Speaking, Writing, Part Four

 

            Winter arrived early that year with the first few flakes of snow falling the day before Christmas, bringing with it a whipping cold wind and a drop in temperature far below zero. All of the children in the village gathered together at the edge of town, leaving a wild and indecipherable chaos of footprints in the thin layer of snow. They all shared the same concern, that Prokhor would not be warm or safe in the face of this blistering frozen storm. The smallest child there and certainly the youngest demanded that they go together as a group through the woods to the north and demand that he return with them, for his wellbeing was their greatest concern.

              The three oldest boys, though far from wise or responsible, reminded the gaggle of children that traveling in this terrible cold, at the edge of an oncoming darkness would be foolish and would certainly end in frostbite or a loss of direction. As a group led by the three oldest, they walked through town, returning each child to his home until only the three oldest boys remained, who then continued on to the chapel at the opposite end of town. They let themselves into the nave and sought to convince the priest to gather a few men and rescue Prokhor from the oncoming storm.

              With a smile that no cold or fear could erase, Prokhor stood at the edge the forest, watching the children, discuss, debate, argue, and finally disappear into their homes. He slipped away from his position of shadowy obscurity to follow the three boys to the chapel, listening to the conversation through a partially open window, still smiling, overjoyed, and proud of the goodness and innocence clearly displayed by them all.

              As the three teens left the chapel, he hurried back to the edge of the forest, just in time to watch the priest leave as well, travel from door to door to door, eventually followed by three other men with a torch and axes, weapons he assumed for protection as the forest had grown quite dark. As the small group approached the main path into the forest, he stepped out in front of them, identified himself and hobbled into their immediate presence, thanking them for their willingness to help and praising the children for their godly concern for others.

              The five of them returned to town, with each man offering Prokhor space in their home to sleep and a place at their table. As each man spoke, he looked into their eyes which led to the golden space in their hearts, eventually accepting the offer from the third man, for he could see his goodness, his kindness, his concern for others, and knowing that there was enough space and food, without having to take away any from the children.

              Early the following morning, Prokhor rose from his place in the corner of the main living space, helped himself to a crust of bread and a drink of water, to begin a walk through the town, stopping at each home and offering up a brief prayer and words of thankfulness for such a loving community. As he completed his circle around the town, he found himself back at his temporary home, feeling warm and content despite the biting cold and the light snowfall. He crossed the street and sat in the town square watching the snow slowly cover the few footsteps that speckled the dirt paths and patches of grass.

              Still feeling thankful for the number of good and loving people that truly cared for him, he closed his eyes, and began praying for each individual he knew by name, by each family name, and for the entire town as a whole, feeling a remarkable warmth come upon him, melting the snow in a circle around him. It was the sound of giggling that pulled him from his prayerful focus, to realize that most of the children in the community and a few of the adults had gathered around him, their eyes fixed on his elevated state.

              As his feet once again touched the ground, he sat on the bench behind him, and began sharing his thoughts on the practical ways that they, even as fallen and selfish men, can be of service to others and learn to disregard our own comforts and pleasures. As he spoke, he noticed that those closest to him began unbuttoning their jackets, removing their hats and their gloves, based, he assumed on the incredible heat being generated by his person.

              As he spoke, a teenage girl wrote down every word that came from his mouth, knowing the value of documenting his wisdom and instruction, knowing that teaching such as this was incredibly rare and worthy of writing down to eventually share with others, following the certain end of Prokhor's life. This became a pattern for the next two weeks, he would walk through the town, pray for them all, retire to the center of town, and share his thoughts and ideas on any topic that would be helpful to those who desired only to do good. His words all documented by the girl.

              Despite the whipping, biting cold, Prokhor delivered his messages, shared his wisdom, and was overjoyed at seeing a slow change come over the town, with more generosity, more kindness, more civility, and more care for those in need, especially the homeless, the orphans, and the beggars.

              With the arrival of spring, he knew that he needed to step away from the community, return to his little cabin and prayer stone in the far northern woods, knowing that he had spoken all the words they needed to hear to grow, to flourish, and to make an impact, not only upon their own town but also on the towns around them and upon the homeless that wandered between them all. He completed his final walk through of the town and instead of taking his place in the center of town, he hurried off into the woods, knowing that many would try to stop him from leaving if he remained among them too long this final morning.

              He disappeared into the darkness of the forest, weaving on and off of the main path, relishing the beauty of the new growth, the flowers, the blossoms, and the latest round of wildlife that touched every corner of the beautiful world that surrounded them all. After walking for a few minutes, he sat down upon a stump to rest his old, weary, and nearly worn-out body, when he caught sight of the young girl who had so faithfully documented his words. She approached him with her notebook, flipping through it, to eventually hold it out, showing a picture she had drawn of him, as he floated above the ground glowing like the morning sun.

              "Father Prokhor," she asked, "can I have your blessing to put all of this wisdom into a book that people will be able to purchase and learn from?"

              "Yes, my dear," he answered, "but do not charge a great price for this, for the gospel ought to be free to those who will hear it, embrace it, and practice it."

              The girls slipped the book under her arm, kissed his hand, thanked him, and returned to the main path, skipping away from the crooked and tired old man, carrying more wisdom than anyone near or far could even begin to understand. As the girl disappeared, he lifted himself to his feet and began the long walk back to his cabin, to find that a middle-aged man was seated on the ground near the front porch, to then rise to his feet and engage in a long conversation from Prokhor, seeking wisdom and guidance, asking questions unlike any he had ever before heard from anyone in the community.

              The two men sat together until darkness descended and the man asked what he needed to do in order to become godly and wise like Prokhor, emitting a golden light like he and many others had seen coming from him.

              Prokhor answered that the only path to genuine godliness was through unceasing prayer, the destruction of the passions, and love for God and neighbor. "It is only then that you will become like a candle, with every portion of your being glowing like an angel from the throne of our Heavenly Father. Do not look for praise, or glory, or money in your pursuit of holiness. When you seek after being filled with a spirit of holiness, you will become holy and then a thousand around you will be saved. Holiness is the goal you must seek and the path you must follow."  

            Spring came and went, summer came and went, fall came and went, and with the arrival of the following winter, a small group of men approached the cabin in search of Prokhor, to offer him another opportunity to come stay among them, teach them, guide them, and help them become more holy. But as they entered the cabin, they found the old man lying flat on his back, his hands folded across his chest and untouched by the decay of death, having drawn his last breath a great many weeks or even months before.