Mihail, Death of a Righteous Man
of systematic degradation of body and soul, he shone with the light of Christ’s peace and compassion. His sights set on God and his life grounded in the Church, Father Arseny lived by the injunction to “bear one another’s burdens, and so fulfill the law of Christ” (Gal 6:2).
Father Arseny
ALL THE PRISONERS were accounted for, and had been pushed back into the barracks; the doors were locked. Before sleeping you could talk a little, share impressions of life in the camp, play dominoes or simply lie on your bunk and remember your past. Even two hours after the doors were locked, you could still hear some chatting; then the voices would get quieter, and silence would overtake the barracks.
After the barracks had been locked Father Arseny stood for a long time near his bunk to pray, then he lay down and continued to pray, and finally he fell asleep. His sleep was never very deep. Around one o’clock he felt someone pushing at him. He jumped up and saw an unknown man whispering to him:
“Come! My neighbor is dying! He is calling for you!”
The dying man, on the other side of the barracks, was lying on his back and breathed raggedly, with difficulty. His eyes were unnaturally wide open. “Please forgive me! But I need you. I am dying,” he said to Father Arseny and suddenly said-almost ordered: “Sit down!”
Father Arseny sat on the side of the bunk. The light that was coming from the passageway between the bunks weakly lit the dying man’s face, which was covered with beads of sweat. His hair was wet, his lips were closed tightly. He was worn out, he was dying, but his eyes looked at Father Arseny like two burning torches. In these eyes lived, burned, and rushed the whole life this man had lived. He was leaving this life, he had suffered, he was tired, but he wanted to bring an account of his life to God.
“Please, hear my confession. Forgive me my sins. I am a monk, a secret monk.” Those whose bunks were near Mikhail’s got up and found another place to sleep. They could all see that death was upon him, and even in barracks one had to be merciful and indulgent towards a dying man. Father Arseny bent over the monk, straightened the torn blanket which covered him, put his hand on his head, whispered the prayers before confession and, gathering his own spirit, prepared to hear his confession.
“My heart is giving out,” said the man. Saying that his name as a monk was Mihail, he began his confession.
Bent over, his face near the face of the dying man, Father Arseny listened to his barely audible whisper and looked into the eyes of Mihail. Sometimes the whispering would stop and you could hear wheezing when Mihail had difficulty breathing; he was gasping for air. At times he would become silent, and one might think he had died, but his eyes remained alive, and Father Arseny; looking into them, could read all that the sick: man was trying to say in his difficult whisper.
Father Arseny had heard the confession of many people on their death beds, and always these confessions shook him deeply; but now, listening to the confession of’ Mihail, Father Arseny clearly understood that he had before him a man with an unusually great spiritual life. A man of prayer, a righteous man was dying, a man who had given his life to God and to his fellow men. A righteous man was dying, and Father Arseny understood that the Priest Arseny was unworthy to kiss the hem of the garment of the Monk Mihail, and that he was nothing in comparison.
The whispers came in shorter and shorter bits, but the eyes were burning, radiating light, they were alive. And again, Father Arseny was able to read in these eyes everything the dying man wanted to say.
In his confession Mihail was severe with himself, he accused himself without pity. At times there was the feeling that Mihail had already separated himself from the man who was on the bunk and was talking about him from the outside. Father Arseny saw that Mikhail’s worldly life, like a ship loaded with his pains, worries, and griefs past and present, had already sailed away from him to the distant world of forgetfulness and now only the essentials remained, for him to bring before God for scrutiny. Having discarded everything which was not essential, all that was essential had to be entrusted to the hands of the Priest Arseny, and he, through the authority vested in him by God, was to forgive and absolve it all.
In the few minutes that he had left to live, the Monk Mihail had to bring everything to God, acknowledge all his sins, and clear his conscience before appearing before the judgment of God. A man was dying the same that way so many had died before him in the hands of Father Arseny. But this death made Father Arseny tremble, and he understood that God had done him a great kindness in allowing him to hear the confession of this righteous man. The Lord was showing him His greatest treasure, which He had lovingly cultivated. He was showing him to what height of perfection a man can rise, a man who loved God, who took up the “yoke and burden” of being a Christian and carried it to the end. All of this Father Arseny saw and understood.
The confession of the dying Mihail brought Father Arseny to see how even under the unbelievably complicated circumstances of modern life, with its political upheavals, its complex human relations, the officially supported atheism, the trampling of the faith, the fall of moral values, the constant suspicions and false reports, and the lack of any spiritual guidance, a man of deep faith could overcome everything which came between him and God.
The Monk Mihail had not traveled towards God from inside a monastery or a skete, but out in the harsh conditions of life, during the harshest of times, in a hitter battle against the forces of evil, against aggressive atheism. He had had almost no support or guidance; he had met two or three priests and had had the joy of a year in contact with Bishop Theodore, who had tonsured him; later Mihail had received two or three brief letters from him. But mainly he had been moved by his indestructible, burning desire to move nearer and nearer to God.
“Did I walk the right path, did I walk as I should have? Or did I take a wrong path? I do not know,” said Mihail.
But Father Arseny saw that Mihail had not only not strayed from the path shown him by Bishop Theodore, but that he had walked this path far, very far, further than his spiritual guides ever had themselves. The life Mihail had led was like a battle for spiritual and moral perfection, and this amidst the everyday life of this century. Father Arseny understood that Mihail had won this battle, a battle engaged one on one with the evil all around him. Out among people he was doing good in the name of God and carried in his soul the words of the apostle like a burning flame: “Bear one another’s burdens, and so fulfill the law of Christ” (Galatians 6:2).
Father Arseny understood the perfection and greatness of Mihail and acknowledged his own nothingness. He prayed fervently, almost aggressively, that God grant him, Father Arseny, the strength to ease the final minutes of the dying man. At times, Father Arseny felt utterly helpless but at the same time he felt great joy in feeling so close to Mihail, whose confession was opening for him the mysterious ways of God, teaching him about and setting him on the path to deepest faith.
And then the time came when Mihail had given all he had in his soul to Father Arseny and through him to God. He looked at Father Arseny with a question in his eyes. Taking the burden of Mikhail’s sins and holding it in his hands, Father Arseny took it all upon his own priestly soul, and trembled. He trembled again as he realized his human nothingness and helplessness.
Having said the prayer of absolution over Mihail, he at first sobbed internally and then wept uncontrollably in full view of the dying man. Mihail raised his eyes and, looking deeply at Father Arseny, he said, “I thank you! Be calm again! The hour of God’s will has come. Pray for me while you are on this earth. Your life’s journey is still long, I beg you to take my hat; a note addressed to two people is sewn into it. They are people of great faith. Very great faith. Their addresses are there. When you are out of this camp, when you are free-give the note to them. They need you, and you need them. Sew your own zek number into my hat. Pray to God for the Monk Mihail.”
During the whole confession they had been alone in the barracks. The barracks itself, the people living in it, the whole atmosphere had been somewhere far away, had disappeared into some kind of non-being. A state of closeness to God, prayerful contemplation and silent inner unity seized them both and placed them before God. All that was painful, stormy, or human had gone away. There was only the Lord God, to whom the one was now going, while the other was being permitted to contemplate something so great and mysterious death, the departure from this life.
The dying man squeezed the hand of Father Arseny, and prayed, prayed so deeply that he had left everything of this world; and Father Arseny, his soul so near to Mikhail’s in prayerful union, released all that was around him, and with reverence, humbly followed in the prayer of the Monk Mihail. But now came the time of death. The eyes of the dying man lit up with a silent light of joy and he whispered, “Do not forsake me, 0 my Lord!” Mihail sat up, stretched out his hands, almost made a step forward and said loudly, twice, “Lord! Lord!” Then, he fell backward. The hand that had been holding Father Arsenal’s opened; Mikhail’s features grew peaceful, but his eyes were bright and gazed upwards with joy; it seemed to Father Arseny that he saw with his own eyes how the soul of Mihail was leaving his body.
Shaken, Father Arseny fell to his knees and began to pray, but not for the soul and salvation of the departed. He was thanking God, who in His mercy had made him worthy to see the Unseen, the Unknowable, and the most mysterious of mysteries-the death of a righteous man.
Father Arseny arose from his knees and bent over the body of Mihail, whose eyes were still open and bright, but whose light was slowly fading. A barely perceptible mist covered them as the eyelids slowly closed: a shadow ran over his face, and because of this it became majestic, joyous and peaceful.
Bent over Mikhail’s body, Father Arseny prayed, and although he had just witnessed Mikhail’s death, he did not feel grief-only peacefulness and an inner joy. He had seen a righteous man, and had touched God’s mercy and His glory. Father Arseny lovingly arranged Mikhail’s clothing and bowed to his body; the thought came to him again and again like a lightning bolt that God, the Lord himself, had been here and had received Mikhail’s soul.
Day was breaking; soon everybody would be awake, Father Arseny took Mikhail’s fur hat, exchanged his own number for Mikhail’s and went to the man responsible among the prisoners to report the death of Mihail. The man, the oldest among the criminals, asked for the zek number of the deceased and expressed sympathy. The barracks were opened, and the prisoners filed out for the morning roll call. In front of the barracks stood the supervisors; the one responsible approached them, saying, “We have a corpse, No. 382.”
One of the supervisors went into the barracks, looked at the dead man, kicked him with his boot and left. Two hours later a sleigh came to pick up the corpse. A medic entered, glanced carelessly at the body of Mihail, lifted an eyelid with his gloved hand and said in disgust, “Get him out fast.”
There were already several corpses in the sleigh, so they took Mihail and put him on top of the other dead prisoners. The driver settled himself comfortably by resting his feet on the frozen bodies. It was freezing and quiet; a light snow fell onto the faces of the dead men, it melted slowly, so that they seemed to be crying. Next to the barracks stood the supervisors, the medic and Father Arseny, who was praying silently, with his hands on his chest.
The sleigh moved off, Father Arseny bowed and blessed the dead with the sign of the cross. He went back inside the barracks.The driver, swearing filthily, pulled on the reins, shouted at the horses and the sleigh moved slowly to disappear behind the barracks.
 This was written from the words of Father Arseny in 1960. In
1966 the scattered notes were organized by the Hieromonk
Andrew.
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