Wondrous stories of St. John of Kronstadt скачать в хорошем качестве

Wondrous stories of St. John of Kronstadt

Wondrous stories of St. John of Kronstadt ~Pregnancy “The wife of O., while preparing to bear her 4th or 5th child, was taken seriously ill. Her doctors determined that the fetus had died and that a Caesarean section was required to remove it. But first the family sent a telegram to Fr. John of Kronstadt, whom they knew. Fr. John replied: ‘Leaving immediately, praying to God. John Sergiev.’ The next day about noon he entered the O. apartment, where by that time a whole crowd of relatives and friends had gathered. ‘Where is Liza?’ Fr. John asked. ‘Take me to her, and all of you remain here quietly.’ Fr. John entered the adjoining bedroom and closed the heavy doors after him. Minutes passed that seemed like half-hours. In the drawing-room it was quiet as a burial vault. And suddenly the bedroom doors were flung open with a loud noise. In the doorway stood a grey-haired old man in a priest's cassock, over which he had on an old stole with a thin, disheveled grey beard, with an extraordinary face that was red from the intense effort he had exerted at prayer and covered with great drops of sweat. And suddenly there almost thundered from Fr. John fearful terrible words, words that came from another world. ‘The Lord God has been please to work a miracle! He had been pleased to resurrect a dead child in the womb! Liza will bear a son!..’ ‘It's incomprehensible!’ said one of the doctors who had come for the operation just two hours after Fr. John had left. ‘The fetus is alive... I don't understand a thing about it, not a thing... I affirmed and affirm now that the fetus was dead and that blood-poisoning began long ago.’ The other doctors understood no more. The same night Mrs. O. was successful and quickly delivered a perfectly healthy boy.” (Eugene Vadimov) ~Evil spirits “One day, a sick possessed woman was brought to Father John in the cathedral. During Fr. John’s sermon, during the singing of the Cherubic Hymn, but especially during the singing in Great Lent of ‘Now the heavenly hosts,’ inhuman cries were emitted, wailings/barks. When Fr. John was giving Holy Communion, I stood with my mother in the choir-place and saw how a few men carried up, a woman to him. She kept propping her legs against each step. Her appearance was terrible. The handkerchief fell from her head. Her hair became dishevelled (untidy). She was waving her arms about and kept repeating all the time: ‘I’ll spit, I’ll spit anyway.’ When she was brought to the Chalice, Batiushka (Father) told them to let her go and not to support her. Those who accompanied her cautiously left her. Then Batiushka told the woman to cross herself. She crossed herself, this time correctly. Batiushka asked her what her name was. Father John gave her Holy Communion and, calmed (down), she walked away from the Chalice, crossing herself and repeating: ‘Glory to Thee, Lord, glory to Thee, Lord…’ ” ~Fever “This was — recalled Gouliaeff in tears — in 1903, in a small place called Emba, in the province of Sihr-Darya. Being a young man, I was working on the Tashkent Railways, engaged in making water pumps. That year we had a serious typhoid epidemic; I became ill and was transported to the contagious barracks, two miles from Emba, beyond the river. My condition was recognized as hopeless. My temperature rose to 42 C. I was unconscious almost all the time, became weakened to such an extent that I was quite incapable of lifting my arms from the blanket. In the words of the sick-nurses, I kept singing church songs in delirium, as our entire family was very religious. I was brought up on church singing, not liking worldly music. My father was a simple peasant, but there were also clergymen in our ancestry. I remember how I came to and felt that I was dying. I could not move my hands, could not cross myself. Helplessly, I wept, and began in tears to sing ‘Heavenly King’ as best I could... Suddenly, halfway between the bed on which I was lying and the door, a priest in gold vestments appeared as if in a haze. He drew near to me, and I then saw perfectly clearly, lightly-flaxen hair, a ruddy face, and blue, infinitely kind eyes. The priest leant over to me... ‘There is no need to cry; let’s pray.’ And there and then he began to serve a Molieben (service of intercession or service of supplication). He served neither quietly nor loudly, with great concentration, earnestly and heartfelt. I was looking at his kind face, examined, like a child, the patterns on his vestments, listened to his voice, and understood that it was Father John of Kronstadt who had come to me. With his coming my arm rose for the sign of the cross. Father John blessed me. I clung to his hand. The hand was warm and very soft. I remember this hand, as though it were with me now. Reached capacity: