June 6 marks the glorification (canonization) of St. Blessed Xenia of St. Petersburg by the Russian Orthodox Church in 1988.
"Oh, that I had wings like a dove! I would fly away and be at rest."
(Psalm 55:6)
Low clouds hang over the grey city, soft as watercolour in the early morning light. The bridges fade into mist. Far off, a lone wanderer comes into view. She moves quietly along the wet pavement.
As the dim colours deepen, her strange clothing becomes clear: the torn frock coat of a man over a worn dress; feet almost bare in the cold. Yet her face is bright. She seems to belong to another world, and to no time at all.
A thin, cold drizzle begins to fall. The wanderer does not notice. Her thoughts are far away.
In the Lord I put my trust; how can you say to my soul, "Flee like a bird to your mountain?"
(Psalm 11:1)
An angel appears to the saint
Memories scatter like petals in the wind.
A grand hall glows with candlelight. Everything gleams. The air is filled with splendid singing. Among the court singers stands Andrei Fyodorovich – her husband, her other half, the soul closest to her own.
Rich gowns, powdered wigs, plumed hats, fans and smiles whirl to an old melody. In memory, they blur into masks, painted scenery and stage make-up – and then into falsehood, cunning and blood.
Like a mirage, earthly happiness vanishes. Man is like a breath; his days are like a passing shadow.
(Psalm 144:4)
Blessed Xenia in the frost
The blizzard blinds her. The cold cuts to the bone.
"Holy God, Holy Mighty, Holy Immortal, have mercy on us," the funeral procession chants again and again.
"Where are you, Andrei, light of my eyes? Shall I never hear your voice again?"
As for man, his days are like grass; like a flower of the field, so he flourishes…
(Psalm 103:15)
An angel shelters the saint
The old cemetery on Vasilyevsky Island lies still beneath the snow. Its monuments seem frozen in time, as in a fairy tale. Here a mother mourns her only son. There a child sleeps, with a little angel bending over him, curls carved in stone.
Time itself seems to have stopped. Everything speaks of eternity. Everything reminds us how brief our life on earth is.
…For the wind passes over it, and it is gone, and its place remembers it no more.
(Psalm 103:16)
Blessed Xenia with a staff
Where can she go? The path has vanished. Snow is everywhere.
Then, through the thick blizzard, church bells break the silence. Soon the dome of a church appears. The bells are calling the faithful to the All-Night Vigil.
…I went with the multitude; I went with them to the house of God…
(Psalm 42:4)
Blessed Xenia at prayer
The faces on the old icons look down with kindness. Candles tremble in the darkness. The choir sings softly, with feeling.
Out of the depths I have cried to You, O Lord; Lord, hear my voice!
(Psalm 130:1-2)
Blessed Xenia carries a cross
Little by little, quiet peace fills the troubled soul. A joy she has never known before flows into her heart. One thought becomes suddenly clear: Andrei is alive. He is near.
And then all people become dear to her. All are one in God. All are alive. All can be held within one heart, if that heart is with God.
Let all who put their trust in You rejoice; let them ever shout for joy, because You defend them. Let those also who love Your name be joyful in You.
(Psalm 5:11)
The saint takes the child in her arms
A small light has been kindled within her: a spark of kindness, hope and warmth. Life can go on. It is possible to love again, and to believe again.
She will give away all she owns. She will give her heart wholly to the Lord whom she loves. Here, at last, is true freedom. Her spirit rises like a bird.
I will abide in Your tabernacle for ever; I will trust in the shelter of Your wings.
(Psalm 61:4)
A bow
She walks the same narrow streets of the Petersburg Side and passes through the same crowds. The wind still wails. Yet within her she carries a warmth and joy that no one can steal from her again – a small flame, able to light and warm many others.
I will be glad and rejoice in You; I will sing praise to Your name, O Most High.
(Psalm 9:2)
The saint walks along a little street
In the city of Saint Peter, a lonely pilgrim walks the stone pavement. Mischievous boys call after her. Curious ladies peer from windows. Hooves clatter quickly; a carriage has stopped, and someone is asking her blessing for a sick child.
It is an ordinary weekday, full of its usual noise and haste. But in her soul there is peace and quiet joy. The Lord is near – very near: merciful, meek and loving. And in Him is eternity.
O Lord, our Lord, how glorious is Your name in all the earth! You have set Your glory above the heavens.
(Psalm 8:1)
An angel receives the soul
Nun N.
Vstrecha, No. 24, 2003
Illustrations by Alexander Prostev
