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
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