On 12 October we commemorate the finding of the relics of Saint John (Maximovich), Archbishop of Shanghai and San Francisco, the Wonderworker. One witness to this miracle — which took place thirty years ago, on 12 October 1993 — was Archpriest Peter Perekrestov. He served as sacristan at San Francisco’s cathedral dedicated to the icon of the Mother of God “Joy of All Who Sorrow”, and later wrote many works about Saint John of Shanghai. Today we share memories from Valentina Vasilyevna Harvey about Saint John. Her recollections appear in Father Peter’s book, “Shepherd. Teacher. Friend. Saint John of Shanghai and San Francisco in the memories of contemporaries.”
— It was 1934. My parents — Vasily Maksimovich and Anna Fedorovna Kozachenko — lived in Shanghai, China, with me, my elder sister Nina, and younger brother Vadim. Our home stood near the Cathedral of the Icon of the Most Holy Theotokos “Helper of Sinners”. I was ten years old then; my brother Vadim and I attended the school of commerce run by the Russian Orthodox Brotherhood.
Valentina Vasilyevna Harvey
It was not an easy time for the Russian community. On 24 February 1933, our beloved Archbishop Simon died. Sadly, no one had been chosen to succeed him, so many adults worried deeply about the situation. At last, in mid-1934, news came that a new bishop had been appointed.
We were told that the new bishop came from Serbia, that he was young, full of energy, and very strict with adults as well as with children. As you might imagine, this unsettled us youngsters. A seed of fear was planted in our hearts long before he ever arrived.
Cathedral of the Icon of the Mother of God “Helper of Sinners” in Shanghai, 1932
Bishop John was set to arrive on 4 December 1934, which was the Feast of the Entry of the Most Holy Theotokos into the Temple. School was closed that day, and after the church service I spent the whole afternoon with a friend who lived just a few houses away. We tried to play, but mostly we talked about the man who was coming.
At last, as evening drew near, it was time to go to the cathedral; the bishop’s arrival was expected around six o’clock. We set off, our steps mixed with reluctance, worry, and a flicker of curiosity. Still munching apples, we heard the bells beginning to ring — ah, we must hurry if we wanted a good spot at the front! By the time we ran up to the church, crowds had already gathered. We squeezed and wriggled our way forward to the lectern. My heart hammered so hard, I felt sure everyone must hear it. At last, all the bells rang out joyfully, and we knew the bishop had arrived. As soon as he entered, I noticed he was slender and small in stature. When the bishop came closer, I could see his eyes — so sharp and deep they frightened me. “Oh God,” I thought, “nobody can hide anything or fool him — he sees straight through you! He must know what we are all thinking.”
Saint John of Shanghai, 1930s
After the prayer service finished, everyone went forward to receive his blessing. Soon it was my turn. As I looked up at him, what I saw took me completely by surprise: his eyes shone with such warmth and kindness that I felt overwhelmed. “He loves me!” I thought, overjoyed. “But why?” He did not know me, yet his eyes held nothing but love. I left the cathedral walking on air, eager to tell my friend about his extraordinary kindness. We ambled home in silence, then both burst out at once about the light of love in the bishop’s eyes. It dawned on us that he had looked on everyone, child and adult alike, with that same warmth. He loved us all. The next morning at school, all of us children seemed calmer; we no longer feared the new bishop as we had before.
Pupils of the preparatory class, fourth from left — Valentina Harvey (née Kozachenko)
Soon afterwards, Bishop John started coming to the school once or twice a week. We always knew in advance when he would visit, and most of us gathered eagerly by the doors, hoping for his blessing. The bishop always brought small treats for those who greeted him first — a prosphora, a banana, a small apple, or perhaps an orange. Of course, everyone wanted to be at the front. Over time, though, we noticed he gave these gifts to children from families who had less.
People had called him strict and firm, and now we saw what they meant. He would begin by asking us to make the sign of the cross. If we hurried or failed to place our fingers properly on our shoulders, he made us repeat it again and again until we did it right. He explained that the cross must never be ‘broken’ or ‘bent’. He also wanted to know whether we had learnt the troparion of our saint and could tell the story of our saint’s life. It seemed he never forgot who had promised to learn what, and at the next visit he would always check. As we grew older, he expected more from us: we had to know the troparia for all twelve great feasts and understand the meaning of each celebration.
Teachers and graduates of the school of commerce of the Russian Orthodox Brotherhood, 1941
Strict as Bishop John could be, and sometimes demanding, all of us loved him. Whenever we spotted him walking to or from the cathedral, or going about his business, we would run to get his blessing.
Everyone knew he never slept in a bed. Instead, he spent his nights visiting hospitals, prisons, homes for the mentally ill, and private houses where someone lay sick. I found this out for myself. One early summer I fell seriously ill with diphtheria. With no beds free in hospital, I stayed at home, drifting in and out of consciousness. One day my mother came to my bedside and said gently, “Valya, the bishop is here; he’s come to visit you!”
“Oh no,” I thought weakly. “Why has he come? He’ll ask if I’ve read the Gospel this morning — and, of course, I haven’t — and then he’ll lecture me.” Just at that moment, the bishop approached my bed and blessed me warmly. Then he said cheerfully, “I’ve come to tell you a joke.” “A joke?” I thought in confusion. “Who needs jokes? All I want is to sleep, and he wants to make me laugh!” But already he had begun some funny story I could hardly follow — and soon he started laughing aloud. I stared at him, and he said kindly, “Didn’t like that one? Never mind; I’ll try another.” Yet none of his jokes seemed any funnier than the first. At last, he declared confidently, “I’m sure you’ll laugh at this next one,” and after telling it, he burst into laughter again.
His laughter was so infectious that soon I found myself giggling too. Suddenly I burst out laughing — and as I did, something in my throat broke open. The moment the abscesses burst, the bishop called my mother over and said, “Clean everything carefully, and make sure she rinses her mouth and throat well. She’ll be all right now.”
He blessed me and went on his way. After my mother had done what was needed, and I had rinsed my mouth and throat, a wonderful ease came over me and I soon fell asleep. That evening, the doctor arrived and stood amazed, repeating several times, “This is a miracle — nothing short of a miracle! Incredible!” He returned two or three times, still shaking his head in disbelief. When at last I was allowed outdoors after my illness, my first thought was to go straight to the cathedral. I wanted to thank the bishop for healing me with his goodwill — and to apologise for my earlier behaviour. The bishop blessed me gently and assured me he understood, saying I had been very ill and was not to blame for my thoughts or words. A great weight lifted from me. I thanked him for his kindness, received another blessing, and hurried home joyful and light in spirit.
Award for participation in church life: the icon "Helper of Sinners" with Bishop John's personal signature
The bishop disliked seeing women with lipstick, and I once learnt this lesson myself. It happened like this: one day I was invited to a friend’s party for her name day. I had styled my hair, slipped into my best dress, brushed a little rouge over my cheeks (as I was rather pale) and, naturally, applied some light lipstick. I was so caught up in thoughts of the party that I forgot the bishop often used the same street for his walk to and from the children’s orphanage. Sure enough, there he was, walking towards me as usual, staff in hand. I asked for his blessing, which he gave — but this time he did not allow me to kiss his hand, nor did he kiss the top of my head as he always did. He refused to let me bow to his hand. When I asked again, he shook his head and said, “Why did you put on lipstick?” I explained I was going to a party. The bishop looked sad and told me not to paint myself to please others. Then he raised his staff, as if to tap me gently on the head. Every child knew the bishop never struck anyone; this was just a sign of his displeasure.
Our little scene unfolded in the street. Before long, people from nearby homes gathered round — they sensed a disagreement between us. The Chinese neighbours, always curious, gasped and moved closer as the bishop raised his staff above my head.
“Do you see what’s happening?” I asked him. He smiled. “No, it’s not me — it’s you and your lipstick.” I asked if I might touch my head to his hand, but he shook his head. “First, wipe your lips,” he said, and suggested, “Why not save your lipstick for Easter and use it to colour the eggs?” “How?” I cried, shocked. “You can’t dye eggs with lipstick — they’d be sticky and greasy!” “Yet you don’t mind leaving lipstick on my hand, do you?” he replied, and this time gently tapped my head with his staff. The crowd around gasped again. I could do nothing but wipe off my lipstick with my new, handsome handkerchief.
He withheld his hand until he made sure no lipstick remained on the cloth. Only then did he bless me, kiss the top of my head, allow me to kiss his hand, and send me on my way. I arrived late at the party, with bare lips, and my new handkerchief now quite shabby. At first I was upset, but later I understood: the bishop treated everyone equally. Who knows how many women or girls he might meet on his way to the cathedral? If every one left lipstick on his hand, how sticky and dirty it would become! Another lesson from the bishop! As for the party itself — I had a wonderful time.
Finishing school, 1941
After leaving school, I started work and also attended Shanghai Business College to study typing, shorthand and accounting. My day off was Thursday, and I usually spent it at church. One Thursday, after the Divine Liturgy, the bishop seemed in a hurry. I thought I might keep him company along the way and so joined him. When I asked where he was headed, he said he was going to the hospital for the mentally ill, which was at the other end of the city. To save him time, I suggested a rickshaw, saying I would pay, since I was now earning my own money.
The bishop gave me a sorrowful look. “Do you really think I could let someone run the whole way, pulling a cart with me sitting in it?”
“But, Bishop, it’s his job — how else will he earn a living? If everyone thought as you do, how would he support his family?”
“You said you could pay for my ride? Very well, call one over then.”
Shanghai, 1947
I did just that. I hailed a rickshaw puller and paid him for the journey. To my surprise, the bishop kept walking, telling the rickshaw man, “Follow me.” I was disappointed — I had thought I had persuaded him to ride. The bishop walked on, I followed, and the rickshaw came slowly behind. After several steps, I spoke up: “You know, Bishop, this seems kind, but it’s not fair. While he walks after you, he only earns your fare, but if he ran as usual, he could find another passenger and make more money.”
“Yes, you’re right,” the bishop replied with a smile, then told the rickshaw man to return. “Now he can earn more today.” The bishop then quickened his step and went on his way. I was left at a loss; my attempt to make things easier had failed. I asked for his blessing and turned for home.
Saint John of Shanghai, 1960s
Oh, bishop, dear bishop! You truly are a holy man — you care for everyone, not only us children or your Orthodox flock, but all people around you. Thank you, dear bishop, for your kindness and love for all.
Throughout my life — in China, the Philippines, England, and now America — I have always felt the bishop’s care. Deep in my heart I carry lasting gratitude. Even now, I ask for his blessing before any major decision, and I always sense his guidance and help.
Oh, holy bishop!
You know, many parents — including my own — thought their children were your favourites. Yes, they were right! We were your favourites, just as each one of your children of all ages was as dear to you as the next. You loved us all equally, corrected us squarely, encouraged us just the same.
I have always been glad for this — then and now. You never forget us, and you always respond swiftly to our prayers.
Thank you, holy and dearly loved shepherd, teacher, and friend.
Yours faithfully,
Valya.
Every Wednesday, at the church dedicated to Saint John, we serve a prayer service with an Akathist before the icon holding a relic of his remains. You are welcome to send in names for this service. Please follow the link for more information.
Prepared by the editorial team of obitel-minsk.ru
Photographs from churchreno.org
Source:
“Shepherd. Teacher. Friend. Saint John of Shanghai and San Francisco in the memories of contemporaries,” compiled by Archpriest Peter Perekrestov. — Tver: The Saint John of Shanghai and San Francisco Charitable Foundation; Youth Department of the Tver Eparchy; San Francisco: Ru
