated the throne. When she said those words, I pressed myself against her, and a mystical fear came over me. Grandmother, as the widow of an old Russian general, simply breathed Russia and, of course, understood everything correctly. She rarely expressed her feelings, but when she did speak, she hit not merely the eyebrow but right in the eye.

There you have old Russia—and what do we have now? There were men and women of lofty principles. It was impossible to break them. They could only be killed, and that was the end of it. That was the real Russia, and the Communists destroyed sixty million of the best Russian people. History will not forget this.

 

Russian source: Митрополитъ Виталій, Первоіерархъ Русской Православной Зарубежной Церкви: Юбилейный Сборникъ. 29 іюня / 12 іюля 2001. Свв. первоверховныхъ Апостоловъ Петра и Павла, n.p., n.d. [New York, 2001], pp. 32-37.

Russian source online:

https://russportal.ru/index.php?id=church_writing.vitalis_ustinov2001_00_004

Of Truth and Falsehood: Allegations of the “OCA” against ROCOR and Response from the Holy Mountain (1991)

Source: Living Orthodoxy, #75, Vol. XIII, No. 3, May-June 1991 (actual release March 1992), pp. 12-14.

 

Last fall, a portion of an official press release, sent to several hundred outlets in the secular press, fell into the hands of an attentive and inquisitive layman of the Russian Orthodox Church Outside of Russia. Being fairly knowledgeable in Church affairs, it seemed to him that its allegations were improbable... so he took the course of writing letters to several of the abbots of the Holy Mountain to inquire what had really transpired. The press release and the most interesting responses to date are reproduced in the sidebars.

 

 

FROM A PRESS RELEASE DATED 31 OCTOBER 1991
ON THE LETTERHEAD OF THE
OFFICE OF INFORMATION AND PUBLIC RELATIONS
OF THE “ORTHODOX CHURCH IN AMERICA”:

“Mount Athos and the Russian Church in Exile”

[Karyes, Mt. Athos] In an official letter addressed to the late ecumenical patriarch Dimitrios, and signed by all the hegoumens of the twenty monasteries of Mt. Athos (Koine Synaxis), the “Russian church-in-exile” is called “schismatic” and “deprived of grace.” They categorically call “deceit” the information according to which, some spiritual authorities are giving support to the “schism”. Specific condemnation is voiced against the “Church-in-exile” for establishing communities in Russia, where the canonical Russian Church [The Moscow Patriarchate—ed.] is the only recognized Orthodox.

The letter was issued on the occasion of the announcement that kathegoumenon Ephrem, of the Philotheou monastery on Mt. Athos, who had joined the “Church-in-exile.” Indeed, some sources of that church indicated that he might be consecrated bishop.

Facing the express condemnation of the authorities of Mt. Athos, Fr. Ephrem repented, and returned to the jurisdiction of the ecumenical patriarchate.

One of the complaints frequently voiced by the “Church-in-exile” is the use of the Revised Julian calendar by most Orthodox churches. The monasteries of Mt. Athos, which prefer to use the old calendar obviously do not share that view and remain in full communion not only with their bishop, the ecumenical patriarchate (who uses the new calendar), but with the entire Orthodox Church as well.

The foregoing is reproduced in its entirety from page 3 of the aforementioned press release, with all factual and grammatical errors left intact. See main text body for comment on specific allegations.

***

We of course do not have access (at least not yet) to the official documents which passed from the Koine Synaxis of the Holy Mountain to the Ecumenical Patriarchate... but it must be presumed from the content of the press release that it at least claims to be based upon those documents (rather than upon hearsay concerning their content).

Charitably, we might assume that the officials responsible for the promulgation of the press release were in ignorance of the mechanics of the minutes of the Koine Synaxis. At best, however, this would be seriously culpable ignorance. Anyone making such allegations has a responsibility to be certain of their accuracy.

However, the nature and content of the release leave little room for charity... especially when contrasted with the truth of the matter... and the more so in the light of the verbal refusal of Fr. Gregory Havrilak (whose name was given on the release as the source for “more information”), after having seen Abbot Theophanis’ letter, to undertake in any way to issue a corrective release.

The alternative to such a charitable construction is not pleasant. While the sphere of electoral political advertising abounds with such willful lying (or half-lying, in accordance with the dictates of the libel-specialist lawyers), it is certainly wholly out of place—and especially in the domain of the Church, and calls into question not only the Orthodoxy but indeed the very claim to the name “Christian” of those who would perpetrate it.

As is clearly to be seen from Abbot Theophanis’ letter, it is questionable whether even a simple majority of the abbots of the Holy Mountain held views compatible with the phrases “schismatic” and “deprived of divine grace” (quoted, in any case, without their accompanying context... so we don’t really know what was entered in the minutes at all). Certainly, whatever the minutes said, they were by no means “signed by all the hegoumenos of the twenty monasteries.”

We have, of course, no knowledge of who the “some sources” might be who “indicated that [Fr. Ephrem] might be consecrated bishop... but doubtless one could find “some sources” to claim almost anything imaginable!

Indisputably, Fr. Ephrem first petitioned the Russian Orthodox Church Outside of Russia to be received under its jurisdiction. This petition was accepted. Later, under enormous pressures only partly known to us, he rescinded his decision and returned to the jurisdiction of the Ecumenical Patriarchate. Tragically, this led to much spiritual confusion for many. In a letter of 1/14 July 1991, he apologized and begged forgiveness for this confusion.

[See: https://orthodoxmiscellany.blogspot.com/2024/10/why-did-elder-ephraim-of-arizona-leave.html]

It is, of course, arguable whether “most Orthodox Churches” use the “Revised Julian calendar”... indeed, even whether such a statement is true even in the overwhelmingly modernist environment of North America. In any event, the question of the calendar is only one of the less critical (albeit most conspicuous) of the grounds upon which the Russian Orthodox Church Outside of Russia refrains from communion with most of the Orthodox jurisdictions of the world—far more critical are matters of ecumenism and general compromise of the Faith with heterodoxy and modernism.

Parenthetically, it is necessary as well to note, à propos of the letter of Abbot Theophanis, that the position of the Ecumenical Patriarchate, accepted by Abbot Theophanis, that it and it alone has the “right” to grant autocephaly, is inconsistent with the conciliar nature of Orthodox Christianity and smacks of papism—and is of course not accepted by the Russian Orthodox Church Outside of Russia.

* * *

 

 

A LETTER DATED 12/31/91
IN RESPONSE TO MICHAEL WOERL’S INQUIRY,
FROM ARCHIMANDRITE THEOPHANIS
(ARCHIMANDRITE EPHREM’S SUCCESSOR IN OFFICE),
ON THE OFFICIAL LETTERHEAD OF PHILOTHEOU MONASTERY:

Dear Mr. Woerl:

In reply to your letter dated 19 Nov./2 Dec. 1991 we send you the following information: The encyclical that you have sent us, published by the O.C.A., unfortunately does not accurately express the Holy Mountain’s views concerning the subject which you are inquiring about.

We will briefly explain to you the conditions under which the decisions of the Holy Community are ratified. The Iera (or Koine) Synaxis is considered to be in quorum, when 2/3 of its members are in attendance, in other words fourteen representatives. Decisions are taken by majority ballot. All out-going decisions of the Holy Community are not signed by each individual representative, but are rather authorized using the following form: “All of the Koine Synaxi’s representatives and council members of the twenty Holy Monasteries of the Holy Mountain of Athos.” Under no circumstances may a representative refuse to sign the minutes of the synaxis. He has the right though to have his opinion entered in the minutes. Therefore the representative must sign the minutes, even if he is in opposition with the decision or decisions taken.

As for the condemnations mentioned in the official letter of the Iera Synaxis addressed to the late Ecumenical Patriarch Dimitrios we make known to you the following:

The Holy Monastery of Esfigmenou was taken over by zealot fathers some years ago, and lives isolated from the rest of the Holy Mountain, having absolutely nothing to do with the Ecumenical Patriarchate. They of course never send a representative to the Iera Synaxis. Therefore no matter what decisions are taken there can only be at the most nineteen votes. As for the decisions taken in the synaxis mentioned in the encyclical of the O.C.A., a total of four monasteries had an altogether different opinion. The Holy Monasteries of Xeropotamou and Karakallou discreetly disagreed, and at the same time leaving it to be understood that they would defend the Elder Ephraim, if he was to be deposed. The substitute representative for the Holy Monastery of Philotheou strongly protested, submitting upon the signing of the minutes his defence in writing of the Elder Ephraim, and his defence and recognition of the Russian Church Abroad. Finally, his written statement was not entered in the minutes even though it is the inalienable right of each monastery according to the twenty-second paragraph of the charter of the Holy Mountain. The abbot of the Holy Monastery of Konstamonitou, along with the representative of the same monastery, left the Iera Synaxis in a show of protest, without signing the minutes. The abbot of the Holy Monastery of Chilandar confessed, at least during the first day of the proceedings, that between the ranks of the clergy of the Serbian Patriarchate and the Russian Church Abroad, there exists ecclesiastic communion. This statement was altogether omitted from the minutes. Besides the Serbian Patriarchate, it is well known that the Russian Church Abroad is also in ecclesiastic communion with the Patriarchate of Jerusalem, as was mentioned by the representative of the Holy Monastery of Karakallou.

The abbot of the Holy Monastery of St. Paul did not agree with what the Elder Ephrem did, yet he was heard to have said the following: “I cannot judge or condemn anyone.” Surprisingly, this statement was also omitted from the minutes. Not a word was heard from the Holy Monasteries of Zografou and St. Panteleimon during the proceedings. They did not voice their opinion. As for the rumors concerning the Elder Ephraim being consecrated, nothing could be so groundless and far from the truth.

As far as the “autocephaly” of the O.C.A. is concerned, since it was not issued by the Holy Synod of the Ecumenical Patriarchate, as only the Ecumenical Patriarchate possesses the right to issue a tome of autocephaly, or at least recognized officially by the Holy Synod of the Ecumenical Patriarchate, its autocephaly is unsubstantial. The answer to your last question [concerning the status of the “O.C.A.” on the Holy Mountain—ed.] is no; for the aforementioned reasons the clergy of the O.C.A. may not serve in any of the monasteries on Mount Athos, nor may partake in Holy Communion.

The Abbot of the Holy Monastery of Philotheou
Archimandrite Theophanis

* * *

And… From Xeropotamou Monastery

Dear brother in Christ, Mr. Woerl:

I don’t regard the ROCOR as “schismatic” and “deprived of divine grace”, and I think the same [as] do most of the abbots of Mt. Athos. The document you talked about was not signed by the twenty abbots. It was issued by the Holy Community, a body of 19 representatives, who also didn’t sign it. A stamp and a typewritten phrase is the signature. It was a product of pressures and servility. Please pray to God for me, and stand stable where you are.

With blessings and love in Christ,
Archimandrite Joseph

 

Scans of the OCA press release and Athonite letter to Mr. Michael Woerl were published in Orthodox Tradition, Vol. IX (1992), Nos. 2-3, pp. 20-21.

MP Academic: “The Rapprochement between the Russian Church Abroad and the Old Calendarist Movement under Metropolitan Philaret (Voznesensky)”

A. A. Kostryukov

Russian source: Bulletin of the St. Philaret Institute, 2021, Issue 38, pp. 160–179.

 

 

The article is devoted to the history of the rapprochement and subsequent rupture between the Russian Orthodox Church Outside Russia (ROCOR) and the Greek Old Calendarist movement during the lifetime of Metropolitan Philaret (Voznesensky). As a supporter of ROCOR’s isolation and of preserving tradition, he effectively abandoned unity with world Orthodoxy, preferring communion with Greek Old Calendarist bodies as those most “steadfast” in matters of faith. Statements began to be heard from the leadership describing the Church Abroad as a “small island” amid universal “apostasy.” The voices calling upon the Church’s leadership to abandon such ideas went unheard. The negative attitude toward the new calendar manifested itself in the condemnation of ROCOR’s Bulgarian parishes, as well as in the rejection of the position of St. John (Maximovich), who advocated a “universal path” for the Russian ecclesiastical emigration and broad application of oikonomia in matters of traditions and rites. In 1970, the Synod Abroad recognized one branch of the Greek Old Calendarist movement—the “Florinite” branch; in 1971, the other branch—the “Matthewite”—was also recognized. At the same time, at the conciliar level, the possibility of recognizing this body, which had been founded by only a single hierarch, was discussed. Before long, however, the Old Calendarist bodies began drawing the Church Abroad into their internal conflicts and also demanding a definitive separation from world Orthodoxy. The latter was unacceptable to ROCOR, which led to a rupture with the Greek Old Calendarist churches in 1975–1976.

 

The years of rule of the third First Hierarch of the Russian Orthodox Church Outside Russia (ROCOR), Metropolitan Philaret (Voznesensky) (1964–1985), became a period of its radicalization. The “zealot” course adopted by the Church Abroad was expressed above all in the deterioration of its relations with the Moscow Patriarchate and in its distancing from the other Local Churches. Speaking at the Third All-Diaspora Council (1974), Metropolitan Philaret observed that, on its much-suffering path, the Russian Church Abroad had many enemies and virtually no friends. Its task, however, was, despite everything, to bear witness to the truth and defend the purity of Orthodoxy [Third All-Diaspora Council, 13].

The First Hierarch’s words are key to understanding ROCOR’s ideology. Insularity, combined with conservatism, was leading it toward a self-isolation that would have been impossible under the first metropolitans—Anthony (Khrapovitsky) and Anastasy (Gribanovsky). Formed within the synodal system, they regarded the necessity of maintaining communion with the Local Churches as axiomatic and sought to keep their distance from marginal movements. Unlike those hierarchs, Metropolitan Philaret had been formed spiritually on the periphery of the Russian emigration, in the non-Orthodox Chinese environment, and did not possess the same reverence for world Orthodoxy that had distinguished his predecessors.

The “zealot” faction that gained strength under Metropolitan Philaret—Archbishop Averky (Taushev), Archimandrite Constantine (Zaitsev), and Protopresbyter George Grabbe—placed the Moscow Patriarchate and the Local Churches on essentially the same footing. An even more uncompromising position toward world Orthodoxy, however, was adopted by Archimandrite Panteleimon (Metropoulos), abbot of Holy Transfiguration Monastery in Boston, who had gained the favor of the First Hierarch. [1]

Those who had only recently come from non-Orthodox backgrounds, and who were often distinguished by excessive zeal, likewise insisted on breaking communion with the Local Churches. Representatives of other Local Churches, dissatisfied with the “modernism” of their own leadership, also joined ROCOR. All these groups regarded the Church Abroad as a center of conservatism, zealously monitoring its purity and the “proper standard” of its ecclesiastical leadership. They saw the Old Calendarist groups as the alternative to the “fallen” Churches. Such groups began to emerge in the 1920s and 1930s after certain Local Churches adopted the new calendar.

The question of ROCOR’s relations with the Old Calendarist churches has been addressed in a number of studies, [2] but the details of the Church Abroad’s drift in this direction, the internal opposition to this course, and the reasons for the rupture with the Old Calendarists that soon followed have not yet received adequate treatment. Nevertheless, official and administrative documents, together with materials of a personal nature, make it possible to trace this development and identify its characteristic patterns. The history of the Church Abroad’s contacts with Old Calendarist bodies can be reconstructed with the aid of the minutes of the 1971 ROCOR Council of Bishops, the journals of the meetings of the ROCOR Synod of Bishops (Archive of the ROCOR Synod of Bishops), the correspondence of Protopresbyter George Grabbe (the “Grabbe” Collection at Stanford University), documents from the archive of the Department for External Church Relations of the Moscow Patriarchate, as well as the periodical press of the Russian Church Abroad—Church Life, Orthodox Russia, and Bulletins of the Department of External Relations under the Synod of Bishops of the Russian Orthodox Church Outside Russia.

Initially regarding the introduction of the new calendar as a violation of tradition, the Russian Church Abroad nevertheless did not consider it a heresy during the 1920s–1940s and concelebrated with representatives of New Calendarist Churches. ROCOR’s position began gradually to change in the postwar years. Sympathizing with the Greek Old Calendarists, who had been left without a hierarchy, three ROCOR bishops—Seraphim (Ivanov), Theophil (Ionescu), and Leonty (Filippovich)—between 1950 and 1960 restored the hierarchy of one of the Old Calendarist branches, the “Florinite” branch. [3] Although the consecration of a bishop for a schism constituted a canonical offense, the ROCOR leadership limited itself merely to censuring its hierarchs [Slesarev, 134]. Meanwhile, sympathy for the Old Calendarists among ROCOR bishops continued to grow. At the 1964 Council of Bishops, Archbishop Averky (Taushev) described the Greek and other Old Calendarists as “the people most steadfast in the faith” [True Orthodoxy, 10]. Protopresbyter George Grabbe shared this view. Orthodox Russia was no less outspoken, its contributors seemingly competing with one another in their criticism of the new calendar. [4] Metropolitan Philaret (Voznesensky), however, was still wary of damaging relations with the New Calendarist Local Churches or of regarding them as heretical. The First Hierarch, for example, concelebrated with clergy of the Romanian Orthodox Church [Bartoshevich 1974]. Another interesting example may be noted. The communities of the Church Abroad in Tunisia were pastorally served by the Greek priest George Funtenekas. The fact that he belonged to a New Calendarist Church was actually convenient for the Russian émigrés: in the Greek church, Fr. George celebrated the festal services according to the new calendar and was therefore able to celebrate the same services in the Russian church according to the old calendar [Russian, 1296].

Nevertheless, the anti-modernism of the zealots made itself felt with increasing frequency. One occasion for an offensive against the new calendar arose from the situation in the Bulgarian parishes in the United States that were under ROCOR. Bulgarian émigrés, especially the younger generation, favored celebrating the Nativity of Christ according to the American civil calendar. The leadership of the Church Abroad opposed such sentiments. After the Bulgarian Orthodox Church adopted the new calendar in 1968, however, the possibility arose that the Bulgarian émigrés in America might resolve the issue simply by transferring to the jurisdiction of the Patriarch of Bulgaria. For this reason, ROCOR’s Bulgarian Diocese in the United States, headed by Bishop Kirill (Yonchev), effectively adopted the new calendar. The Synod Abroad regarded this as virtually a heresy, condemned the actions of the Bulgarian parishes, and referred the final decision to the Council of Bishops [Journal 401-a].

The dispute over the calendar unfolded at the 1971 Council of Bishops, when the hierarchs considered the question of the Dutch mission. Although by no means inclined toward modernism, the mission had celebrated according to the new calendar since the time of St. John (Maximovich), which drew criticism from the zealot camp [Protocol 6, 13]. The immediate occasion for a genuine conflict, however, was precisely the “Bulgarian” problem. Archbishop Vitaly (Ustinov) spoke out against any concessions regarding the calendar. In his view, all leniency on this question had to be rejected, since the calendar was merely the first step toward modernism. He was strongly supported by Archbishop Anthony (Sinkevich) of Los Angeles and Archbishop Averky (Taushev) of Syracuse and Holy Trinity [Monastery]. The latter declared that “if the new style cannot be called a heresy, it is in any case a very harmful phenomenon.” Without awaiting a decision from the higher ecclesiastical authorities, the archbishop himself broke communion with Bishop Kirill (Yonchev) [Protocol 1, 3].

References to St. John (Maximovich) persuaded few. The “zealots” explained his leniency regarding the calendar merely as a matter of oikonomia and a temporary measure. Bishop Kirill, however, also appealed to oikonomia. He pointed out that many of his parishioners had come from Northern Greece, where they had already become accustomed to the new calendar. Such parishes constituted about half of his diocese. The hierarch also drew attention to the younger generation, who wished to celebrate the Nativity in accordance with the civil calendar. At the same time, the bishop firmly stated that he himself served only according to the old calendar and was trying to bring his entire flock back to it [Protocol 3, 1–4]. The Council found his explanations satisfactory and reaffirmed that the Julian calendar was to be used in ROCOR without any alteration [Resolutions, 3]. Despite this conciliatory decision, subsequent relations with Bishop Kirill nevertheless failed to develop satisfactorily. On October 6, 1976, the Council of Bishops resolved to expel him from ROCOR. The reason for this decision was precisely the calendar question. Bishop Kirill subsequently joined the Orthodox Church in America [Decisions 1976, 40; Psarev, 186].

Some representatives of ROCOR, however, viewed an alliance with the Old Calendarists negatively, regarding it as a betrayal of the ideals of the Russian Church Abroad and as a distortion of its ecclesiological consciousness. Such, for example, was the view of Archbishop Anthony (Bartoshevich) of Geneva and Western Europe. The hierarch wrote that ROCOR must remain “on the universal paths” followed by Metropolitan Anthony (Khrapovitsky), Archbishop Gabriel (Chepur), and St. John (Maximovich). Recalling the latter, Archbishop Anthony wrote:

“He was the last universal-minded archpastor of our Church, like Metropolitan Anthony. He understood the Church in a broadly universal sense; he lived by her and felt her living breath throughout the whole universe. He was far removed from shutting himself up in isolation, or from fear of anyone or anything. He even dared to adopt the Paschalion according to the New Style—something which we unworthy ones, of course, ought not to imitate. He understood that Orthodoxy does not consist in the calendar, for he lived Orthodoxy, and the external forms of the calendar could not trouble him” [Bartoshevich 1975b].

Archbishop Anthony (Bartoshevich) warned that association with the zealots would turn the Church Abroad into a sect. The archbishop wrote:

“I cannot trail along behind the Greek Old Calendarists… From my point of view and according to my deepest conviction, that would be a betrayal of the Church. <…> And now, seeing how far the Greek Old Calendarists have gone, to what absurdity they have come, we nevertheless continue trying to accommodate ourselves to them and please them, while ourselves sliding toward becoming a sect that cuts itself off from universal unity” [Bartoshevich 1975a].

Another ROCOR hierarch, Bishop Laurus (Škurla) of Manhattan, pointed out that it was praiseworthy to struggle against deviations, but that this should be done not by entering into schisms, but from within one’s own Local Church [Psarev, 191]. Hieromonk Seraphim (Rose) expressed a similar view. He believed that ROCOR should be open to everyone and should admit all Orthodox Christians to the Chalice, including New Calendarists. In his view, by maintaining relations with Churches whose leadership was inclined toward modernism, ROCOR became a source of strength for those who, from within their own Churches, were struggling against negative tendencies [Seraphim (Rose), 151–152]. Archbishop Anthony and Bishop Laurus, however—not to mention Fr. Seraphim—did not possess sufficient influence to have the final say on this question.

Protopresbyter George Grabbe, replying to Archbishop Anthony, wrote that he understood his concern over ROCOR’s growing isolation, which was felt more keenly in small Geneva than in vast New York. At the same time, however, he could not ignore the views of the zealots, who closely watched every step taken by the Church’s leadership. Fr. George wrote that conservatives had been displeased by his congratulations to P. Anderson [of the American YMCA- Blog Admin.] on his eightieth birthday, as well as by the establishment, by Archpriest Alexander Kiselev, of a committee for the defense of Christians persecuted by the Communist authorities. In the latter case, the zealots were indignant that representatives of other jurisdictions were included on the committee. The protopresbyter himself favored a strict approach to the calendar. In objecting to Archbishop Anthony, he recalled that Metropolitan Anthony (Khrapovitsky) had in his time supported the Romanian Old Calendarists. In the same letter, Protopresbyter George Grabbe defended the necessity of rebaptizing the non-Orthodox [Grabbe 1975]. On other occasions, the protopresbyter was even more candid than in his correspondence with Archbishop Anthony. He made no secret of the fact that he regarded the path of self-isolation as normal. In a letter from Fr. George to his sister, we read:

“You write about the ‘Eastern Patriarchs.’ Alas, there are now almost no Orthodox patriarchs left. The Serbian remains; the Jerusalem Patriarch is still formally Orthodox, but is already slipping. There is no one upon whom we can rely… Any isolation is always accompanied by difficulties, but our separation is inevitable” [Psarev, 190].

Fr. George Grabbe’s rhetoric was self-destructive. In 1971 he wrote:

“The development of ecumenism not only among Protestants and Catholics, but also among a considerable portion of the Orthodox, now makes our Church, as it were, a small island amid the spreading sea of ecumenism” [Grabbe 1971].

Ten years later, by then Bishop Gregory, he declared: “One cannot close one’s eyes to the fact that, in reality, only our Church Abroad continues to preserve Orthodoxy” [Gregory].

In the Bulletins published by Bishop Gregory, participants in ecumenical events were already being referred to as “Orthodox” in quotation marks. [5] Such ideas led the Church Abroad to withdraw even from inter-Orthodox forums. Unwilling to recognize that ROCOR’s isolation benefited the Soviet regime above all, the leadership of the Church Abroad continued deliberately to retreat from the international arena, severing its ties with the Orthodox world more and more. According to a statement from the Synodal Chancery, ROCOR rejected “all forms of ecumenism” and therefore had no communion with the Church of Constantinople and “a number of other Churches.” One example was ROCOR’s refusal to participate in the “Standing Conference of Orthodox Churches in Australia” [Bulletin 31, 1].

The Old Calendarists appeared more attractive to ROCOR’s leadership. In some minds there also arose the temptation to become the leader of all the world’s “zealots.” Such an idea was promoted, for example, by Archimandrite Panteleimon (Metropoulos). In a report delivered at the Third All-Diaspora Council, he stated that ROCOR should become the foundation of an alternative worldwide jurisdiction of the True Orthodox [Psarev, 190].

By that time, the process of creating such a worldwide “pure” Church had already begun. On June 12, 1969, the Synod of Bishops sent a letter to the “Florinite” Synod stating that it recognized the canonical status of their hierarchy and the possibility of sacramental communion with them [Slesarev, 141]. On December 31, 1969, the Synod of Bishops recognized as valid all the episcopal consecrations performed by ROCOR hierarchs for the Greek Old Calendarists in the early 1960s [Psarev, 189].

On January 1, 1970, the Synod resolved to address a letter to Archbishop Auxentios (Pastras), head of the “Florinite” branch of the Greek Old Calendarists, stating that the Synod regarded their hierarchy as lawful. The text of the letter read:

“The Synod of Bishops of the Russian Orthodox Church Outside Russia recognizes the validity of the episcopal consecrations of your predecessor, the late Archbishop Akakios, and of the subsequent consecrations of bishops of your Holy Church. Accordingly, and taking into consideration various other circumstances, our Synod of Bishops regards your hierarchy as brethren in Christ who are in full communion with us” [Decisions 1970, 14].

The letter was signed by Metropolitan Philaret; Archbishops Nikon (Rklitsky), Seraphim (Ivanov), Vitaly (Ustinov), Anthony (Sinkevich), Averky (Taushev), and Anthony (Medvedev); and Bishops Sava (Saračević), Nektary (Kontzevitch), Andrei (Rymarenko), and Laurus (Škurla) [Letter].

In August 1970, Bishop Laurus (Škurla), while in Greece, concelebrated with the “Florinites.” A year later, in July–August 1971, bishops of this branch visited America, where they concelebrated with representatives of ROCOR [Slesarev, 142].

But by preferring the Old Calendarists to the canonical Churches, the Church Abroad became hostage to a problem characteristic of all breakaway communities. Such groups sooner or later begin to fragment, competing with one another in “purity” and “truth,” while suspending and anathematizing one another.

There was not long to wait—the scandal broke out in that same year, 1971. The background to the conflict went back nine years, to 1962, when the spiritual son and subdeacon of Archbishop Vitaly (Ustinov) of Montreal and Canada, Elias Ntouskos, unexpectedly informed him that he had received the monastic tonsure with the name Akakios and had been ordained to the priesthood. Ntouskos did not tell his spiritual father the name of the bishop who had performed the ordination. There were reasons for this secrecy. The ordaining bishop proved to be another ROCOR hierarch, Archbishop Leonty (Filippovich) of Santiago. Concealing the matter from his fellow bishops, the archbishop had performed the ordination, contrary to the canons, within the territory of another diocese—in New York. None of the canonical penalties prescribed for such an offense followed. On the contrary, one violation led to another: Hieromonk Akakios established a parish in Montreal composed of his own followers and began commemorating not the ruling hierarch, Archbishop Vitaly, but Bishop Leonty [Protocol 463-a]. In 1971, the “Florinites,” who had professed their devotion to ROCOR, consecrated Akakios (Ntouskos) Bishop of Montreal and Canada, even though that title was already borne by Archbishop Vitaly (Ustinov). The Greek portion of ROCOR’s flock in Canada gradually passed over to the “Florinites” [Slesarev, 142]. Archbishop Vitaly’s demands that the Synod of Bishops declare Ntouskos’s tonsure and priestly ordination unlawful had by then come too late. The “Florinites” themselves had been informed that Ntouskos’s priestly ordination was unlawful, but they ignored the notification.

The “Florinites’” lack of respect for ROCOR was the lesser of the evils. They also began issuing ultimatums—for example, that monks from Mount Athos not be ordained and that the non-Orthodox be received only through rebaptism. Otherwise, they refused to regard ROCOR as Orthodox [Vestnik 1979, 39]. In the Russian Church Abroad, these demands were considered excessive. Moreover, the Old Calendarists began drawing ROCOR into their internal disputes. For example, the “Florinites” sought arbitration from the Synod Abroad in the conflict that had arisen between Archbishop Auxentios and Bishop Akakios (Pappas the Younger). By that time, the latter regarded himself as a special guardian of Orthodoxy and had begun accusing the “Florinites” themselves of modernism. ROCOR, however, had no desire to involve itself in the matter [Protocol 14, 4].

The “Florinites” did not stop there. They began, for example, receiving ROCOR clergy into their jurisdiction without notifying the Synod Abroad. Moreover, one of the defectors, Archimandrite John (da Rocha), was received from ROCOR into the Old Calendarist schism through baptism, after which he was tonsured anew as a monk, reordained through all the ranks of the priesthood, and consecrated a bishop for Portugal [Slesarev, 163].

The fanaticism of the “Florinites” reached its height in 1974, when they declared that the Mysteries of the canonical Church of Greece were devoid of grace. This declaration provoked protests from a considerable portion of the “Florinite” camp. ROCOR likewise regarded the decision as excessively radical. In 1975, Metropolitan Philaret (Voznesensky) announced the severing of communion with the “Florinite” Synod, “with the exception of Metropolitan Petros (Astyfides) of Astoria, the monks of the Holy Mountain, and the pious people” [Stolp, 59–60].

 

 

At the same time, ROCOR became embroiled in dealings with another branch of the Greek Old Calendarists—the “Matthewites.” This hierarchy, founded in 1948, was manifestly uncanonical, since it had been established by a single hierarch, Matthew (Karpathakis). Representatives of this body approached ROCOR, which inevitably gave rise to discussion. First, the fact of the unilateral episcopal consecration from which the “Matthewite” hierarchy derived required careful consideration. Second, contacts with this group threatened to draw ROCOR into yet another whirlpool of intrigues and scandals. It was unclear, for example, how their opponents, the “Florinite” followers of Auxentios, would react to friendly relations with the “Matthewites.”

On September 28, 1971, a “Matthewite” delegation arrived at the ROCOR Council of Bishops, consisting of Metropolitans Kallistos (Makris) and Epiphanios (Panayiotou), together with Protopresbyter Eugenios Tombros. Negotiations began.

When asked how they explained the origin of their hierarchy, the “Matthewites” replied that they did not insist upon its canonical status, that they sought its regularization, and that they left the decision to the ROCOR Council of Bishops. When asked about the “Florinites,” the delegates answered that they had appealed to Archbishop Auxentios thirteen times, but without success.

The anti-ecumenist and calendar position of the “Matthewites” was, of course, close to that of the Council of Bishops. But was it possible to recognize a hierarchy founded by a single hierarch? Finding itself between oikonomia and akribeia, the Council sought to examine the question from various angles. Although the First Apostolic Canon states that an episcopal consecration must be performed by no fewer than two bishops, exceptions to this rule are known. Thus, the Council referred to the Apostolic Constitutions, where it is stated that, in times of persecution, an episcopal consecration by a single bishop is permissible. [6] The Council also pointed to a number of historical precedents. In the Russian Church, for example, there was Bishop Joasaph (Bolotov), who was appointed by the Synod to America in 1799. Because the necessary number of bishops was unavailable in Irkutsk, the archimandrite was consecrated by Bishop Benjamin (Bagryansky) of Irkutsk alone [Protocol 16, 3]. Similar cases also occurred in Greece during its struggle for independence and its rupture with Constantinople. Consideration was also given to the fact that Patriarch Christophoros of Alexandria had received priests ordained by “Matthewite” bishops in their existing rank.

On the other hand, the Council had no intention of defending consecrations performed by a single bishop. It was pointed out that the Apostolic Constitutions were an uncertain source and that the Council in Trullo had not recognized them as a canonical authority. Nor are historical precedents always worthy of imitation, even when they occurred during times of persecution. It was not without reason that Canon 4 of the First Ecumenical Council and Canon 3 of the Seventh Ecumenical Council prescribed that a bishop should be ordained by all the bishops of the province. If this should prove impracticable, then, at the very least, the consecration itself must be performed by three bishops, while the others are to express their consent by written letters. Thus, even in the most difficult circumstances, the Church must send more than one bishop for an episcopal consecration. Moreover, the First Apostolic Canon itself was formulated precisely during a period of persecution.

The members of the Council explained the importance of having at least two bishops for an episcopal consecration by the principle that “the lesser is blessed by the greater.” When a bishop ordains a priest, this principle is observed. But for a bishop, a single consecrating bishop is not “greater” than he is. For him, the “greater” is the assembly of bishops. The consecration of a bishop by one bishop alone therefore violates the principle of ecclesiastical hierarchy.

Having weighed all the arguments for and against, the Council concluded that a consecration performed without observance of the canons was invalid. Among Roman Catholics, for example, the correct form alone is sufficient, even if the consecration itself is the result of someone’s arbitrary action; in Orthodoxy, however, it is also essential that it be performed with the blessing of the Church (Canon 6 of the First Ecumenical Council). It was therefore quite natural that the “Matthewite” consecrations were regarded with suspicion in the Orthodox world.

Nevertheless, oikonomia could also be applied. Canon 8 of the First Ecumenical Council was taken as a precedent: it permitted the Cathari (Novatians) to remain among the clergy after the “laying on of hands.” Among the various interpretations of the words “laying on of hands” was the explanation given by St. Tarasios at the Seventh Ecumenical Council, according to which they were to be understood not as ordination but as a blessing. Bishop Nikodim (Milaš), a canonist, interpreted these words as referring to the Mystery of Repentance. The ROCOR Council of Bishops also recalled Canon 79 of the Council of Carthage, according to which, in a case of great necessity, for the sake of the peace and benefit of the Church, Donatists could be received in their existing rank.

If oikonomia was possible in the case of the Donatists and Novatians, why could it not be applied to the Old Calendarists? The conciliar decision stated:

“In their teaching they have in no way erred against Orthodoxy, but in their striving to defend it they violated hierarchical order by having an episcopal consecration performed by a single bishop, Matthew of Vresthena [Resolutions, 27].

A simple recognition of their consecrations would have violated a number of canons, but oikonomia, according to other canons, was also possible. The Council therefore concluded that the performance of an additional laying on of hands—a cheirothesia—would be an acceptable and canonical solution.

The question of the possible reaction of the ‘Florinites” was also addressed. Metropolitan Philaret and Archbishop Averky proposed that, after the restoration of the “Matthewite” hierarchy, they should be encouraged to unite, after which they could themselves determine their future course. The Council also kept in mind that the “Florinites” themselves had expressed a desire for unity [Protocol 14, 3–6].

The following decision was adopted:

“In view of all the foregoing, as well as the desire expressed by Archbishop Auxentios that all those faithful to pure Orthodoxy in Greece should be united, the Council of Bishops resolves:

1. To deem it possible to grant the petition of Metropolitans Kallistos and Epiphanios, for which purpose two bishops are to perform over them the rite of the laying on of hands. They, in turn, are to perform the same rite over their fellow bishops, and all the bishops over the priests.

2. To require Metropolitans Kallistos and Epiphanios, as well as their fellow bishops, to take every measure toward the unification of their hierarchy, clergy, and laity with the corresponding hierarchy, clergy, and laity headed by His Beatitude Archbishop Auxentios.

3. To notify His Beatitude Archbishop Auxentios of all the foregoing.

4. To entrust the performance of the rite specified in paragraph 1 of this decision, at Holy Transfiguration Monastery in Boston, to Their Graces Archbishop Philotheos and Bishop Constantine” [Protocol 16, 6–7].

The “Matthewite” Metropolitans Kallistos and Epiphanios, who had come to the United States, agreed to the cheirothesiai. On September 30 and October 1, 1971, at Holy Transfiguration Monastery in Boston, Archbishop Philotheos (Narko) and Bishop Constantine (Essensky) performed the cheirothesiai over the Greeks [Stolp, 235]. In essence, these were actual episcopal consecrations: each was performed at a separate Liturgy, the episcopal omophoria were removed from those being consecrated, and the prayers of episcopal ordination were read in full [Slesarev, 153–154]. Upon their return, Metropolitans Kallistos and Matthew [sic; Epiphanios] performed the laying on of hands over their fellow bishops. For a time, communion between ROCOR and the “Matthewites” was established [Bochkov, 169].

But the unity proved fragile. The “Matthewites” considered ROCOR too tolerant of the new calendar and expressed dissatisfaction that New Calendarist parishes remained within its jurisdiction. Inclined toward isolation, the “Matthewites” attempted to drag the Russian Church Abroad down with them. In 1975, they demanded that ROCOR sign a “Confession of Faith” anathematizing ecumenism and the new calendar. Since ROCOR refused to sign this document, in May 1975 the “Matthewites” announced a provisional rupture of relations with ROCOR. On February 20, 1976, the “Matthewite” Synod declared that it was definitively severing communion with ROCOR [Slesarev, 157].

The Church Abroad itself, having plunged into the maelstrom of Old Calendarist scandals, for a time abandoned any further rapprochement with them, returning to this course only under the next First Hierarch, Metropolitan Vitaly (Ustinov).

The history of the rapprochement with the Old Calendarist Churches under Metropolitan Philaret thus became the logical outcome of the Russian Church Abroad’s developing self-isolation. ROCOR’s policy of isolationism was its own choice and not the result of rejection by world Orthodoxy. At the same time, during the period under consideration, the ROCOR leadership departed from the “universal” principles of Orthodox Christianity and sacrificed pan-Orthodox unity, placing the emphasis instead on “zealotry” and the preservation of traditions.

On the other hand, ROCOR’s rupture with the Old Calendarist Churches was just as natural an outcome, since, despite the radicalism of the “zealot faction,” the Church Abroad as a whole retained Orthodox ecclesiology and consisted to a considerable extent of people who categorically rejected the path of “alternative Orthodoxy.” The conceptions of the canonicity and universality of Orthodoxy that had been laid in its foundations from the very beginning of its existence preserved it from a lamentable fall and fragmentation.

 

FOOTNOTES

1. For further details, see [Kostryukov 2020a; Kostryukov 2020b].

2. See, for example, the following works: [Bochkov; Psarev; Slesarev; Stolp].

3. The Florinites are a branch of the Greek Old Calendarists, so called after the title of their leader, Metropolitan Chrysostomos (Kavouridis) of Florina.

4. See, for example: [Orthodox Russia 1982a; Orthodox Russia 1982b].

5. See, for example: [Bulletin 17, 1; Bulletin 18, 3].

6. In the Apostolic Constitutions (8.27), the following is stated on this subject: “Let a bishop be ordained by three or two bishops. If, however, anyone is ordained by a single bishop, let both he and the one who ordained him be deposed. But if necessity compels him to be ordained by a single bishop, because a greater number of bishops cannot be present during a persecution or for some other similar reason, then let him produce the consent of a greater number of bishops” [Constitutions, 195].

 

Sources

1. Bartoshevich 1974 = Anthony (Bartoshevich), Archbishop. Letter to Metropolitan Philaret (Voznesensky), February 23, 1974 // Stanford University. Special Collections. Grabbe Collection. Box 1. Folder 7.

2. Bartoshevich 1975a = Anthony (Bartoshevich), Archbishop. Letter to Protopresbyter G. Grabbe, February 3, 1975 // Stanford University. Special Collections. Grabbe Collection. Box 1. Folder 7.

3. Bartoshevich 1975b = Anthony (Bartoshevich), Archbishop. Letter to Protopresbyter G. Grabbe, July 25, 1975 // Stanford University. Special Collections. Grabbe Collection. Box 1. Folder 7.

4. Vestnik 1979 = “The Greek Old Calendarists” // Bulletin of the Western European Diocese. 1979. No. 13. pp. 38–39.

5. Grabbe 1971 = Grabbe, George, Protopresbyter. “Contemporary Ecumenical Renovationism and Our Attitude Toward It: A Report to the 1971 Pastoral Conference” // Stanford University. Special Collections. Grabbe Collection. Box 4. Folder 3.

6. Grabbe 1975 = Grabbe, George, Protopresbyter. Letter to Archbishop Anthony (Bartoshevich), March 9, 1975 // Stanford University. Special Collections. Grabbe Collection. Box 1. Folder 7.

7. Gregory = Gregory (Grabbe), Bishop. Report to the 1981 ROCOR Council of Bishops // Stanford University. Special Collections. Grabbe Collection. Box 3. Folder 8.

8. Journal 401-a = Journal No. 401-a of the ROCOR Synod of Bishops, January 21, 1969 // Archive of the ROCOR Synod of Bishops. File 212-a (Journals of Meetings and Minutes, 1969–1971).

9. Bulletin 17 = “A New Betrayal of Orthodoxy” // Bulletin No. 17 of the Department of External Relations under the Synod of Bishops of the Russian Orthodox Church Outside Russia. July 1978. p. 1.

10. Bulletin 18 = “It Is Not Easy to Reach Agreement” // Bulletin No. 18 of the Department of External Relations under the Synod of Bishops of the Russian Orthodox Church Outside Russia. August 1978. p. 3.

11. Bulletin 31 = “Clarification from the Synodal Chancery” // Bulletin No. 31 of the Department of External Relations under the Synod of Bishops of the Russian Orthodox Church Outside Russia. June–July 1980. p. 1.

12. Decisions 1970 = “Decisions of the Synod of Bishops of the Russian Orthodox Church Outside Russia” // Church Life. 1970. Nos. 1–4. pp. 9–23.

13. Decisions 1976 = “Decisions of the Synod of Bishops of the Russian Orthodox Church Outside Russia” // Church Life. 1976. Nos. 7–12. pp. 35–46.

14. Letter = Letter of the ROCOR Synod of Bishops to Archbishop Auxentios, December 31, 1969 // Archive of the Department for External Church Relations of the Moscow Patriarchate. File: Russian Orthodox Church Outside Russia. Folder “1969.”

15. Constitutions = The Apostolic Constitutions, Handed Down through St. Clement, Bishop of Rome. St. Petersburg: [n.p.], 2002. 208 pp.

16. True Orthodoxy = Averky (Taushev), Archbishop. True Orthodoxy and False “Orthodoxy”: On Standing Firm in Orthodoxy under Contemporary Conditions / Report of Archbishop Averky to the Council of Bishops of the Russian Orthodox Church Outside Russia, May 13/26, 1964. Jordanville, NY: Holy Trinity Monastery, 1969. 16 pp.

17. Orthodox Russia 1982a = “The Apostles’ Fast and the New Calendarists” // Orthodox Russia. 1982. No. 13. pp. 1–2.

18. Orthodox Russia 1982b = “The Old and New Styles” // Orthodox Russia. 1982. No. 13. p. 3.

19. Protocol 1 = Protocol No. 1 of the meeting of the ROCOR Council of Bishops, September 8, 1971 // Archive of the ROCOR Synod of Bishops. File: Council of Bishops, 1971. Protocols.

20. Protocol 3 = Protocol No. 3 of the meeting of the ROCOR Council of Bishops, September 10, 1971 // Archive of the ROCOR Synod of Bishops. File: Council of Bishops, 1971. Protocols.

21. Protocol 6 = Protocol No. 6 of the meeting of the ROCOR Council of Bishops, September 14, 1971 // Archive of the ROCOR Synod of Bishops. File: Council of Bishops, 1971. Protocols.

22. Protocol 14 = Protocol No. 14 of the meeting of the ROCOR Council of Bishops, September 24, 1971 // Archive of the ROCOR Synod of Bishops. File: Council of Bishops, 1971. Protocols.

23. Protocol 16 = Protocol No. 16 of the meeting of the ROCOR Council of Bishops, September 28, 1971 // Archive of the ROCOR Synod of Bishops. File: Council of Bishops, 1971. Protocols.

24. Protocol 463 = Protocol No. 463-a of the Synod of Bishops, January 10, 1972 // Archive of the ROCOR Synod of Bishops. File 212-a (Journals of Meetings and Protocols, 1969–1971).

25. Resolutions = Resolutions and Decisions of the 1971 Council of Bishops // Archive of the ROCOR Synod of Bishops. File: Council of Bishops, 1971. pp. 1–32.

26. Seraphim (Rose) = Letters of Father Seraphim (Rose). Jordanville: Holy Trinity Monastery Press, 2005. 318 pp.

27. Third All-Diaspora Council = “The Third All-Diaspora Council” // Church Life. 1974. Nos. 7–12. pp. 13–51.

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1. Bochkov = Bochkov, Pavel, Priest. A Survey of Non-Canonical Orthodox Jurisdictions of the 20th–21st Centuries. In 4 vols. Vol. 4: The Greek Old Calendarist Schism and the Non-Canonical Jurisdictions Derived from It. St. Petersburg: Svoe Izdatelstvo, 2018. 282 pp.

2. Kostryukov 2020a = Kostryukov, A. A. “On the Question of Relations between the Serbian Church and the Russian Church Abroad in the 1960s–1980s” // St. Tikhon’s University Review. Series II: History. History of the Russian Orthodox Church. 2020. Issue 92. pp. 144–157.

3. Kostryukov 2020b = Kostryukov, A. A. “The Attitude of the Russian Church Abroad toward the Non-Orthodox under Metropolitan Philaret (Voznesensky)” // Bulletin of the St. Philaret Institute. 2020. Issue 35. pp. 248–269.

4. Psarev = Psarev, A. V. “The Development of the Russian Church Abroad’s Outlook regarding the Local Churches and the Non-Orthodox” // Proceedings of the Fourth All-Diaspora Council of the Russian Orthodox Church Outside Russia. Moscow: Publishing House of the Moscow Patriarchate, 2012. pp. 180–205.

5. Russian = The Russian Orthodox Church Outside Russia: 1918–1968 / Edited by A. Sollogub. In 2 vols. Vol. 2. New York: ROCOR Publishing House, 1968. 690 pp.

6. Slesarev = Slesarev, A. The Old Calendarist Schism in the History of the Orthodox Church (1924–2008). Moscow: Publishing House of the Krutitsy Metochion; Society of Church History Enthusiasts, 2009. 562 pp.

7. Stolp = A Pillar of Fire: Metropolitan Philaret (Voznesensky) of New York and Eastern America and the Russian Church Abroad (1964–1985) / Compiled and annotated by Nun Kassia (T. A. Senina). St. Petersburg: Art of Russia, 2007. 606 pp.

 

Russian source online:

https://psmb-neos-resources.hb.bizmrg.com/target/sfi/b6ae6ad530abcf626a47158702e92314e156088e/%D0%92%D0%B5%D1%81%D1%82%D0%BD%D0%B8%D0%BA38%2B-160-179.pdf