Archimandrite Ambrose of Miljkovo
There is no other such witness and sign of faithful love towards Christ as care for brethren and concern over their salvation. - St. John Chrysostom
The Optina Hermitage, renowned for its "golden chain" of
God-bearing elders, was closed by the communists in 1923, but its
spirit lived on in its disciples and through them was spread abroad.
One of these disciples was Archimandrite Ambrose, abbot of Milkovo
Monastery in Serbia. It was under his spiritual tutelage that
Archbishop Anthony of Western America and San Francisco became a
monk. Our brief account is based on a Life which Archbishop Anthony
compiled of his beloved abba, and thanks to which the memory of the
Milkovo elder will be cherished by future generations, grateful for
its inspiration.
Archimandrite Ambrose (Kurganov) was born January 1, 1894, in the
Russian province of Ryazan. His father and one of his grand-fathers
were village priests, and his other grand-father was a secret monk,
so it is not surprising that Vladimir, as he was named at baptism,
came to choose the monastic life. Already as a student at Warsaw
University, he was guided in the Jesus Prayer by a talented priest
of the white clergy, who soon turned him over for spiritual
direction to Archimandrite Benjamin (Fedchenko, later metropolitan).
Vladimir's studies were interrupted by the war, when he went to the
front to work in a medical detachment. He resumed his studies
briefly before becoming a military cadet in Moscow. The slogans of
impending revolution grated upon his religious and patriotic
feelings, and hastened his desire to withdraw from the world. From
Archimandrite Benjamin he had heard about Optina Hermitage and,
still wearing his soldier's greatcoat, he squeezed onto a train
bound for Kozelsk. By God's Providence, Vladimir was accepted
straightway into the Skete of the Forerunner, the strictest part of
the monastery. He labored unsparingly in the garden under the
exacting Fr. Job, knowing that physical toil begets humility. He
loved the brothers and the brothers loved him. But even the most apt
pupil in the monastic school is bound to stumble occasionally. One
day Vladimir approached Fr. Theodosy, the skete abbot. "Batiushka,
bless me to study English." "Lord have mercy, brother Vladimir, why
do you need English?" "I want to read Milton's Paradise Lost in the
original." "Lord have mercy, why do you need Milton? Here are
Anthony the Great, Macarius the Great; read them." "I went away from
him with my soul boiling," he related later. "What does this peasant
understand?!" Vladimir was so upset that he left the skete and went
home. He soon realized that the incident was but a temptation and he
returned in repentance.
Historical circumstances complicated his novitiate. To avoid being
inducted into the Soviet army, Vladimir received a blessing to go
south. In Poltava, at the residence of Archbishop Theophan, he
shared quarters with a young hieromonk, the future Archbishop
Ioasaph of Canada. When the Bolsheviks began searching for him, he
hid for two or three months in the adjacent coachhouse, where he
occupied himself by reading the ascetical works of Bishop Ignatius
Brianchaninov. Joining the volunteer army, he was wounded in one
lung and became severely infected with typhus; he never fully
recovered. Eventually he was reunited with his dear Bishop Benjamin
in Sevastopol. But the march of war soon forced him out of Russia
and, in the fall of 1920, he arrived with other refugees in
Constantinople. The life of a refugee in a bustling metropolis was
hardly conducive to the monastic discipline. Vladimir kept himself
focussed by reading the works of St. John Chrysostom and the
Prologue whenever time allowed. He always tried never to be without
a guide, and he was greatly consoled there in Constantinople to make
the acquaintance of Metropolitan Anthony (Khrapovitsky), the "father
of monks and those searching for monasticism." At the metropolitan's
initiative, Vladimir was ordained subdeacon by Vladika Anastassy,
who later succeeded Vladika Anthony as First Hierarch of the Church
Abroad.
The diary Vladimir kept during this time reveals an exemplary
submission to the will of God. One day the wound in his lung opened
and he coughed up a lot of blood. He did not pray that his life be
prolonged, writing in his diary, "Does He not know my being, does He
not know my life? Is not my innermost self open to Him? Does He have
little love? Does a potter not know when to remove a clay vessel
from the kiln? May He be blessed in all His works, for everything of
His is good."
The diary likewise reflects a height of contemplation remarkable in
one only twenty-seven years old:
"The mind is emptied of thoughts and images and becomes somehow
simple; the heart, like the quiet flame of a votive-lamp, trembles
joyously from this 'inexpressible' which is revealed to it. Without
images, without thoughts, there is somehow ineffably revealed to the
soul this Most Blessed, Holy, Pure Being, God."
Further on, he writes:
"Your sweetness is unspeakable, Your peace inexpressible. Oh, if
only I could always love You, always abide in You, Oh Lord, my
Lord." This love for God was mirrored in his love and concern for
others. As poor as he was, he shared what he had with unfailing
hospitality. Later, in Serbia, his favorite obedience was to receive
pilgrims. Even before he became a priest, he noted in his diary, "It
is impossible to abandon a person's soul."
Together with many other Russian refugees, Vladimir found a
brotherly welcome in Serbia. But life remained unsettled for the
aspiring novice. In the space of a year and a half, he moved to
three different monasteries before the Serbs gave his abba, Bishop
Benjamin, the Petkovitsa Monastery, and Vladimir received a blessing
to join him there.
In Petkovitsa, Vladimir spent six months as a novice, although one
could say that he had been a novice for five years, since his time
at Optina. Everywhere, he read and tried to apply the teachings of
the monastic fathers: Saints Abba Dorotheus, John of the Ladder,
Theodore the Studite. He had formed such a close bond with Bishop
Benjamin that it hurt him deeply when the latter unexpectedly
declined to be his sponsor at his tonsure. It served, however, as a
valuable lesson that such strong attachment must be reserved for our
Lord Jesus Christ alone and not any human personality, no matter how
holy. Before his tonsure, Vladimir submitted the names of three
favorite saints, and he was clothed with the name Ambrose. Two weeks
later, Metropolitan Anthony, with whom he continued to correspond,
came to Petkovitsa and ordained him to the diaconate.
Petkovitsa began to flourish; new monks arrived, and there were
plans for a printing press and a broad program of missionary
activity. Sadly, nothing came of this. Bishop Benjamin, who was very
sociable by nature and took an active part in the life of the
monastery, soon left to undertake missionary work in
Carpatho-Russia, appointing his teacher, Archbishop Theophan of
Poltava, to take his place at the helm of the monastery. Vladika
Theophan had a very different character; a severe ascetic, he did
not eat with the brethren or work with them in the fields. He
himself recognized that he was not suited for the position and,
after a time, decided to leave. Prior to his departure, on October
1, 1923, the feastday of the monastery church, he ordained
Hiero-deacon Ambrose to the priesthood. During the service, St.
Parasceva-Petka herself was seen standing in the sanctuary.
For various reasons, the monastery began to decline and, in the
autumn of 1924, Batiushka Ambrose accepted the invitation of Bishop
Seraphim (Sobolev) to come to Bulgaria where, with the approval of
Metropolitan Anthony, he was appointed abbot of a small, recently
established Russian monastery nestled in the Balkan mountains.
Building on the foundation of his monastic training at Optina and
the experience-both positive and negative-which he had acquired at
Petkovitsa, he was able to shape his tiny synodia of five novices
into a real coenobia, a harmony of physical and spiritual labor.
But, just as gold is refined by fire, so too, writes St. Paul, the
spiritual man is purified through trials, and this promising
beginning soon came to a sorrowful end. All sorts of slander and
complaints against Fr. Ambrose were made-especially about his
putting an end to using the monastery as a resort-and he was
compelled to leave. Metropolitan Anthony, who saw his gifts and kept
a watchful eye on him, arranged for his transfer to Serbia, where
the monastic-loving Bishop Mitrofan of Branich was searching for an
abbot for the small monastery of Milkovo.
When Batiushka Ambrose was still in Petkovitsa, after Archbishop
Theophan had left, Metropolitan Anthony had sent him an encouraging
letter in which he had written, "And you yourself, with your
enthusiastic soul and the ability to fulfill God's service, will be
one of the main bearers of the monastic spirit, and you will
establish your own brotherhood." There at Milkovo, his prophetic
words found their fulfillment. Fr. Ambrose arrived at the monastery
on January 24, 1926, with four novices, for what was to be the final
and most fruitful chapter of his life. He was just thirty-two years
old.
The spiritual personality of the young elder is most vividly
reflected in the chapter, "The Spirit of Milkovo: Batiushka." Here,
Archbishop Anthony draws on his own recollections, and we can do no
better than to quote him directly.
It was necessary to build both spiritually and materially. The new
arrivals met with a shortage of everything. There was some
half-moldy corn, one bag of wheat flour, and a broken-down cart.
Concerning Milkovo's poverty, I shall briefly note that the first
years were very difficult. We managed to clothe ourselves only with
the help of benefactors.
In the first year, our feast on the Sunday of Forgiveness-the last
meal before the beginning of the Great Lent-consisted of sauerkraut,
the gift of a neighboring priest. But Batiushka began to set the
economy aright and to gather brethren. Some could not endure the
poverty and left, others came to settle. Older monks came from
Russian or Athonite monasteries. Of the Russians, most were from
Valaam, banished from their own monastery for not accepting the
secular [new] calendar. Young people also came. Some Serbs came as
well, though not many.
But how much all this cost Batiushka! How many departures from the
monastery did he have to weep over. In some extreme cases, he
himself had to worry about transferring to other monasteries those
who were altogether unsuitable.
Batiushka was patient, however, and he covered the weaknesses of
others with his love, which acted most beneficially upon those whom
he sheltered, and upon all the brethren. In Milkovo, refusing to
judge one's neighbor was honored as the most indispensable virtue. I
remember how a youth who had not fully made up his mind to remain in
the monastery, was temporarily placed in the room of a Serbian
worker. Hearing of this, I said, "But Grisha will only learn to
curse from Mika." Batiushka became indignant, "What? Are you judging
Mika?" "Forgive me, Batiushka," I responded. "Go away, go away from
me; judging is worse than fornication." "Forgive me, Batiushka," I
repeated. "Go away. Go away."
So that we would not judge others, Batiushka taught us to search for
something good in each soul. For example, we had with us for a time
a hieromonk from Petkovitsa. Being a tailor, he sewed for private
persons for money, without a blessing. Batiushka struggled with this
evil and finally transferred the priest, but he said to us, "You
know, he is so chaste."
While the monastery grew and winnowed, the monastery's economy grew
aright and a relative abundance appeared. We even began to sow our
own wheat (previously, the land had been rented out). The Lord
blessed the monastery vineyard and gardens. Benefactors donated
blankets, some clothing and sent money. The brotherhood began to
stand on its feet.
There was much work to do in the monastery and Batiushka helped. He
would also look in everywhere, encourage, advise and often he would
walk up to someone and say, "Just see how good it is here-a real
monastery. Luke is painting icons, Serge is building the pig-pen,
Theophanushka is making candles and Alyokha is kneading dough."
Or, he would glance into the chicken-coop where a novice was
diligently cleaning and say to him, "Weep, weep. No one sees you
here," and go on his way, while the novice would remember this all
his life.
Batiushka took upon himself two special obediences-to chant the
Liturgy when others were occupied, and to maintain the monastery
stoves. Both obediences caused bleeding in the lung which had been
wounded. Batiushka would stop chanting for a while. A month would
pass and he would chant again. Batiushka spared himself even less
with the stoves. If he was working on one and blood began to flow by
evening, then he would continue in the morning. (These were brick
and plaster stoves, something like a fireplace, but with the front
enclosed and a door in the front for wood. Often they would be long
and could be slept upon in the winter, the hot coals warming the
occupant on cold winter nights.)
It would often happen that Batiushka would stand through the
Midnight Hour and part of the Matins and then go off to work on some
stove clay. The priestmonks would come out of the church and go to
the abbot to receive a blessing while still in klobuks with mantias
over their arms. Batiushka would tear himself away from the clay or
bricks, wipe his hands and face with the skirt of his cassock or
apron, and exchange the hand-to-hand priestly kiss with the fathers.
Batiushka not only worked on a par with the brethren but he also
gave us cell-peace (i.e., his cell was open at all times to anyone
with troubles) which is so desired by a monk. Batiushka would want
to read and pray in seclusion but he chose a different, difficult
path. Entry to the abbot's cell was unrestricted. There was no
surrogate for the abbot. Perhaps this was because the brotherhood
was small and also because Batiushka was so very concerned about our
every step. And so, the abbot had no refuge for solitude. This was
the cell to which the cook came for a blessing to cook, the baker to
bake and the herdsman came to receive a blessing to sound the
symantron for meals or Vespers, or to let the cattle out or bring
them in. Here they came to tell their sorrows. Here were the books
which Batiushka gave us to read. Here stood his wide iron cot and a
little pedestal table with pictures incidentally found in Milkovo.
There was grating on the windows, cut during his fatal illness so
that there would be more air in the cell. In the corner was a wooden
icon of the Saviour. The other icons were on cardboard, or simply of
paper.
Preserving material and spiritual harmony, he took care that the
toiling brethren "matured in the beauty of the Lord, and attended
His holy temple," as it is sung in the psalm.
I do not know if I am partial, but for me the spirit of the Divine
services at Milkovo was incomparable with anything. . . Batiushka
fulfilled the services in such a way that we loved them and strove
to participate in them. For example, Fr. Stefan, the cook, would get
up at night in order to complete his baking in time to be on cliros,
although this was not required of him, and Fr. Raphael, the
herdsman, would hurry with the milking and pasturing of the cows in
order to arrive at least by the middle of the night Vigil. And the
little old monk from Valaam, accustomed to the correct services and
then starving for them in his exile, upon arriving at Milkovo,
remarked, "Yes, this is a monastery!"
Batiushka felt the Lord's beauty in the Divine services, especially
in the old Znamenny chant. He also liked Serbian chanting.
He clearly understood the beauty of the Lord in iconography.
Batiushka especially liked ancient icon-ography, and knew the
symbolic significance of the various colors. He had mastered the
brush well, but in Milkovo he hardly touched it. On the other hand,
he participated with all his soul in the work of his spiritual son,
the future abbot, Luke. He rejoiced over his artistic gift as if it
were his own.
The Milkovo-Presentation monastery bore the same name as Optina.
Batiushka fervently strove to have the Theotokos glorified in the
monastery. After the dismissal of the morning and evening Divine
services, we sang the troparion of the Presentation and then went to
the church porch where, before the locally honored icon of the
Mistress, we chanted, in a Valaam chant, the moving stichera, "To
human protection entrust me not, but do thou thyself preserve me..."
He always strove to accustom us to the Jesus Prayer. To some he gave
the instruction to read from the Philokalia the chapter of
Nicephorus the Solitary or the Word of Hesychius the Presbyter. But
guarding against self-deception, he said, "Read twice and what will
remain in the head will remain. Do not read more."
Batiushka's Constantinople diary is punctuated with the words or
beginning letters of the Jesus Prayer, "Lord Jesus Christ, Son of
God, have mercy on me, a sinner." In his New Testament, he had many
times underlined the words about the grace-filled power of Jesus'
name.
More often, Batiushka gave ascetic instructions in private
conversations or letters. In general, he observed the rule of the
great Optina elder Ambrose, and lived simply. He loved humor but
behind this humor a great love was felt. The Milkovo herdsman
recalled how once he had pastured the cattle in the field and read
the psalter there, and then returned to the monastery. Batiushka met
him near the gate and encouraged him saying that he would ride into
the Kingdom of Heaven on cows.
He used to call us all by diminutives and endearing
names-"Savushka," "Ivanushka," "Alyo-kha," even giving nicknames.
It was not in vain that Vladika Anthony reminded Batiushka how St.
Seraphim had taught Abbot Antony Bochkov to be not only a father but
also a mother to the brethren. Was it not like a mother that
Batiushka gave away warm clothes which were brought to him, to
another monk, even though he himself was weak and feeble? Was it not
as if about his own blood children that he wrote to his friend about
the brethren, describing how one celebrates the services, how one
flourishes, how one rejoices, and he exclaims, "My dear father, they
are all righteous ones."
Batiushka taught us that while living our own special monastic life,
we must not lock ourselves up in isolation. Not only the visiting
clergy, both monastic and married, not only the archpastors, but
also the lay people who had crossed the Morava to come to us,
entered into our family. As a pastor, Elder Ambrose had a gentle
approach, which some mistakenly interpreted as weakness. "Once,"
writes Archbishop Anthony, "not understanding, I said to him after
confession, 'Why, Batiushka, you are not even giving me an
epitemia.' He meekly replied, 'You know, I have observed for myself
that a kind word acts with more strength than anything else.' " At
the end of 1932, the wound in his lung opened up again. That year
had brought a number of trials: the monastery was in danger of
losing some land due to flooding; a young novice drowned, and a
severe storm damaged a third of the monastery crops. The elder's
anxiety for the brethren taxed his already poor health. He became
ill towards Great Lent and, on the Feast of the Holy Martyrs, he was
taken to the hospital. When, after a month, it became clear that his
condition was hopeless, he asked to be taken back to his monastery.
Lying in his cell, Fr. Ambrose would often turn to a portrait of St.
Ambrose of Optina and repeat, "Batiushka, Father Ambrose!" He had a
special veneration for the Optina elder, and he shared more than
just his name. Vladika Anthony writes:
"I remember how, while walking across the yard, he showed me a book
of letters of Ambrose of Optina. He lifted it toward me and said
with delight, 'Here is a book, Anthony!' Reading this book later, I
experienced a feeling of emotion, as if I was once again conversing
with our Batiushka: I met so much there that was familiar. For
example, it is characteristic of the letters of Ambrose of Optina
that they give encouragement and the reader remains unaware that
they were written by a man who was, for many years, welded to a bed
with illness. In the same manner, Batiushka encouraged and rejoiced
us, not faltering in this service even though he was ill and weak in
body. It was not by artful imitation, but in his very being, that
Batiushka was near in spirit to the great elder." A month later, on
May 17, 1933, the young elder reposed. "The Heavenly Potter
extracted His new vessel from the kiln. A true monk left this world
and departed into that other one, which is reflected in the very
word 'monk'."
The Young Elder: A Biography of Blessed Archimandrite Ambrose of
Milkovo by Archbishop Anthony, is available from Holy Trinity
Monastery, P.O. Box 36, Jordanville, NY 13361; 70 pps.