The servant of God Zviad testifies about events from 2013:

I was abroad and I didn’t even notice how hooked I was getting on drugs. First I grew weak, then I lost all joy. I lost interest in my job and I drifted apart from all my relatives and friends. When I returned to Georgia, I rented a house in the middle of nowhere to be alone and to try to kick the habit—to try to wean myself off that filth. What a mistake it is to think we can get by in such situations without God and our loved ones! It was only later that I realized it was the prayers of my loved ones that pulled me out of this pit.

One evening I was walking by the woods when I saw an old priest with a white beard sitting on a bench and crying… He was crying so bitterly that even as stoned as I was, I went over to help.

“I haven’t eaten for three days. My strength is failing me,” he whispered.

I practically carried him back to my place. There wasn’t much in the fridge—just some bread and bologna. I sat him down in a chair and rushed off to the grocery store. I ran back and started cooking scrambled eggs and macaroni, and he said: “I won’t eat without you.” And there I was, a man who’d forgotten what normal food was, sitting and tending to this priest for two solid hours.

“I’d like some wine,” he said.

I told him I don’t drink and didn’t have any wine. He reacted immediately. He looked at me sternly and said:

“Oh, but you have no problem with things that aren’t allowed. You’d better watch out or I’ll show you a thing or two,” he said laughing. He introduced himself as “Mama Vasily,” which means “Father Vasily” in Georgian (in childhood, everyone called the future elder Vasiko in honor of his late father).

After a while, he became ill. He was trembling and gasping but forbade me to call the ambulance. And I was afraid myself—what if the police came with the paramedics, searched the place, and found the stuff that had put me in this state?”

“Call the Theotokos!” he shouted. “Ask her to help!”

I didn’t know any prayers. Out of a fear, I just started yelling up to Heaven: “Theotokos, help! Jesus, help!” And he whispered the names of saints to me—I only remember Sts. Charalampos and Xenia of St. Petersburg. After a while he came around. And at four in the morning, a new request: “Take me to Sagarejo.”

I was already sick of this weird priest, so I agreed. We drove about forty-five miles. He told some stories along the way, but there’s only one thing I remember for sure: I really liked hearing his voice and his stories. As soon as we arrived at Sagarejo, he shouted:

“Where have you taken me? I asked to go to Saguramo!”

And that was in the opposite direction, another fifty miles. I apologized and headed that way. And then it started. First a tire blew out with a bang. Cursing under my breath, I put on the spare. We went a little further and the spare was in shreds! The car was stuck, silence all around, and this mysterious old man sitting next to me...

I spent an hour and a half trying to flag down someone to help us. At dawn, a kind man gave me a ride to the nearest tire shop, ten miles away. This strange priest stayed in the car, saying he’d keep an eye on it. In short, I somehow changed the tire again, and we again headed off for Saguramo.

This priest sang the whole way there—some Georgian songs, some gypsy songs from the film, Gypsies Are Found Near Heaven. He asked me: “Have you seen this film? I followed a gypsy camp, I lived with them. I baptized many of them. I have many friends there. The gypsies are good people…” I started realizing that this man knew too much about me. He answered questions before I even asked them. He took me along the roads of Saguramo for a long time, telling me to turn right, then left. Finally, he got out somewhere at the end of the road. Getting out of the car, he turned around and said:

“This is a day neither you nor I will ever forget… You won’t forget, will you? You’ll tell everyone which roads we took?”

To be polite, I agreed, and then started driving back. Before I could even turn back to look, the priest had disappeared—I have no idea where to. I still had fifty miles to go. With great difficulty, through seemingly endless obstacles, I finally made it home—it took about four hours. I got inside and collapsed on the couch. Nearly a full day in such a crazy, tense situation... I didn’t just fall asleep—I was out like a light.

When I woke up the next morning, I was amazed that I felt good. Out of habit, I opened the drawer to take my “morning dose,” but I couldn’t find anything there or in any of my hiding places. Everything was gone… I got angry, then scared, and I thought: “Were the police here?” In that frantic state, ransacking everything all around, I made my way to the bookshelf. My eyes caught a book with a figure on the cover who looked strangely familiar.

It was the book, The Elder’s Diadem. And on the cover—that “strange priest” whom I’d taken care of for two days… Or rather, not a strange priest, but Elder Gabriel. And it turns out I wasn’t driving him that whole time, but he was driving me.

I just sat there, looking at this photo. I couldn’t tear myself away. I’d heard about the Elder but didn’t really know anything about him. A chill ran through my whole body, and tears, as they say, flowed like a river… I don’t know how many hours I spent in this state. But the most amazing thing was that in the past, if I was even half an hour late taking that awful stuff, a terrible “withdrawal” would begin. But here it’d been two days already, and no withdrawal, no shaking, no craving. I was the happiest man in the world at that moment.

Soon I returned to my job abroad, returned to my family, returned to God, and to life itself. It’s been thirteen years since that day when I was reborn. I was reborn by the Lord’s great mercy and the direct intervention of Fr. Gabriel. At first, no one could believe that I wasn’t taking that poison anymore. When my family was finally convinced, my mother confessed that at that same time, she had lit a candle before an icon of Fr. Gabriel and prayed: “Please save my son…”

I always remember his words: “This is a day neither you nor I will ever forget… You won’t forget, will you? You’ll tell everyone which roads we took?”

Indeed, Fr. Gabriel! Truly, our kind, tireless intercessor, our hope and advocate! I won’t forget. And with this letter, I’m telling everyone that you’ll never leave us. And if need be, you’ll come and bring us to our senses. You’ll do it as only you know how: strangely, majestically, and in ways our sin-laden minds can’t even begin to fathom.

***

Listening to Zviad’s story, I couldn’t help but recall—as if in confirmation—what Elder Gabriel repeated more than once in the days before his death: “I’m leaving, but I’ll always be invisibly with you. I will never forsake you.”

Truly, our beloved Mama Gabrieli doesn’t abandon anyone! On February 22, Elder Gabriel is “uncovered” again for every one of us. He comes from the silence of Samtavro to meet us in our pain, our unbelief, and our hope. He comes to us, so that everyone—from their Sagarejo, from their dead end, from their personal “withdrawal”—might finally find the road home! And as long as we remember these roads, as long as we tell each other about them, we’re not orphans.

We don’t just believe this—we see his presence firsthand in transformed lives and we hear his triumphant cry in every heartbeat, conquering all death:

“I have died, yet I live! And I will never leave you.”

Joyous feast of the uncovering of the precious relics of our beloved Venerable Gabriel, dear ones

He has set Eternity in the human heart

 

On the M25, the orbital motorway that surrounds London, there was a piece of graffiti written on a wall in large letters, visible to all sat in the daily traffic jam, which read “Why do I do this every day?”  When I lived in the Midlands, my job took me that way once a month, and along with millions of other motorists, I groaned every time I saw it! 

It was a running commentary on how far our lives are from the desires of our hearts and how much our broken world (and the broken people within it) refuses to cooperate. Whilst childhood dreams quickly evaporate and the idealism and promise of youth yield to duty and obligation, the angst remains as St Augustine frames it for us, “our hearts are restless until they rest in You” 

The things we love on earth can be brief glimpses of eternity and keep us going, the sunsets, the mountains and valleys, the smell of rain and for others, sea spray and a billowing sail. 

I know a couple of sailors and in my quest to learn new things every year, I picked up a book called ‘sailing made easy’. I was finding it informative and started to pick up the terms and language; the author though seemed to be a sailing scientist rather than a buccaneer until half way through the manual he suddenly spoke from the heart and said that sailing was “the sensation of being propelled by an invisible and silent force that induces first awe, then wonder, then the desire to understand how it all works” 

And then I understood. How close he came to identifying what we are all really seeking. 

“The wind blows wherever it pleases. You hear its sound, but you cannot tell where it comes from or where it is going, so it is with everyone born of the Spirit” 

Sailing is analogous to being born of the Spirit. If you are in the Spirit’s flow without hindrance you are sailing downwind or running.  More usually we encounter resistance and will have to trim our sails to find the optimum speed and direction, and tack to move forwards gradually, akin to a process of listening prayer or discernment: a constant process of adjustment really to stay in line with the Spirit and maintain the course He sets. 

I imagine then that a sailor who is also born of the Spirit has a double portion of Joy and an excellent hope of reaching the desired eternal port safely. If you’ll excuse the pun, St Augustine has just thrown me another line… 

“God provides the Wind, man must raise the sails”

A Future and a Hope (Jer 29:11)

 

 

I appreciate the Lenten season; an opportunity to lay aside the past, and focus on repentance, restoration and a brighter and more God-centred future. 

I was reading a book by a pastor and counsellor who, on listening to the story of one of his flock was overwhelmed by the ‘tragedy’ of her past; the sins of people against her and her own poor choices and their consequences made for a landscape of suffering and pain. Fortunately he was able to pray with her simultaneously to seek God’s guidance in how to speak into her story. 

The insight he received was that her past was beyond repair but at the same time He revealed that this was not the end of the story. She had a future. And it was ‘vast, unbroken, pristine and radiant’. ‘A glory that would be revealed in her, a glory that far outweighed her current troubles; God was coming to redeem and transform her. Her past was a tragedy to lament but her future was an epic to anticipate’ 

Such words of encouragement gave her renewed hope; shown in a transformed countenance as she praised God and received His mercy. Later her life was indeed transformed and fulfilled as she married, had children and has a happy family life. 

But this can be everyone’s story. A new beginning is only ever a prayer away. ‘A contrite heart He will not scorn’. (PS 51:17) . We have a future and a hope as we entrust the past to God. 

The Power of the Word

‘Death and life are in the power of the tongue’ (Proverbs 18:21)

 

I thought of someone the other day who, by my calculations, is probably deceased by now, prompting me to think up an impromptu eulogy which was “at least she can’t do anyone any more harm now”.  It was more gracious than it looks for I had never heard a word from her lips that was not vicious, critical, malicious or deceitful or all of the above. Perhaps one ‘kindred spirit’ attended the funeral but even for him it would have been more relief than sorrow.

 

Words do have immense power to create or destroy, to give life or to kill. I am sure it is easy to put names and faces to those we have encountered through life, who have been kind, encouraging, compassionate, caring, patient, loving - those who have given life by their presence, example and guidance, and similarly those we have encountered who caused great pain and wounded the heart and soul by their presence and words.

 

One Japanese chap, Dr. Masuro Emoto, conducted a series of experiments to determine the effects of both positive and negative words spoken (and written) on the response of water. (It is worth noting that we are 60%+ water) Whilst this would come under the category of Pseudo-Science as would many of his conclusions, what is interesting is the observations he made and their consistency.

 

Firstly he exposed water samples to positive spoken words, like Love, Gratitude, Peace, Joy. Then he froze the water samples and observed the structure of the resultant ice:- they formed beautiful, orderly crystalline structures. He conducted the same experiment using negative spoken words like Hate, Anger, Rage. The samples were again frozen and the structures were also examined. This time they were distorted, chaotic structures. The same observations were made by wrapping the water samples in paper with the words written on them, (in different languages) both positive and negative words giving the same resultant crystalline forms observed with spoken words. Exposure of water to prayer also produced the beautiful Crystals in the frozen water. Interestingly; he also tried different types of music played to water samples and this too yielded consistent results of orderly crystals in the water exposed to classical music and distorted shapes in the water exposed to loud heavy metal music.

 

Of course we can see too the power of words in the Gospels, at Jesus’s word (and later the apostles) demons are expelled, sickness removed from the body, the dead raised to life, sins forgiven, and when He found no fruit on the fig tree and cursed it, it died.

TRUE SCIENCE DOES NOT FEAR TRUTH

Nobel Prize and Atheist Converted To Catholic Faith After Witnessing Miracle At Lourdes A Nobel Prize–winning doctor, once an atheist and outspoken skeptic, converted to Christianity after witnessing miracles at Lourdes. Dr. Alexis Carrel, Nobel laureate in Medicine, went to Lourdes in 1902 not as a pilgrim, but to expose it as a fraud. While there, he examined Marie Bailly, a woman dying of advanced tuberculous peritonitis. Other physicians agreed she would soon die. After water from the Grotto was poured over her abdomen, Carrel watched in disbelief as the swelling vanished within minutes, her pulse normalized, and her strength returned. He carefully documented the case and had her monitored for months. She remained healed, later joining the Sisters of Charity. Carrel later witnessed another instantaneous cure, this time of a blind child. Unable to deny what he saw, he embraced the faith he once rejected—at the cost of his standing among atheist peers. Lourdes taught him that true science does not fear truth, and that God is not limited by human reason.