The Shepherd, January 2008
THE COMING MONTH
JANUARY opens (1st / 14th) with a double celebration: that of the Circumcision of the Saviour on the eighth day after His birth in Bethlehem, and also the feast of the Great Hierarch Basil the Great, (ca. 329-379 A.D.). Remembering this great father of the Church, this year we devote this section to a beautiful story sent us recently by a priest friend in America, Fr Joseph Frawley. This tale, which was first published in English in a magazine called “The Faithful Steward,” and told by the renowned iconographer, Photios Kontoglou, probably derives from a folk tradition, but like the very best tales it has much to tell us about a truly Orthodox manner of life: hospitality, reverence for the clergy, devotion to the church services and to learning about the faith, our care for the faithful departed and proper respect for them, our attitude to animals, and more, and yet, like the Saviour’s parables, it is told in the simplest of words.
John The Blessed
Translation of a St. Basil’s Day Story by Photios Kontoglou
ONCE Christmas had passed, Saint Basil the Great took his staff into his hand and went round about to all the villages to see who would celebrate his feast day with a pure heart. He passed through many diverse hamlets and towns, but no matter whose door he knocked on, they would not open to him because they took him to be a vagabond. He left each town embittered because, though he himself was in no need from men, he understood how much anguish would fill some poor man’s heart because of the pitilessness which these selfish men displayed. One day, he was just leaving one such heartless village and as he was passing by the cemetery, he saw that the memorials over the graves were ramshackle, the crosses were broken or had tumbled down, and jackals had burrowed into the newly-dug graves. Being a saint, he could hear the dead speaking and saying: “While we were in the world above, we toiled, we went through many tribulations and left behind children and grandchildren so that they would light a candle and burn some incense on our behalf. But we don’t see anything! Neither a priest standing at our head reading a memorial service nor kolyva. It is as though we left no one behind.” Saint Basil again became grieved and said, “These villagers don’t give anything to anyone, neither to the living, nor to the dead.” He made his way out of the cemetery and walked all alone in the frozen snow.
On the eve of his feast, he came to some villages that were the poorest of the poor in Greece. The icy wind moaned as it whipped between the brush and the rocks. There was not a living soul in sight. The night was pitch black. Behind him he espied a small hillock and at the foot of it there was tucked away a cabin next to a sheepfold. Saint Basil went into the enclosure and knocked on the cabin door with his staff and shouted, “Have mercy on a poor man for the sake of the souls of your dead ones and may Christ provide for your needs in this world!” The dogs awoke and jumped towards him, but no sooner had they come close and smelled him when they began wagging their tails and rolling at his feet, whining imploringly and joyfully. At that very instant, the door opened and out stepped a shepherd, a bearded young man some twenty-five years old. It was John Barbakos, a simple-hearted, rough-hewn man of the earth. Before he had even taken a good look to see who had knocked at the door, he said, “Come in, come in! Good morning ! ”
“May you be blessed, you and your household and your sheep. May the peace of God be upon you.” Inside the cabin, a lamp shone where it hung near a cradle which was suspended from two beams. Next to the hearth there was some bedding and John’s wife was sleeping there. When Saint Basil stepped in, John took his hand and kissed it and said, “Give me your blessing, Elder.” He said this as though he had known him for years, as though he were speaking to his father. The Saint said, “May you be blessed, you and your household and your sheep. May the peace of God be upon you.” The young woman arose and she too came and bowed and kissed his hand and he blessed her. Saint Basil looked like some poor monk who was a beggar with a wretched old skoufa on his head; his raso had holes and was patched, his sandals too were worn through, and he carried an old bag slung over his shoulders.
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