Saint john of damascene. John Damascene LXV. His

From the Editor: Alas, this remarkable and remarkable fact in the history of the Orthodox Church is still unknown to many of the laity, even those in the Church. We decided to tell about this MIRACLE that happened to St. John Damascene - Father of the Church - on our website. It was his ... GENERATED, according to the prayers of the Most Holy Theotokos, after being cut off by libel, the hand was the reason for the appearance of the icon of the Mother of God, so revered in our world, called the "Three-handed"!

The events that marked the beginning of the glorification of the icon of the Mother of God "Three-handed" date back to the 8th century, to the times of iconoclasm. The warriors of the heretic emperor Leo the Isaurian scoured the homes of Orthodox Christians, looking for icons, took them away and burned them, and sacrificed icon-worshipers to torment and death.

Only outside the Byzantine lands, in Muslim Damascus, the Orthodox were not constrained in the veneration of icons. The reason was that the first minister of the local caliph was a zealous Christian, theologian and hymnographer John Damascene (the Church commemorates him on December 4). John forwarded letters to his numerous acquaintances in Byzantium, in which, on the basis of Holy Scripture and patristic traditions, he proved the correctness of the veneration of icons. Inspirational letters of John Damascene were secretly copied, passed from hand to hand, contributing a lot to the assurance of the truth of the Orthodox and the denunciation of the iconoclastic heresy.

Damascus. Modern look.

The enraged emperor, in order to deprive the Church of the invincible defender of Orthodoxy, decided to cunningly exterminate John Damascene. He ordered skilful scribes to carefully study John's handwriting and write, as it were, a fake letter to the emperor with a proposal for treason. The letter said that the city of Damascus was carelessly guarded by the Saracens and that the Byzantine army could easily capture it, which was also promised all kinds of assistance from the first minister.

The emperor sent such a fake letter to the caliph, hypocritically explaining that, despite John's proposals, he wants peace and friendship with the caliph, and advises the traitorous minister to be executed.

The caliph fell into a rage and, forgetting about the many years of devoted service of his minister, ordered to cut off his right hand, with which he allegedly wrote treasonous lines. The severed brush was hung in full view in the marketplace.

John suffered severely from pain, even more from undeserved resentment. By evening, he asked the Caliph to allow him to bury the severed hand. The Caliph, remembering the previous zeal of his minister, answered with consent.

Shutting himself up in the house, John of Damascus put the severed hand to the wound and went deep into prayer. The saint asked the Mother of God to heal the right hand that wrote in defense of Orthodoxy, and vowed to use this hand to create creations for the glory of the Lady.

At that moment he fell asleep. In a dream, the Mother of God appeared to him and said: "You are healed, work diligently with this hand."

Having awakened, John Damascene poured out his gratitude to the wonderful Healer in the wondrous chant "O you rejoices, Delighted, every creature ...". The news of the miracle quickly spread throughout the city. The ashamed Caliph asked John of Damascus for forgiveness and urged him to return to the affairs of government, but from now on John gave all his strength to serve God alone. He withdrew to a monastery in the name of Saint Sava the Sanctified, where he took monastic tonsure. Here the monk brought an icon of the Mother of God, which sent him healing. In memory of the miracle, he attached an image of the right hand, cast from silver, to the lower part of the icon.

Since then, such a right hand has been drawn on all the lists from the miraculous image, which received the name "Three-handed".

The icon remained in the monastery in the name of Saint Sava until the 13th century, when it was presented to another Saint Sava, the Archbishop of Serbia. During the invasion of Serbia by the Hagarians, the Orthodox, wishing to preserve the icon, placed it on the donkey and let him in without a guide. With precious luggage, he himself reached Mount Athos and stopped at the gates of the Hilendar monastery. Local monks accepted the icon as a great gift, and at the place where the donkey stopped, they began to perform a procession with the cross every year.

Once an old hegumen died in the Hilendar monastery. The election of a new one caused strife and division among the brethren. And then the Mother of God, appearing to one hermit, announced that from now on she would herself be the abbess of the monastery. As a sign of this, the "Three-handed", which hitherto stood in the altar of the monastery cathedral, was miraculously transported through the air to the middle of the church, to the abbot's place. Since then and to this day, Hilendar has been ruled by the priest-governor, who stands during the services at the abbot's place where the image of the "Three-handed" - the Mother Superior of this monastery is kept. The monks receive a blessing from Her, kissing the icon, as if from an abbot.

During the Greco-Turkish wars, Athos remained outside the power of the Gentiles: the Turks admitted that they often saw the mysterious Wife guarding the walls of the Hilendar monastery and beyond the reach of human hands.

"Three-handed" has long been revered in Russia, where there are many copies of the first image, also famous for miracles. As early as 1661, monks of Hilendar sent one such list as a gift to the New Jerusalem Monastery. In 1716, another copy was removed from it, and has since been in the Moscow Church of the Assumption in Gonchary (Bulgarian courtyard). With the intercession of this shrine, they associate the fact that this temple has never, even during the most violent persecutions on faith, been closed and kept all its bells. Nowadays in the temple in front of this icon the akathist is read every Friday. In the tiled icon case on the outer western wall of the Church of the Assumption in Gonchary, there is another copy, and tireless prayers are heard in front of the face of the Mother of God "Three-handed".

Miraculous copies from the very first Athonite image or from other copies of the "Three-handed" were also in the Moscow Church of the Intercession in Goliki, in the Tula Vladimir church on Rzhavets, in the Beloberezhskaya desert near Bryansk, in the Voronezh Alekseevsky Akatov monastery, in the Nilova desert in the Seliger and other places.

Nadezhda Dmitrieva
From the book "He rejoices in You!"

http://www.pravoslavie.ru/put/050725075420.htm

The life of St. John Damascene (c. 675-753), the greatest theologian and hymnographer, wouldn't it strengthen the hearts of boys thirsting for the heroic and girls striving for beauty?

According to church tradition, he, an important person in the state, according to a forged letter, allegedly testifying to his betrayal to the Caliph, was popularly chopped off his right hand, hanging it in the bazaar. Through fervent prayer to the Mother of God, the hand given to him by the Caliph grew.

The saint sang the enthusiastic hymn of thanksgiving "Rejoices in Thee, Graceful, every creature," which was later included in the liturgy of St. Basil the Great. The image of the saint's hand was constantly held by the icon of the Mother of God (hence the well-known iconic image of the Mother of God - "Three-handed").

Great love is surrounded by the name of John in Russian secular art.

"The ecstatic canon of Damascene At the all-night vigil they sang today, And my soul was full of emotion, And wonderful words warmed my soul" (A. N. Apukhtin, "A Year in the Monastery. Excerpts from the Diary", 1883). "I was born simple to be a singer, to praise God with a free verb!" - exclaims the saint in the inspired poem of A. K. Tolstoy "John of Damascus", which served as the basis for Taneyev's captivatingly beautiful cantata of the same name - schoolchildren should know it.

We are criminally impoverishing domestic culture, depriving schoolchildren of their wondrous beauty. And those who listen (and even perform!) Tchaikovsky's romance "I Bless You, Forests" - do they suspect that this is being sung by the great saint of the Eastern Church? If they had imagined, then instead of smeared-sluggish (or even lisping) complacency, strict powerful inspiration would burn in their hearts! And would not his icon adorn the classes of literature and music, raising the very spirit of the educational institution and exterminating the dirt from the souls?

Beloved by the Caliph John;
Him that day, honor and affection,
Called to the affairs of government
He alone is one of the Christians
Enslaved Damascus.
It was put by the lord
And row the court, and rule the hail,
He talks to him alone,
He sits next to him in the council;
His palaces are surrounded
Fragrant gardens
Tiles shine with azure,
Removed walls with amber;
In the midday heat, shelter and shadow
They give awnings, silk fabrics,
In the patterned baths night and day
The frosty fountains are rustling.

But peace runs from him,
He wanders gloomily; not that
Before he thought to go the road,
He would be happy and wretched
If only he could in the silence of the forest,
In a remote steppe, in solitude,
Yard excitement forget
And humbly devote life
Labor, prayer, song.

And it was heard more than once
His eloquent voice
Against mad heresy,
What has risen to art
A violent and noisy thunderstorm.
He fought stubbornly with her,
And from Damascus to Constantinople
Was like a fighter for the honor of icons
And like a fence
Long known and respected.

But the noise and brilliance disturbs him,
He cannot get along with them,
And, overwhelmed by a heavy thought,
Longing in the soul and sorrow on the face,
Ruler John entered
Into the palace of the ruler of Damascus.
“O sir, heed! my dignity,
Greatness, splendor, power and strength,
Everything is unbearable to me, everything is hateful.
Attracted by a different vocation,
I cannot rule the people:
I was born simple to be a singer
Glorify God with a free verb!
There is always one in a crowd of nobles,
I am full of torment and boredom;
Among the feasts, at the head of the squads,
Some sounds I hear;
Their irresistible appeal
More and more attracts me to herself -
Oh let me go, caliph,

And the one asking in response:
“Have fun, my beloved slave!
There is no eternal sadness in the world
And there is no incurable longing!
By your wisdom alone
All around Damascus is mighty and glorious.
Who is now equal to us in greatness?
And who will dare to war against us?
And I will raise your lot -
No wonder I am around the powers -
You will accept the honor of the triumph
You will be my one brother to me:
Take my half of my kingdom,
Just rule the other half! "

To him, the singer: "Your generous gift,
O sir, the singer is not needed;
With a different strength he is friendly;
Heat burns in his chest
By which the creation is based;
To serve the creator his vocation;
His soul is an invisible world
Thrones above and porphyry.
He will not change, he will not deceive;
Everything that attracts and lures others:
Wealth, strength, glory, honor -
Everything in the world is in abundance;
And all the treasures of nature:
Steppes, a coastal expanse,
Misty outline of distant mountains
And the seas are frothy waters,
Earth and sun and moon
And all the constellations of a round dance,
And deep blue firmament -
Then everything is just a reflection
Only a shadow of mysterious beauties
Whose vision is eternal
He lives in the soul of the chosen one!
Oh, believe, he is not bribed by anything,
To whom is this wonderful world available,
Whom the Lord has allowed to look
Into that innermost crucible
Where prototypes boil
The creative forces tremble!
Then their solemn tide
Sounds to the singer in his verb -
Oh let me go, caliph,
Let me breathe and sing freely! "

And Rivers Caliph: "In your chest
I have no power to restrain desire,
Singer, you are free, go
Where does your calling take you! "

And behold the ruler's palaces
Oblivion has become a prey;
Dressed up motley teeth
The grass and dust of desolation;
His uncountable treasury
Long ago given to the poor,
Diligent servants are no longer visible
Slaves set free
And none will indicate
Where their master has disappeared.
In the mansion walls and paintings
Long woven with cobwebs
And the fountains are overgrown with moss;
Ivy crawling through the choirs
From the very arches to the ground
They fall in green pattern
And the poppy is calmly outfield
It grows all around on ringing slabs
And the wind, rustling the grass,
The forgotten walks in the palaces.

I bless you forests
Valleys, fields, mountains, waters!
I bless freedom
And blue skies!
And I bless my staff,
And this poor bag
And the steppe from edge to edge,
And the sun is light, and the night is darkness,
And a lonely path
Why, beggar, I go
And every blade of grass in the field,
And every star in the sky!
Oh, if I could mix my whole life
To drain my whole soul together with you!
Oh, if I could in my arms
I am you, enemies, friends and brothers,
And conclude all nature!
Approaching like a storm above,
Like a rush of foaming waters
Now it grows in my chest
The holy power of inspiration.
Praise is trembling on our lips
Everything that is good and worthy -
What deeds should I sing?
What battles or wars?
Where am I for my gift
Will I find a high task?
Whose triumph will I pass
Or whose fall will I pay?
Blessed is he who is near glorious deeds
The fleeting age has adorned its own;
Blessed is he who knew how to live
To touch the eternal truth at least once;
Blessed is he who sought the truth,
And the one who, defeated, fell
In a crowd that is insignificant and cold
As a victim of a noble thought!
But my praise is not for them,
They do not enjoy the outpouring!
Dream chose for songs
Not their high deeds!
And he does not shine in a crown,
To whom my soul longs;
Not surrounded by a blaze of glory,
Not on a jingling chariot
He stands, the proud son of victories;
Not in a triumph of greatness - no, -
I see him in front of me
With a crowd of poor fishermen;
He is quiet, on a peaceful path,
Goes among the ripening loaves;
Good speeches to delight
It pours into simple hearts,
He's a hungry herd of truth
Leads to its source.

Why was I born at the wrong time,
When between us, in the flesh,
Carrying a painful burden
He walked on the path of life!
Why can't I bear,
Oh my lord, your chains
To suffer your suffering
And take the cross on your shoulders,
And the crown of thorns on the head!
Oh, if I could kiss
Only the hem of your holy garment
Only the dusty trail of your steps
Oh my lord, my hope
My strength and protection!
I want you all thinking
Grace to you all songs
And the thoughts of the day, and the night of vigil,
And every heart beat
And give my whole soul!
Do not open yourself to another
From now on, prophetic lips!
Sin only in the name of Christ
My enthusiastic word!

The clock is running. Night Shadow
More than once replaced the scorching heat,
More than once, rising, azure day
He twisted the cover from the sleeping nature;
And before a stranger in the distance
And worried and grew
Various paintings:
The snowy peaks were white
Over the dense cedar forest,
Jordan sparkled in the steppe expanse,
And the sea was blackened by the dead,
Merging with the blue sky.
And now, twisting in the wide steppe,
Damn curved lay down
Before him the Kidron Stream
It has long been a waterless channel.

It was getting dark. The steam was streaming blue;
Silence reigned all around;
The stars twinkled; over the desert
The moon was rising slowly.
Bregov burnt rapids
They run down to the bottom with a steepness,
Spiraling a narrow valley
Double sheer wall.
Below are crosses, symbols of faith,
They stand in the cliffs here and there
And the stranger is visible to the eyes
Dug caves in the cliffs.
Here from all over the world
Fleeing worldly trouble
The holy fathers came
Seek peace and salvation.
From the edges to the dry bottom
Where a steep descent leads to a valley
Erected by their hands
A strong wall of stones
Rejection of the steppe Saracen.
There is a gate in the wall. Cramped entrance
Above them, the tower guards.
The path winds over the ravine
And so, going down the rocks,
In the light of the stars, with a tired step
The wanderer approaches the gate.
"You, stormless dwelling,
You, knowledge font,
Cemetery of everyday thoughts
And a cradle of new life,
I greet you, desert,
I have always strived for you!
Be my refuge from now on
A haven of songs and labor!
All cares are worldly
Laying down at this gate,
Brings to you, holy fathers,
A new brother with his gift and gusli! "

“Hermits of the Kidron Stream,
The abbot calls you for advice!
Get together all: come from afar
Your new brother brings you his greetings!
Great in him are both faith and vocation,
But he must go through the test.

I hand it over to one of you:
He is that singer, famous among all,
That dispersed the darkness of iconoclasm,
Whose word is a lie trampled and broken,
That John, protection of holy icons -
Who wants to be a mentor to him? "

And only the abbot called this name,
The whole row of monks was agitated,
And they marvel at the singer and look,
And a whisper runs between them.
All heads drooping gray,
They humbly say to the abbot:

“Blessed is this glorious warrior of God,
Blessed is his coming between us,
But who is worthy to teach here,
Who sheds the truth around him?
Whose word sounded like a bell to us -
Why do we dare to accept at the beginning? "

Here one brother comes out of the crowd;
Then the black man looked stern,
And the gaze that tortured him was stern,
And he uttered the word stern to the singer:
“The statutes tell us to hold our posts,
We know no other service! -

If you want to be under my command
I agree to give you instruction,
But you must now postpone
Unnecessary thoughts, fruitless fermentation;
The spirit of idleness and the beauty of song
Fasting, singer, you must win!

If you came as a hermit to the desert,
Know how to trample the dreams of everyday life,
And on the lips, having humbled his pride,
You seal the silence!
Fill the spirit with prayer and sorrow -
Here is my charter for you as a new boss. "

The monk fell silent. Unexpected judgment
Like thunder fell among the peaceful synclite.
Everyone was confused. The eyes of the singer faded,
The pallor covered the sunken cheeks.

And he stood motionless for a long time,
Silently dropping their eyes to the ground,
As if he was looking for an answer,
But there was not enough urine to answer.

And he began: “All the vigor of my strength,
And all my thoughts, and all my aspirations -
I dedicated only one goal:
Praise the creator and praise in song.

But you command me to grieve and be silent -
Yours, father, I obey the will:
The heart will not leap with fun,
The seal will close the lips of silence.

So this is where you lurked, renunciation
That I have promised more than once in my prayers!
The song was my joy
And you, Lord, chose him as a sacrifice!

Come, the days of silence and torment!
Sorry, my gift! Lie down on the harp, dust!
And you, cherished sounds in your chest,
Freeze everything on quivering lips!

Going down, night, on a woeful brother
And excommunicate him from the sun by darkness!
Fade, darken with no return,
Ringing rays of my psalms!

Die, life! Go out, altar fire!
Calm down in me, agitated blood!
Shine only you, heavenly love,
In my night a radiant star!

Oh my lord! Forgive the last groan
The last heart of the afflicted murmur!
One moment - this whisper will freeze too,
And I will rise, I have been reborn by you!

It has happened. Waves of darkness roll over.
The gaze fades. The blood will freeze. The end of everything!
From the world of sounds now to the world of speech
The debunked singer comes down to you! "

In a deep gorge
Like swifts' nests
Desert cells darken along yellow cliffs,
But nobody's speech is heard;
Everything is quiet until it gets ready for service
A swarm of hermits;
And then echoes their ritual singing
One dull echo.
And there, over the edges of the valley,
Triumph reigns in the desert desert
And the palm trees are not visible anywhere,
Everything is empty and dead.
Like a burning burden
So the sky oppresses the tired earth,
And it seems like time
Its slow sonorous flight over it.
Sometimes a distant growl is heard
Hungry Lion;
And again there will be silence
And again only dry grass rustles,
When a snake crawls out from under the stones
It will shine with scales;
Brilli crackling, field locust
Will take off sometimes. Or will it happen sometimes
The desert will wake up from a wild click
Stones will sprinkle, and there, above,
Trembling and hesitating, shaggy lance
Will show up in the sky. On a light horse
The rider will appear; over the ravine
Having restrained the steed of foamed years,
He will drive past the monastery at a step
May he send a curse to the monks from above.
And again everything will subside. Only at noon eagles
They hover on the wings of the motionless,
Yes in the evening the stars are burning
And the long days drag on boringly.

Sometimes in the blue firmament
Clouds are passing over the valley;
They're picture by picture
Swimming, twine among themselves.
So, in an endless movement,
Always swirls before me
A series of memories
A lost life of reflection;
And cling, and curl endlessly,
And they always besiege the will,
And the numb singer
Caressing, they call for songs.
And an idle gift became my execution,
Always ready for awakening;
So only the breeze waits
A smoldering fire under the ashes -
Before my troubled spirit
Images are crowded together
And, in silence, over a sensitive ear
The dimensional system trembles of consonance;
And I, not daring sacrilegiously
Call them into life from the kingdom of darkness,
In the chaos of the night I drive back
My unsung psalms.
But in vain I, in a fruitless battle,
I repeat the statutory words
And memorized prayers -
The soul takes its rights!
Alas, under this black robe,
As in those days under the crimson,
Burning alive with fire
The heart is rebellious!
The vale where I buried
Fermentation of active forces,
Freedom of creative speech -
The vale of fatal silence!
Oh, tell my soul
Gloomy rest of your rapids!
Desert wind, oh scatter
My awake thoughts!

In vain he asks and waits for peace from the silent vale,
The desert wind cannot dispel a vigilant thought.
Years pass one after another, all fruitless years!
Fatal silence weighs more and more heavily on him.
So he once sat at the entrance of the cave, with his hand
Closing sad eyes and listening to inner sounds.
A black man approached the mournful man,
He fell on his knees before him and said: “Help, John!
My brother in the flesh has passed away; brother he liked
to me!
A heavy grief eats me up; I would like to cry -
Tears do not flow from the eyes, but skip in sorrow
heart.
You can help me: write only a touching
song,
A funeral song for my dear brother, to hear it,
I could sob, and my melancholy would have gotten weaker! "
John looked meekly and sadly answered him:
“Or do you not know by what charter I am bound?
The strict elder imposed a prohibition on my songs! "
The same one began to beg him, saying: “He does not know
The elder about that never; he went away for three days,
We'll bury our brother tomorrow; I pray you with all my soul,
Give me consolation in infinitely bitter sorrow! "
Paki received a refusal: “John! - said the black man, -
If you were a bodily physician, and I would be from ailment
I was dying as I am now dying of grief and sorrow,
Would you refuse to help me? And won't you give an answer
To the Lord God about me, if now I die inconsolable? "
So speaking, he swayed in Damascus a soft heart.
Full of his own sorrow, the singer gave pity a place;
Then inspiration descended on him like a black cloud,
The images of the gloomy crowd appeared, and in the air sounds
They began to sob over the deceased in a regular manner.
The singer listened, tilting his head, that invisible singing,
I listened for a long time, and got up, and, with prayer, entered the cave,
There, with an obedient hand, he inscribed what he sounded.
Thus the charter was violated, the silence was thus broken.

Over a free thought, God is displeasing
Violence and oppression:
She, born freely in her soul,
He will not die in chains!

Did you really think, myopic,
Shackle your dreams?
Is it possible to trample in yourself living sounds
Did you think forcibly?

From the Lebanese mountains, where in the azure height
The distant snow is turning white
Striving into the vastness of the steppes, the stormy wind
Will it keep its run?

And will the streams of the stream flow back,
What are thundering between the rocks?
And the sun is there, rising from the east,
Will he come back?

The bells are dull ringing
Announces the valley in the morning.
The dead man has been brought to the church;
A sad funeral rite
The cathedral of hermits is taking place.
The altar shines with candles
There is a singer with a drooping gaze,
The parting troparion sings,
The monks echo to him in chorus:

"What a sweetness in this life
Is it not a part of earthly sorrow?
Whose expectation is not in vain?
And where is the happy one among people?
Everything is wrong, everything is insignificant,
What we have gained with difficulty -
What glory on earth
Is it standing firm and immutable?
All ash, ghost, shadow and smoke
Everything will disappear like a dusty whirlwind,
And before death we stand
And unarmed and powerless.
The hand of the mighty is weak
Tsar's decrees are insignificant -
Accept the deceased slave

As an ardent knight found death,
She deposed me like a predator
The grave opened its mouth
And she took everything of everyday life.
Save yourself, relatives and children,
I call out to you from the grave,
Save yourself, brothers and friends,
Do not behold the flames of hell!
All life is a kingdom of vanity,
And feeling the breath of death,
We fade like flowers
Why are we fidgeting in vain?
Our thrones are the essence of the grave,
Our palaces are destruction, -
Accept the deceased slave
Lord, to the blessed villages!
Among the piles of smoldering bones
Who is the king? who is the slave? judge il warrior?
Who is worthy of the kingdom of God?
And who is the outcast villain?
O brothers, where is the silver and gold?
Where are the host of many slaves?
Among unknown coffins
Who is the poor, who is the rich?
All ashes, smoke, and dust, and dust,
All ghost, shadow and ghost -
Only in your heaven
Lord, and a pier and salvation!
All that was flesh will disappear
Our greatness will be decay -
Accept the deceased, lord,
To your blessed villages!

And you, the representative of all!
And you, the patron of the mourners!
To you about your brother lying here,
To you, saint, cry!
Pray the divine son
Beg him, my purest,
To become obsolete on earth
I left my kruchin here!
All ash, dust, and smoke, and shadow!
O friends, do not believe the ghost!
When it dies on an unexpected day
The decaying breath of death,
We all will lay down like bread,
Sickle cut in the fields, -
Accept the deceased slave
Lord, in happy villages!

I'm going on an unknown path,
I walk between fear and hope;
My gaze has faded, my chest has cooled,
Does not listen to hearing, veins are closed;
I lie silent, motionless,
I do not hear the brotherly sobs,
And blue smoke from the censer
The fragrance does not flow to me;
But eternal sleep while I sleep,
My love does not die
And I pray you, brothers,
Yes, everyone cries out to the Lord:
Lord! On the day when the trumpet
Will trumpet the world of repose, -
Accept the deceased slave
To your blessed villages! "

So he sings with the monks.
But between them, an unexpected guest,
A furrowed brow appears
The mentor is old John.
Severe strict features
The head of the ascent is majestic:
“Singer,” he says, “are you
Do you observe and honor my statutes?
When brotherly dust is before us,
Not to sing, but it is decent for us to cry!
Begone, unworthy monk, -
Do not live within our walls! "

And, struck with an angry speech,
The guilty fell at his feet:
“I'm sorry, father! I don't know myself
How I have transgressed your laws!
A silent voice sounded in me,
In an irresistible heart
The sounds involuntarily escaped,
Unwittingly, the song poured! "
And he embraces the legs of the elder:
"Forgive my fault, father!"
But he does not listen to remorse,
He says: “Run, singer!
Dosel's worldly pride
Still alive in your chest "
Get away from our cells,
Do not desecrate the desert! "

Fatal news passed through the laurel,
The hermits were confused by the gathering:
“Our John, honor to the Church of Christ,
The mentor has incurred indignation!
Does he really have to endure
Him, the singer, a shameful exile? "
And hearts filled with pity
And all the cathedral pray for the singer.

But, like a pillar, the mentor is adamant,
And so, in response to those who ask, he says:
"The charter that I once was legalized,
Will not be abolished now.
Who is prone to pride and disobedience,
We pull the thorns out.
But if regrets are not false in him,
With Epitimye he will buy forgiveness:

Let him bypass the laurels of the black courtyard,
He goes around with a shovel and with a broom;
Having humbled your spirit, let dirt and rubbish everywhere
He will sweep out with a rebellious hand.
Until then, my sentence is strong over him,
And he has no forgiveness before me! "
Become silent. And, heeding the merciless refusal,
All the brethren dispersed in sorrow.
________

Contempt, friends, for the singer,
That a sacred gift humiliates
What inclines before idols
The beauty of the laurel crown!
What is the voice of truth and honor
I preferred the suggestion of benefits,
What pleasing and flattery
Shamelessly sold your verb!
From century to century it is ready to sound,
To his execution and shame,
His shameless word
As a national verdict.

But you, another hungry for food,
You, that attracted by prayer,
High in heart, poor in spirit,
Living with Christ in thought,
Thou that prophetic gaze
I did not bow before the glitter of the world, -
You can drink without reproach
All the humiliation of phial!

And the elder's speech reached Damascene.
Having learned the terms
The singer is in a hurry to make amends,
Hastens to honor the unheard of charter.
Joy was replaced by bitter grief:
Taking a shovel in hand without a murmur,
The singer of Christ does not think of mercy,
But humiliation endures for God's sake.
________

One who with eternal love
Rendered good for evil -
Beaten, covered in blood,
Crowned with a crown of thorns -
All those who are close to each other with suffering,
In life, a share of the offended
Oppressed and humiliated
He made him fall with his cross.

You whose best aspirations
Dying for nothing under the yoke
Believe, friends, in deliverance -
We are coming to God's light!
You, bent over with a twist,
You, dejected by chains,
You buried with Christ,
You will be resurrected with Christ!

It gets dark. The steam flows blue;
There is darkness and silence in the gorge;
The stars are twinkling; and the moon
It rises quietly over the desert.
Lonely in his cave
The exasperated hermit left.
Everyone is asleep. Silver plated by the moon,
The dried up stream is seen.
Above him are rocky peaks
From the darkness they look here and there;
But the old man's heart does not attract
Natures peaceful pictures;
It died for life.
Bending a stern brow
He, alien to the world, alien to brothers,
Lies, stretched out before the crucifixion.
The gray head is in the dust,
And he calls death to him,
And whispers dark words
And he hits the percy with a stone.
And for a long time he bowed,
And for a long time he called for death,
Finally, in exhaustion,
Mute, he fell to the ground,
And the elder sees a vision:

Suddenly the roof of the cliffs opened,
And the fragrance poured out,
And from unseen heights
Radiance falls into the cave.
And in its quivering rays,
Shining starry clothes,
The holy virgin appeared
With a baby sleeping in her arms.
Merged from a wonderful light,
Her heavenly gentle look.
“Why are you persecuting John? -
She says to the monk.
His prayer sounds
Like the voice of heaven on earth
Flowed into obedient hearts,
Healing sorrow and anguish.
Why did you, old man, have blocked
Mercilessly that source is strong,

Which the world would drink
Healing and abundant water?
Is life grace
The Lord sent to his creatures,
So that they use fruitless torture
Execute and kill yourself?
He gave nature abundance,
And running to flowing rivers
He gave movement to the clouds
Earth flowers and birds' wings.
Why is a singer a living speech
Have you bound you with a difficult commandment?
Leave his verb to flow
The melodious river is endless!
May dreams irrigate him
Like rain, the valley of life;
Leave her flowers to the earth
Leave the consonance to Damascene! "

The vision disappeared into the clouds
Dawn rises from the fog ...
The alarmed monk rises,
Calling and looking for John -
And then the old man hugged him:
“O son of Christ's humility!
I have comprehended you with my soul -
From now on you can sing again!
Open the mouth of the prophet
Your persecution is over!
In the name of the Lord Christ,
Singer, holy inspirations
Pour out from a sonorous heart,
Well, I pray, forgive me, oh child,
What an obstacle to a free word
I was in my rudeness! "

Sing, sufferer, the Sunday song!
Rejoice in a new life!
Long mold has disappeared,
Free speech has risen!

The one who broke the shackles of the soul,
May the creature glorify incessantly!
Yes, solemnly praise the gentlemen of forces
And the sun, and the month, and the choirs were shining,
And every breath in the world!

Blessed is who now, Lord, before you
And it is possible to think and speak!
With a fearless heart and warm entreaty
In your name he goes to battle
With everything that is wrong and false!

Distribute, my Sunday song!
As the sun rise above the earth!
Dissolve the murderous dream of being
And, the radiant light is everywhere,
Thunder that is created by darkness!

Does not fall from wild heights,
Among the dark rocks, a mountain stream;
Not a formidable storm is coming;
It is not the wind that lifts the black dust;
Not hundreds of bending oak trees
They rustle with century-old heads;
Not a row of sea shafts runs,
Shaking gray crests, -

John's speech pours
And, filled with new strength,
She smashes like a divine sword
In the dust of the opponents of Christ.

It is not the red sun that rises;
Not a bright morning has come;
Not a flock of swans leapt
In the spring in the bosom of clear waters;
Not nightingales, in a free country,
The name of the neighboring nightingales;
The bell does not rumble
From the cities of many temples, -

Then the splash of the people is heard everywhere,
That jubilation of Christians,
It glorifies free speech
And John praises in songs,
Whom to praise in your verb
Will never stop
Not every blade of grass in the field
Not every star in the sky.

Pre-like John Da-mas-kin ro-dyl-Xia about 680 in the capital of Sy-rii Da-mas-ke, in Christ-an-skoi mye. His father, Ser-giy Mans-ur, was kaz-na-che with two ha-li-fa. John had an adopted brother, an axis-ro-tev-shy from-rock of Kos-ma, whom Sergiy took to his house. When the children were growing up, Ser-gy for-bo-til-Xia about their way-zo-va-nii. At the da-mas-slave-no-one's market, you-ku-drank he from the ple-na of the learned mo-na-ha Ko-s-mu from Ka-lab-riya and in-ru- I tried to teach him children. Mal-chi-ki ob-na-ru-zhi-whether unusual-vene-ny abilities and easy-to-master-and-whether course of secular and spiritual science ... After the death of his father, John took over at two-re the position of min-ni-stra and gra-do-pra-vi-te-la.

At that time, in Wi-zan-tii, there arose and quickly spread the heresy of iko-no-bor-che-tstva, support-zhi-va-e- May im-pe-ra-to-rum Leo III Is-av-rum (717-741). Having become on the defense of the right-in-glorious-no-go iko-no-in-chi-ta-nia, John na-pi-sal three tracts-ta-ta " holy icons ". Wise Bo-go-spirit-no-ven-nye pi-sa-nia Ioan-na pri-ve-if im-pe-ra-to-ra into a rage. But since their author was not a Vi-zan-tiy-skim under-data, he could not have been sent to prison or executed. Then im-pe-ra-tor ran to the glue-ve-those. At his request from the name, John-na was-lo-co-composed-le-but under-false-letter-mo, in which-rum da-mas-skii min-nistr bud -that would pre-la-gal im-pe-ra-to-ru his help in the za-in-e-va-nii of the Syrian capital. This is a letter and his own face-measure-but-flattering answer to it Leo Is-Avr sent ha-li-fu. He immediately pri-ka-hall to remove John from duty, to open the brush of his right hand to him and carry it to the city -skoy square-shcha-di. On the same day to ve-four, John-well-well-if-from-ru-le-ku-ku. The pre-like one began to pray to the Pre-Saint Bo-go-ro-di-tse and beg for healing. Sleeping, he saw the iko-nu God-zhi-her Ma-te-ri and heard Her voice, telling him that he was healed, and But with that, ordered to work tirelessly with a healed hand. When he woke up, he saw that his hand was neural.

Having learned about the miracle, the testimony of the innocence of John, the ha-lif pro-strength of his forgiveness and wants to return him former position, but pre-like from-ka-zal-sya. He rose-gave his wealth and, together with his adopted brother and that-va-ri-sh, according to the teachings of Kos-my, from-pra-vil-sya in Jeru-sa- lim, where in-stu-drank simple in-listening-to-no-one in the mo-na-steer Sav-you Ossvyaschen-no-go. It was not easy to find him du-hov-no-go ru-co-vo-di-te-la. Of the monastic brotherhood, only one very experienced old man agreed to this, who began to know how to learn in his studies -ke spirit of hearing and peace. First of all, the old man forbade John-well to write, saying that he had time to do it, and they would become the reason for the city-dy- neither. Once upon a time, he sent pre-add-no-go to Da-mask to sell kor-zi-ny, from-go-to-flax-ny in the mo-na-st-re , moreover, he instructed to sell them to-once-before-to-ro-the same for their one-hundred-and-second price. And now, pro-de-lav mu-ch-tel-ny path under the sultry sun, the former vel-mo-madam Yes-mas-ka found himself on the market in the ditches clothes just for sale kor-zin. But Ioan-na recognized his former home-great-see-tel and bought-drank all the baskets at a specified price.

Once in the mo-na-st-re, one of the monks died, and the brother, in-koi-no-go-to-pro-force John-na-to-write something be a consolation. John long from-ka-zy-val-sya, but from mi-lo-ser-diy, I gave in to requests-bam udru-chen-no-go-rem, na-pi-sal my signs -some over-grave tro-pa-ri. For this disobedience, the elder drove him out of his cell. All mo-na-khi na-cha-whether to ask for John. Then the old man instructed him one of the hardest and most unpleasant things to do - to remove from the monasteries a lot of things. Pre-like, and here he showed an example of hearing. After some time, the old-tsu in the vi-de-nii was indicated-for-but Pre-pure and Pre-holy De-voy Bo-go-ro-d-tsei to remove for-pret from the p-sa-tel-stvo John. Ieru-sa-lim-sky patri-arch learned about the pre-add-on, ru-ko-lo-lived him as a priest and made a pro- no one with his ka-fed-re. But pre-like John soon came back to the Lavra of pre-like Sav-you, where he spent time until the end of his days. me in the pi-sa-nii of the spiritual books and church songs, and by-ki-nul mo-na-sut only for that, so that -to read iko-no-bor-tsev at Kon-stan-ti-no-polish So-bo-re 754. He was under-relied on to the key and torture, but he carried everything and, by the grace of God, remained alive. Pre-sta-vil-Xia about 780, at the age of 104 years.

See also: in the book of St. Di-mit-rya Rostov-go.

Prayers

Troparion to the Monk John of Damascus, Tone 8

Orthodoxy admonition, / piety to the teacher and purity, / the universal luminary, / monastering God-inspired fertilizer, Joanne wise, / with thy teachings, all enlightened the soul, praying Christ, praying

Transfer: Orthodoxy mentor, teacher and purity, lamp of the universe, adornment of monastics, John the Wise, you enlightened everyone with your teachings, spiritual lyre; pray to Christ God for the salvation of our souls.

Kontakion to the Monk John of Damascus, Tone 4

A songwriter and an honest God-glorifier, / the Church of the punisher and teacher, / and the enemies of the resistance fighter, John we will sing: / take the weapon, the Lord's Cross, / all the reflection.

Transfer: We will sing of John the songwriter and revered preacher of God, the Church instructor and teacher, enemies of the adversary, for taking the weapon, the Cross of the Lord, repelled all delusions and, like an ardent intercessor before God, gives everyone forgiveness of sins.

Prayer to the Monk John of Damascus

O holy head, venerable father, more blessed havbo John! Do not forget your slain to the end, but remember us always in holy and auspicious prayers to God: remember your flock, he himself did not forget, and do not forget to visit your children, you have a holy spirit, I am holy for you. To the heavenly King: do not be silent for us to the Lord, and do not contemplate us, who honor you with faith and love: remember us unworthy at the Almighty Throne, and do not stop praying for us to Christ God, and for you to be given goodness for you. We do not think that you are dead: even more in body you have retired from us, but you are still alive when you are dead, do not depart from us in spirit, saving us from the arrows of the enemy and all the triumphs of devilish devilishness and wickedness. But your holy cancer in front of the eyes of ours is always visible, but your holy soul with the angelic hosts, without fleshless faces, with heavenly powers, at the Almighty Almighty is daring, and is worthy to come, and is worthy to come We pray to you: we pray to the Almighty God, for the benefit of our souls, and ask us time for repentance, so that we cannot return from earth to Heaven, from the ordeals of the wretched, the blessings of the airy princes and of the with all the righteous ones who have pleased the Lord Jesus Christ from time immemorial: all glory, honor and adoration befitting Him, with His Fatherless Father, and with the Most Holy and Good and Life-giving Him, the Spirit of God, and His Spirit for ever. Amen.

Canons and Akathists

Song 1

Irmos: In the depths of the bed, sometimes the Pharaoh's omnipotence is an armed force, but the incarnate Word consumed all-evil sin: the glorified Lord is gloriously glorified.

Start your praises to those who want me, give your now a honey voice, reverend, the Orthodox Church has understood by her songs, Father John, even your memory honors yours.

As a wise and witty judge, looking at the most splendid nature, the eternal one prejudiced those who are not worthy: you who abide have changed temporarily, Father John, where you and now glorify Christ.

Theotokos: Having surpassed, Thou art, Pure, every creature, visible and invisible, Ever since: Thou didst give birth to the Creator, as if it was good pleasure to incarnate in Thy womb, He, with boldness, pray to save the singing Thy.

Song 3

Irmos: The wilderness has flourished, like Krin, Lord, the pagan barren, the Church by Your coming, in which my heart is firmly established.

Thou hast squandered wealth, reciprocating to God, so much the same for you in Heaven the Kingdom is prepared; but even now, John, you have received a multiple reward.

Accepting the wisdom of talent, decorating by deeds, you have understood, John, the Church of Christ, you have made it much worse, and you have left your life.

Theotokos: Chini marveled at Angels, Most Pure One, and human hearts were terrified of Thy Nativity. The same Thy, the Mother of God, we honor by faith.

Kontakion, voice 4

Let us sing to the Church of the punisher and the teacher and enemies of the resistance fighter John: we will take the weapon - the Cross of the Lord, reflect all the delusion of heresies, and as a warm representative to God gives forgiveness to all sins.

Ikos

To the church instructor, and the teacher, and the sacrificer, as the mysterious secret of the unspeakable, cry out in accordance: like to God, with your prayers, open our mouths and vouch for the words of your teachings, you are a partaker for the Trinity, as if another sun shone in the world, brightening miracles and teachings, like Moses, always learning in the law of the Lord, you were a lamp in word and deed, and constantly praying to all forgiveness of sins.

Song 4

Irmos: Thou didst come from the Virgin, not an intercessor, not an Angel, but Himself, Lord, incarnate, and you saved all of me, man. To those I call Ti: glory to Thy strength, O Lord

Having obeyed the command of Christ, you left the worldly beauty, wealth, sweetness, grace, for His sake, take your cross, you followed, John the wise.

Having conferred to the impoverished Christ of mankind for the sake of salvation, you were glorified, as you were promised, and reign for the reigning one, John.

Theotokos: You, the haven of salvation and the unbridgeable wall, the Mother of God, in all faithfulness: Thou didst save our souls from Thy prayers by Thy prayers.

Song 5

Irmos: You were an intercessor for God and you were a man, Christ God: by thee, Master, to the Light-Commander, Thy Father, from the night of ignorance the bringing of the Imam.

By the fear of Christ, Father, we are affirmed to a divine life, carnal wisdom you subdued everything to your spirit, yours, John, cleansing your feelings.

Having cleansed all filthiness of the body, and mind, and soul, carefully, God-wise, you received the dawn of the three-solar, John, bright you rich in talent.

Theotokos: Pray to Thy Son and Lord, Pure Virgin, to the captive deliverance from the opposing situation, to those who hope for Thee, to peacefully grant.

Song 6

Irmos: In the depths of sinful things I am, Savior, and in the abyss of life we \u200b\u200bare overwhelmed, but, like Jonah from the beast, and me from the passions, erect and save me.

Enlightened by the Spirit with grace, Divine and human knowledge of things, clearly enriched, demanding, John, you taught without envy.

Like the face of the Heavenly, wise, you have adorned the Church in Orthodox Christianity, inviting the Trinity of God to the Trinity.

Theotokos: Unknowingly, Virgo, gave birth to art and eternal Virgo, which are the true Deity, Your Son and God, images.

Canto 7

Irmos: The God-opposed command of the wicked tormentor, high fire lifted up to eat. Christ, as a God-godly youth, extended the spiritual dew, who is blessed and glorified.

We kindle with zeal, the godless heresies, you objected to all evil things with light scriptures, whitening to everyone clearly sown anciently, wise, about John, written subtly.

Warmly you exposed the evil-named disciples of Manenta blasphemous wickedness, corrupting the encroaching Church of Christ, your words and dogmas, about John, even you have done.

Theotokos: Saints, the most holy, we understand Thee, as the One who gave birth to the indispensable God, The virgin is not impure, Mother of the unhappy: for all the faithful have exuded incorruption by Thy Divine Christmas.

Canto 8

Irmos: The sometimes fiery cave in Babylon is shared by God's command, the Chaldeans scorching, faithful irrigating, singing: bless all the deeds of the Lord, the Lord.

Thou didst denounce the Java, who was treasured to John, Nestoria's division, Sevirov's confluence, one-willed insanity, but the faith of the one-acting radiance of Orthodoxy all overshadowed the end.

All the enemy of the tares is usually heretical in the Church of Christ, this worship is swept away in the honest icons, but if you find it awake, all-blessed John, it eradicates every evil seed.

Theotokos: You are inseparable from the Father, you have lived in the womb of the God-husband, you conceived without seeds and indescribably gave birth to you, the Most Pure Mother of God: the same Thee, the salvation of all of us, we confess.

Canto 9

Irmos: The Father is without beginning, the Son, God and the Lord, incarnated from the Virgin, appear to us, darkened to enlighten, gather the wasted one. Thus we magnify the All-chanting Mother of God.

Thou didst teach all the Church Petit sons the Orthodox One in the Trinity, the Honest, while the embodiment of the Word of Divine theology of theology, John, understanding the inconvenient for many in the Holy Scriptures.

The holy ranks singing songs, reverend, the Pure Theotokos, Christ's Forerunner, the same apostles, prophets with fasting and wise teachers, righteous and martyrs, in those tabernacles now being established.

Theotokos: The palace was one of the same kind as the mind of the incarnation of the Word, the Virgin Mother of God, a garment with the glory of virtues and speckled. By this we proclaim Theotokos, the Most Immaculate, the Mother of God.

In the middle of the Syrian desert, at the foot of Mount Hermon, there is a fertile valley irrigated by mountain rivers, and in the middle of it, like an oasis, is a beautiful city. Damascus. Magnificent palaces, luxury homes, fountains and swimming pools. Orthodox churches and Muslim mosques are surrounded by white stone walls. Truly the "Pearl of the East".

In this main city of Syria was born a noble nobleman and ascetic monk, a great writer and remarkable poet, learned theologian and philosopher-polemicist, the greatest man of his (eighth) century and of the entire Christian era - the Monk John of Damascus. Millions of Christians listen to it, read and sing it every day: evening prayer, prayer for Holy Communion, Easter service, funeral stichera, and even more than sixty canons. And also theological works ...

Useful materials

He lived an amazing life, filled with works and miracles, his living artistic image more than once fell under the pen of talented writers, poets and screenwriters. Let us also try, with God's help and without pretending to be genius, to retell a wonderful story about him.

Biography

Near the end of the century VII. A time of tough confrontation between two empires: the Arab Caliphate and the Byzantine Empire. The pious husband Sergius ibn Mansur regularly serves under the Caliph of Damascus, he holds the high position of the chief treasurer (logofet).

He is a Christian, therefore he uses all his influence at court in the interests of the Orthodox Church. His ancient family is noble, his ancestors are famous for civil and Christian virtues. His house is abundant, because he always willingly shares his property with fellow believers.

Childhood

But the heart of the venerable husband is filled with sorrow, for he and his wife are no longer young for years, and the Lord has not blessed them with children. From a trip to Jerusalem, where Sergius went to worship the Holy Sepulcher, he returns with a baby. The couple decided to raise the orphan boy as their own son, and two years later (in 680 BC) God sends them his own child. Mansur ibn Serjun at-Taglibi (the future Venerable John of Damascus) is brought up together with his half-brother according to pious Christian traditions.

And their father's love for charity is once rewarded with dignity. In the slave market, which he visits every month in order to ransom and free at least one Christian captive, he acquires something that will subsequently bring joy to the parental heart.

Captured by sea robbers, a Christian monk named Cosmas finds freedom on that happy day, and the beloved sons of the Caliph logoofet are a good teacher and wise mentor. The pious monk tries to pass on all his knowledge to his disciples, and the disciples, thanks to diligence, succeed in teaching so that one day the teacher must admit: "I have nothing more to teach you."

But the happiest years - the carefree adolescent, unfortunately, pass quickly: the dear teacher and beloved father leave the young men. John's half-brother chooses the monastic path and goes to asceticate in a monastery in the Holy Land. Ah, how the heart of young John yearns for the same, but the only heir and obedient son of his parents is forced to take a high position in the palace of the caliph: he becomes the closest adviser to the ruler.

Although he reluctantly accepts the high title, he serves diligently and conscientiously, while trying to be useful to the holy Church of Christ. To announce the truth and expose a lie - he considers it his main duty:

"I must not abandon my God-given talent for words,"

- the monk writes in one of his works.

To serve as a pen, he gets a time when the Orthodox of the East has a huge number of alien-speaking enemies: apart from the hostile Mohammedans, the country is being torn apart by sectarians and heretics, and in the person of the Byzantine emperor Leo the Isaurian a new misfortune has appeared - iconoclasm. The Byzantine ruler who came to power hastens to declare: "The veneration of icons is idolatry."

This becomes the reason for the persecution of Christians, who have venerated holy images from time immemorial. When the icons began to be publicly destroyed, and as a result of the clashes, Christian blood was poured, and rumors went far beyond the borders of the Roman Empire, reaching Syria, Damascus Chrysostom did not remain silent. As a zealot for the purity of Orthodox teaching, he writes several appeals to Christians, which are distributed among the inhabitants of Constantinople and have great success. He also appeals to the emperor himself:

"You do not worship the image, - do not worship the Son of God, who is a living image of the invisible God and an unchanging image",

- having read the parchment with such a message, the Byzantine basileus enrages.

He cannot leave the impudent accuser without revenge. But how to get to a subject of another country living at the court of the Mohammedan sovereign? Cunning and slander are weapons of all palace intrigues, and in this case they are very useful. Leo informs the Caliph in writing that his closest adviser offers him his help in the capture of Damascus, and as proof he encloses a skillfully forged letter.

Icon "Three-handed"

The expectation that the temperamental and quick caliph would not forgive treason was justified. An imaginary criminal in the palace square is publicly cut off the right hand. When the caliph's anger has subsided, the former first counselor receives his own hand for burial. In his house, in front of the icon of the Mother of God, John mourns his mutilation in sorrow.

It's already deep after midnight, and he does not leave everything his own. Finally, fatigue takes over, and he is forgotten in a restless sleep, kneeling before the icon. And the Most Holy Mother of God looks at him from the icon with merciful and full of love eyes. Of course, She heard the petitions of the innocent sufferer.

“I hear all my children calling on my name with faith in my Son. Your hand is now healthy, do not grieve for the rest, but work diligently with it, as you promised me; make it a cursive cane. "

In the morning, shaking off the remnants of his disturbed sleep, John gently moved his index finger - a sharp pain pierced his entire body, he realized that he was healed! And only a small scar remained, as a reminder of the clipping. A song of praise flowed from a grateful heart:

“Thy right hand, O Lord, is glorified in the fortress; Your right hand has healed the truncated right hand, which will now crush enemies ... "And a new song in honor of the Mother of God:" In Thee, the Grace rejoices, every creature, the angelic cathedral and the human race! ... "

The caliph, enlightened by a miracle, realizes that his first minister turned out to be an innocent victim of insolent slander. No matter how hard it was for a powerful ruler to admit his guilt, he nevertheless asks for forgiveness from John, and hurries to restore him to office with the return of all palace honors.

But John now knows for sure - he has a different path, the miracle that happened is a call to monastic exploits. He, having thanked the Caliph, resigns from his post, and, having distributed a huge estate, is going on a journey: to the Lavra of Saint Sava in Jerusalem. But before that, in memory of the miraculous healing, by his order a copy of the brush was made from silver, which is reverently attached to the icon of the Mother of God, before which the monk prayed so fervently.

Interesting fact

The miraculous icon with a silver brush is now kept in the Khilandar Athos monastery, and is called "Three-handed".

Mother of God Three-handed
XIV century.
94 × 67 cm
Khilandar Monastery, Athos
Turnover - St. Nicholas.

In the monastery

At dawn, John left his hometown. He had to walk on foot through Lebanon and Palestine to the Holy City of Jerusalem. It was joyful to walk, a new feeling - a feeling of complete freedom, overwhelmed him.
He walked and dreamed of coming to the famous Lavra of Sava the Sanctified. How the brothers will meet him. How there, far from the hustle and bustle, he begins to write selflessly. His creations will eradicate delusion and heresy and help people find the truth. And these creative plans were fun in my soul.

But his plans were not destined to come true. According to the monastery charter, each newcomer is entrusted for supervision and admonition to an elder experienced in the spiritual life. Before such an old man, John stood with his head bowed.

Not immediately did the meaning of what the elder said reached his consciousness. And when he got there, the earth disappeared from under his feet, and the light dimmed in his eyes.
“No praises and essays,” he echoed, “tell me, honest father, and for how long do you give me this rule?
“For the rest of his life,” came the answer, and the novice knelt down, helpless. He wanted to say that it was beyond his strength, that this vow was like death, but a spasm gripped his throat.
“You must die for the world,” the elder replied to his thoughts, he was adamant.
“As you said, let it be so,” said John at last.

The first year easily coped with obedience, and it seems that he has already completely resigned to his fate. And at this time, in the depths of his soul, unceasing monastic prayer melted the poetic gift with reverent feelings. Only once, before Holy Communion, a prayer spilled out of his mouth by itself:

"I stand before the doors of your temple and I do not retreat from fierce thoughts ..."

The elder listened attentively, and then looked sternly at his disciple. .. The look was enough. Humility and obedience are the rules of monastic life. For the sake of this rule, I went with baskets to my native Damascus, where, standing in the rows of malls, called an unheard-of high price for them, accepting ridicule and spitting from buyers.

But one day he disobeyed his spiritual mentor. On that day, the elder was away, and John performed a prayer, weaving a basket at the threshold of his cell. The young monk found him doing this. Kneeling down before John, he told about his grief, he told that his brother had died and grief was breaking his heart, and asked for comfort in the form of prayer, in which John was so skillful. Seeing that grief drove his brother in faith into despair, the monk could not refuse his requests, he wrote those touching hymns that are sung today at burial.

Venerable John Damascene
Bogatenko Yakov Alekseevich (1880-1941)
1905 g.
Wood, tempera
18 × 14.5 cm
Museum of Musical Culture
named after M.I. Glinka, Moscow, Russia

The old mentor, hearing the singing, was grieved, and John for his willfulness and disobedience was expelled from his cell. His head humbly bowed, the novice knelt all night before the closed door of his leader. Only at the request of Abbot Lavra, the elder replaced excommunication with penance ... But what a! The culprit must cleanse all the impurities with his own hands, only after that the mentor was ready to cancel his decision.

And the guilty one, not a little embarrassed, happily takes a bucket and a shovel in his hands, and he should immediately obey the command. Then the mentor was convinced that his efforts were not in vain: the disciple, concealing his pride, rejected himself.

And after a while, the Queen of Heaven herself stood up for her chosen one, appearing to a strict elder in a dream. Enlightened by such a vision, John himself begs to open his lips sealed in silence:
- Let everyone hear your sweet-sounding verbs. Henceforth, I bless you to raise your voice strong.
- Christ is Risen! - exclaimed the disciple, despite the fact that the time for Easter had long since passed. And a touching Easter song poured in the middle of summer:

“Yesterday I was buried with You, Christ, and today I get up with You, resurrected, yesterday still crucified…!

The novice had a chance to understand that without a harsh school of humility, his praise to God was hardly needed. Soon John took monastic vows and was enrolled in the monastery brethren. From that time on, there was no hindrance to creativity: freed from the impressions of the world, he plunged into the world of his soul. Here, within the walls of the monastery, the monk created everything that delights the ears of all those who hurry to the temple of God to this day.

- Your chants, John, will be listened to by such simpletons as I, and everything will be clear to them, - the elder used to say, listening to the next composition of his pupil.

Death and Memorial Day

The year of the death of the saint is unknown, it is only known that John survived the year 754, and died earlier than 787, therefore, he reposed in the Holy Lord, having exchanged the eighth decade. He was buried in the Lavra of St. Savvas. Remembrance is celebrated by the Church on December 17.

Proceedings

During the time when the monk lived in Damascus, he often had to observe the following picture: in order to attract Christians to Mohammedanism, or maybe just make fun of the Orthodox, the Mohammedans asked such questions to which even educated believers could not find answers. As a guide to a worthy way out of any dispute, John recorded the "Conversation of a Christian with a Saracen."

Bishop Cosmas of Mayum asked the monk to consistently expound the dogmas of the Orthodox faith. John did not immediately decide on this matter, but as a result the world saw the most important of his works: "An accurate exposition of the Orthodox faith." The Peru of St. John also owns the trilogy-treatise "The Source of Knowledge" and the book "Three words of defense against those who condemn holy icons."

Saints John of the Ladder, John of Damascus and Arsenius the Great
Double-sided tablet icon
Second half of the 16th century
Tempera on canvas.
25 × 20.2 cm
Vladimir-Suzdal Historical and Artistic
and Architectural Museum-Reserve, Vladimir, Russia
Inv. B-6300/116
Included in a series of double-sided calendar icons,
originating from the Cathedral of the Nativity of the Virgin in Suzdal.
Turnover - "The Resurrection of Lazarus".

What they pray to the saint

about healing;
in difficult life situations;
about the ability to freely and correctly express your thoughts ("about the gift of speech")

The image of John Damascene is recognizable - icon painters paint him in a turban, so you can easily find his icon in the church. He lived in another century in another country, but that doesn't matter. Time, boundaries and languages \u200b\u200bare just a convention, you will surely feel a spiritual connection with this greatest saint through his works, just as the author of these lines felt closeness and joy from communication when he wrote about him.

Troparion, kontakion, magnificence

Troparion, voice 8:

In you, father, it is known that he was saved in the image: we accept the Cross, you followed Christ, and you taught you to despise the flesh; The same and from the angels will rejoice, venerable John, your spirit. Another troparion, voice 8: Orthodoxy mentor, piety to the teacher and purity, the universe to the lamp, monastics God-inspired fertilizer, John the Wise, you have enlightened everything with your teachings, spiritual warden, pray to Christ God to save our souls.

Kontakion, voice 4:

A hymnographer and an honest God-verbalist, the Church of the punisher and the teacher, and the enemies of the resistance fighter, John let us sing: take the weapon, the Cross of the Lord, reflect all the delusion of heresies, and like a warm representative to God, he gives everyone forgiveness of sins.

Magnification:

We bless you, venerable Father John, and we honor your holy memory, mentor of monks and interlocutor of angels.

Akathist

Akathist to the Monk John of Damascus

Kontakion 1

The chosen servant of Christ, reverend Father John, we will write a commendable one for you, as for the golden-tongued chant of cherubic hymns and seraphim verbs, the Orthodox Church and for our intercessor and warm prayer for us: you, as if you have boldness in the Lord, pray for us with a continuous prayer and confession calling ti:

Ikos 1

You were an earthly angel and a heavenly man, Venerable John, and you had in your life a warm love for the Mother of God, you did not want to build a holy icon of Her and put this in your cell reverently, you dwelt in unceasing prayers. We, while pleasing thee, sice with a verb:

Rejoice, not ashamed of us before the Lord.

Rejoice, our vigilant prayer book to the Mother of God.

Rejoice, our merciful and meek father.

Rejoice, you are a quick helper in troubles and circumstances.

Rejoice, consolation of the mournful and sad.

Rejoice, give all those who ask for an ambulance.

Rejoice, venerable Father John, great saint and glorious miracle worker.

Kontakion 2

Seeing, venerable Father John, her right hand, which wrote a lot in defense of the honor and worship of holy icons, was unmercifully cut off at the libel of the iconoclast king, ask it from the unfaithful tormentor, and attaching it to her truncated joint, tearfully praying to the Most Pure Virgin Mary, she will heal about the hedgehog , and the All-Merciful and Almighty Kin of our Intercessor, she soon heard your prayer, and having appeared to you in a dream, you gave healing to a truncated hand, and thank God, eat Alleluia.

Ikos 2

The human mind cannot comprehend the power of the blessed healings, miraculously displayed by the icon of the Mother of God, and explain the miracle of greatness, how your severed right hand is whole and healthy in one piece, and on it only the scarlet sign of the former ulcer was left quickly by the Doctor's Clinic, Blessed to you, pleasing the Tsar pleaser of God, sice with the verb:

Rejoice, zealous servant of God.

Rejoice, cohabitant of angels.

Rejoice, companion of the monks.

Rejoice, warm intercessor who come running to you.

Rejoice, bestowed intercessor and patron from God.

Rejoice, venerable Father John, great saint and glorious miracle worker.

Kontakion 3

Having shown the power of the right hand of the Most High in the healing of his truncated right hand, God-versed John, with red songs sing the Lady the All-good and the likeness of the truncated hand of yours apply to the healing image of the Mother of God for the sake of the memory of the everlasting great miracle; therefore, this holy icon of the Three-handed is now visible and is called, with three hands, on it are described glorifying the sacrament of the Holy Trinity, and miracles from all of them, leading everyone to praise the Lord: Alleluia.

Ikos 3

Have great zeal for Bose, the spirit-bearing hymnographer of the Holy Church and her sweet divine glorifier, Venerable John, praising the wondrous mercy of the Mother of God with laudatory singing until the end of your life, in memory of the former miracle of dress, your truncated hand is wrapped around the head of your icon But the Mother of God is multifunctional, as a rich heritage, to the Saint Lavra of the Monk Sava the Sanctified, to all the faithful for worship. For such your concern for our souls, we cry out to you in due course:

Rejoice, for you have completely pleased God.

Rejoice, for you have received the crown of immortal life.

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Rejoice, venerable Father John, great saint and glorious miracle worker.

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Rejoice, venerable Father John, great saint and glorious miracle worker.

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Rejoice, venerable Father John, great saint and glorious miracle worker.

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Rejoice, venerable Father John, great saint and glorious miracle worker.

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Rejoice, venerable Father John, great saint and glorious miracle worker.

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Rejoice, venerable Father John, great saint and glorious miracle worker.

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Rejoice, venerable Father John, great saint and glorious miracle worker.

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Rejoice, venerable Father John, great saint and glorious miracle worker.

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Rejoice, venerable Father John, great saint and glorious miracle worker.

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Rejoice, venerable Father John, great saint and glorious miracle worker.

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Start your praises to those who want me, give your now a honey voice, reverend, the Orthodox Church has understood by her songs, Father John, even your memory honors yours.

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Thou hast squandered wealth, reciprocating to God, so much the same for you in Heaven the Kingdom is prepared; but even now, John, you have received a multiple reward.

Accepting the wisdom of talent, decorating by deeds, you have understood, John, the Church of Christ, you have made it much worse, and you have left your life.

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Having obeyed the command of Christ, you left the worldly beauty, wealth, sweetness, grace, for His sake, take your cross, you followed, John the wise.

Having conferred to the impoverished Christ of mankind for the sake of salvation, you were glorified, as you were promised, and reign for the reigning one, John.

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By the fear of Christ, Father, we are affirmed to a divine life, carnal wisdom you subdued everything to your spirit, yours, John, cleansing your feelings.

Having cleansed all filthiness of the body, and mind, and soul, carefully, God-wise, you received the dawn of the three-solar, John, bright you rich in talent.

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Enlightened by the Spirit with grace, Divine and human knowledge of things, clearly enriched, demanding, John, you taught without envy.

Like the face of the Heavenly, wise, you have adorned the Church in Orthodox Christianity, inviting the Trinity of God to the Trinity.

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We kindle with zeal, the godless heresies, you objected to all evil things with light scriptures, whitening to everyone clearly sown anciently, wise, about John, written subtly.

Warmly you exposed the evil-named disciples of Manenta blasphemous wickedness, corrupting the encroaching Church of Christ, your words and dogmas, about John, even you have done.

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All the enemy of the tares is usually heretical in the Church of Christ, this worship is swept away in the honest icons, but if you find it awake, all-blessed John, it eradicates every evil seed.

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