last evening. And you know that this is my best
voice. I have nothing else to give you. So if
you can't hear me, oh God. Now I know I'm in
America. Well, you have no idea how much I wish
I was there and someone else were here doing
what I'm doing. But... God, in his strange sense
of humor and wisdom, decided that I should travel
the world trying to found a monastery, so I have
to talk. There is a good thing about doing it
in the West, though, in America or in the United
Kingdom. I was thinking now, listening to the
Gospel, that a sermon in my monastery or a sermon
delivered by my father confessor on this Sunday
In the best case, about an hour. The best case,
if he's not in a good mood. If he were in a good
mood, it would be much longer. Here I've got
ten minutes. So what do you say in ten minutes?
I remembered one thing that happened to me in
my monastery, and I will tell you that. And then
if I don't forget, I won't... To go to an idea
about what it actually means to be human. Because
that's what the apostles were asking at the beginning.
What sort of man, what manner of man is this?
That the sea and the winds and the rain listen
to him. So I'll just tell you these two things
because that's what God put in my heart now.
When you look at Lazarus and the rich man. What
I like about this particular gospel is that it
is so obvious. There's no smart, witty interpretation
about it. It is a gospel about sacrifice. It
is a gospel about helping each other and helping
the poor. And the usual questions, how, how much,
up to what point? And the answer seems very clear.
it must hurt you. If it doesn't affect you, if
it doesn't hurt you, it's not a sacrifice. I
think it was somewhere at St. John Chrysostom
that I read that Lazarus got into heaven not
because he was poor, but because he was so generous.
And St. John says that His generosity is seen
in the fact that all he had were his wounds.
And he allowed the dogs to feed on his wounds.
That's how St. John interprets that bit. A sort
of generosity where if you don't have anything
to give, you just give yourself in a very physical
way. And because you are... a parish dedicated
to Saint Seraphim. And because my name is Seraphim,
remember Saint Seraphim in the forests when the
nuns would come to visit him and they found him
all covered up with mosquitoes and flies. And
they said, Batushka, what are you doing? And
he said, well, they are the creation of God.
They have to feed. There's no difference. There's
no difference between that and what we've heard
today. If it doesn't hurt you, then it's not
a sacrifice. Somehow, I don't know why, the idea
of giving, of helping, for us today, is very
much about the other one. You're giving to him,
or you're helping her. But the gospel seems to...
say that sacrifice and giving is much more about
you, about what it does to you, the one who gives,
the one who helps. And if it doesn't hurt you,
it hasn't changed you on the inside. It hasn't
made you into something else, something better
than you were, you know, just before you gave
something. The story that came back to me in
the altar is about the villages in Moldavia,
very close to where my monastery was. I was tonsured
as a monk in Moldavia. And a bad summer in Moldavia
with no rain and horrid sun is very close to
being purely hungry and, you know, hunger. And
it happened one year that in such a horrible
summer, the villagers nearby came to our monastery
and they asked us to go to their villages with
the icon of the Mother of God in the monastery
to read the prayers for the rain to come. So
our abbot blessed that we should take our icon
of the Mother of God, just as you would take
your icon out of the iconostasis. Something that
changes you. When you come to pray, you see it's
missing because you've given it to someone else
who needed more. And he sent me with the icon.
And we went through countless villages seeing
animals dying of hunger, animals being sacrificed
just because otherwise they would have died in
a day or two. And you must understand that in
a village in Romania, at least in northern Moldavia,
each household will have one cow. one pig for
the winter and a few chickens. If those die,
you're in deep trouble. And we went from one
village to another and I prayed and nothing happened.
Nothing happened. And I was sinking more and
more in my own feeling of being completely useless
and unable to help. And then we got to this village
where the villagers did something that I found
My first instinct was, this is so dumb of you.
They came out of their houses with half their
buckets half full with water, or glasses of water,
or bottles of water, or whatever water they had
left. The very last remaining source of water
they had. They came out before the mother of
God, before the icon. And they just threw it
all out. They just poured it in front of the
icon. And I thought, this is not normal. This
is not normal. You're supposed to hold on to
everything. You're supposed to make the most
of it. I was honestly in pain because I knew
what it means for them. And he got to the church
and I still remember that they had made this
outside altar and we were praying on this outside
altar. And I was feeling so helpless and so useless
and so... And we didn't get through the Trisagion.
We did not get to the end of our father when
rain started pouring. Just pouring, drenching
us. And I knew... I just knew the way you kind
of, sometimes you just know that this has nothing
to do with me. It has to do with those people
who had abandoned everything. Who had sacrificed
their last remaining hope to the mother of God.
And she had not deserted them. While the other
villagers in the other villages, they hadn't
done so. They functioned the way I functioned
with their brains. They held on to what made
them safe. And their sacrifice was not painful
for them. Did not change them. And I know these
stories seem to come out of a different world
somehow. The way... The way the story about Christ
coming out on that ship, on that boat, and just
reprimanding the sea and the wind. And they are
in some way out of this world. Because the reality
is that we are out of this world. Remember what
St. John said today. The world hates you. Because
you are not of this world. If you were of this
world, then the world would love its own. And
this is something we forget very often. And I
assume monastics find it slightly easier to remember
it. Because once you've given up on everything,
you can no longer put your hope in this world.
You can no longer understand yourself and define
yourself through things of this world. As Saint
Silouan said, it's completely irrelevant if you
are a doctor or an emperor or a beggar. It's
completely irrelevant. Because that's not what
defines you. What you do, what you make, who
you are here is completely irrelevant. What defines
us, what makes us who we are, is Christ and the
values He put forward for us. We are not of this
world and this is not a metaphor. It's the reality
of it. We are flesh, yes, and bones, yes. And
these flesh and bones function in time and space
like everything else, like any other object.
But our deeper meaning, our deeper selves are
not of this world. You are so blessed. Just look
around you to have these beautiful icons. And
by the way, these are some of the most beautiful
icons I've seen. At least in America, I don't
remember another place. And the ones you worship
are scandalously beautiful. You are so fortunate
to come into the church and to see these images
around you, to be reminded that these are human
beings like you and myself. And when the priest
comes out and he senses them, he senses human
beings that have defined themselves through things
not of this world. But of Christ. And then when
the priest comes and senses you. He's not mad
to do it. He's doing it because in you. There
is the same image. The same divine image. Not
of this world. That you see in these icons. Don't
forget that. That's why you have them. To learn
from these icons. And then if you were to come
to my first monastery in Moldavia, you would
see that we also paint the outside with icons
as well. And this is not something recent. Our
monastery was painted in 1561 -64. And it's completely
covered with icons on the outside as well. Because
Christ's image is not restricted to here, to
these walls. Christ's image is reflected outside
as well. And when you look at people, when you
shake hands with people, when you embrace them,
when you meet your co -workers in your office
or your neighbours or people in the street, hold
on to this understanding that you are facing
the image of Christ, no matter how sinful those
people are. If God made them, God wants them.
And if you are in front of them, then you have
a mission for those people. Nothing is by accident.
If you are facing that human being, you'd better
be praying for that human being. Because the
time will come when Christ will say what we've
heard today. I came to you and I told you. You
cannot say you didn't know. What have you done
for that human being whom I created out of love?
I think I'm past my ten minutes. I really think
I am. But I am supposed to tell you something
about my monastery, but I'll do that at the end.
I'll do that at the end, just after we finish
the divine liturgy. And I promise not to bore
you more than three, maybe five minutes. Forgive
me for anything wrong I might have said. And
glory be to God for anything right.