Transcription
Brothers and sisters, peace be with you. Today I want to talk to you not about great theological truths, nor about complex church rules. I want to talk about something quieter than any whisper and stronger than any storm: about a mother's heart. There is one place in the world where the light never goes out and complete silence never falls. It is a mother's heart, in which even in the darkest night, a lamp burns. The lamp of prayer and hope for her child. This lamp burns when the child takes its first steps and when it strays from the right path. It burns when the son calls every day and when there is no news from him for months. It burns when the daughter brings joy and when she brings pain, from which it seems one could leave this world forever. A mother's heart is the only place in the universe where you will never stop being waited for. It is about this unquenchable lamp, about this great and sometimes very heavy power of a mother's love, that we will talk. We will talk about that prayer which is capable of reaching a child from the bottom of the darkest sea, when it seems that all human strength has been exhausted and only faith the size of a mustard seed remains. I am a priest. And over the years of my service, I have heard thousands of confessions. And believe me, if I were asked what our women, our mothers and grandmothers, suffer most in their souls about, I would answer without hesitation. They speak least about themselves, about their grievances, about their fatigue. Most often, behind the veil of the quiet confessional, I hear stifled sobs and one name, the name of a child. "Father, pray for us. My son has started drinking again. My hands are completely down. My daughter has moved to the big city, doesn't call, lives ungodly, my heart is bleeding. My grandson is very sick, the doctors are at a loss, where to find strength. The children have grown up and have become like strangers. They don't go to church, they don't baptize their grandchildren. They say it's all superstition." These stories differ in detail, but are similar in one thing. They echo endless maternal pain. Pain that does not seek culprits, but seeks help. I have seen despair in the eyes of successful and educated women, and quiet, prayed-for wisdom in the words of simple village old women. And each of them, without knowing it, asked the same question: "Lord, is my love truly powerless?" In the title of our conversation, I mentioned the words "from the bottom of the sea." But what is this bottom? Are we talking about everyday troubles, a bad grade in a diary, or a quarrel with friends? No, of course not. The Church speaks of a much more terrible depth. The bottom of the sea is that icy desert in a child's soul where God's light goes out and cold indifference to everything settles in. It is the quagmire of addiction, which sucks you in and does not let go, be it alcohol, illicit substances, or gambling. It is the coldness of a hardened heart that has forgotten how to love and forgive and responds to kindness only with cynicism and contempt. It is the darkness of despair, when a person loses all meaning in life, when the darkest thoughts overcome him, from which blood runs cold. And the most terrible thing at this bottom is deafening silence. A silence in which neither the voice of the mother, nor the voice of conscience, nor the quiet call of God can be heard. From this depth, brothers and sisters, one cannot be pulled out by persuasion, one cannot be saved by shouting, one cannot be reached by human strength, no matter how much we love. A different strength is needed here, one that can touch the heart, even where there seems to be nothing alive anymore. I want to tell you a story. A story that, with the permission of its participant, I am retelling, changing the names, of course. There lived in our parish a woman, let's call her Valentina. Quiet, hardworking, she had dedicated her whole life to her only son, Pavel. The boy grew up smart, affectionate, studied well, helped her in everything. Valentina looked at him and could not rejoice enough. She thought, here it is. Her support in old age, her deserved joy. And then, after school, everything seemed to break. Some new friends with hard looks appeared, late-night calls. The smell of tobacco and something else, which a mother's heart was afraid even to name. Pavel became a stranger in his own home. He hid his eyes, answered all questions sharply, rudely. First, money disappeared from her wallet, then her old gold earrings, a gift from her late mother. Valentina tried to talk to him, cried, begged, but met an icy wall. One day she entered his room, and there was emptiness. No books, no guitar, which he loved so much, only a crumpled bed. And in this emptiness, she understood that she had fallen into that very abyss. Her son was somewhere there, at the bottom, and she stood on the shore and did not know how to help. Her hands fell, and prayer seemed to freeze on her lips from powerlessness and grief. And here, standing on the shore of this despair, we ask ourselves: why does a mother's prayer have such audacious power? Why is so much said about it in the traditions of the Church? Someone will say: "It's just strong maternal love, psychology." But faith reveals a greater depth to us. The bond between mother and child is not just kinship; it is a mystery established by God Himself. The mother is a co-creator. She participates in the greatest mystery of the birth of a new soul. And this thread, which bound her to the child even before his birth, never breaks. Therefore, her prayer is not a spell or a magical formula. It is a conversation of love, which God hears in a special way. It is the voice of one who gave her flesh and blood, who stayed up nights, who knows every mole and every scar on her child's body. It is not for nothing that the holy fathers spoke with awe about the power of a mother's word. They warned that a mother's curse, spoken in anger, could have terrible consequences. But with what incredible power then does a mother's blessing act? A mother's prayer, combined with faith and humility, literally builds an invisible wall around the child, against which many arrows of the evil one break. This power is given not to control the child's destiny, but to implore the Creator for his salvation. This is the greatest gift and the greatest responsibility given to every woman who bears the name of mother. But before I share with you the words of that very prayer, which the elders passed down to each other as the greatest treasure, I must say the main thing: "This is only a vessel, but will there be living water in it, or just air, depends on the state of our heart." There are three conditions, three pillars, on which the power of a mother's prayer rests. Without them, the most beautiful words can remain just an empty sound. Firstly, it is prayer without resentment towards the child. I know how hard this is. The heart can be overflowing with pain from his actions, from his cruel words. But as long as resentment lives in the soul, prayer cannot take flight. Find the strength within you, even the smallest, to say before the icon: "Lord, I forgive him. He knows not what he does. Do not count this as a sin against him. Forgiveness is the key that opens heaven." Secondly, it is prayer without murmuring against God. It is very easy in grief to descend into questions: "Why, Lord? Why my child? Where were you?" But murmuring is a wall that we ourselves build between ourselves and God. Strong prayer is born of complete trust. "Lord, I do not understand your ways, but I trust you. You love my son, my daughter more than I do. Thy will be done, but thy will be good and saving." And thirdly, it is prayer without despair. The enemy of our salvation fears hope the most. He will whisper: "It's all useless, nothing will change. Your child is lost." Do not believe this whisper. Your task is to stand firm in prayer, like a soldier on duty, even if there is darkness all around. Your hope is the lighthouse light that a child, even from the bottom of the sea, can one day see. And now, when our hearts are prepared, when they are cleansed by forgiveness and strengthened by hope, I want to pronounce the words of this prayer for you. This is not just a text; it is the cry and hope of hundreds of mothers, clothed in words. Stand, if you can, or simply bow the head of your heart, and let us pray together. Let us pray to the Most Pure Virgin, she who knows the full extent of a mother's pain. Standing at the cross of her son. O Most Holy Lady, Mother of God, unassailable wall and refuge of all the sorrowful. To you, Mother of all mothers, I, unworthy and sinful, now present and with tears I cry out. Despise not my prayer, hear my maternal cry. You see, Lady, my child, here name the child. Wandering in darkness, perishing at the bottom of the sea. The nets of sin have ensnared him, evil friends have darkened his mind, his heart has become hardened, and he has distanced himself from your house and from my house. I myself am powerless, Most Pure One, my hands are too short to reach him from this abyss. But you, Most Merciful One, extend your almighty protection, touch his hardened heart with your grace. Place a guardian angel beside him, who will drive away evil people and wicked thoughts from him. Implore your Son and our God, the Lord Jesus Christ, that he may not remember his youthful transgressions, but enlighten his soul with his light. Grant also to me, a sorrowful mother, patience that does not murmur, wisdom that does not reproach, and love that never ceases to hope. Work a miracle of your mercy. Return my lost child to the embrace of the Father. Show him the path to repentance and salvation, so that he, together with me, may glorify the venerable and magnificent name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Now and ever and unto ages of ages. Amen. This prayer is not only about lost souls. The Lord hears a mother's cry for the bodily ailments of our children as well. For the soul and body are inextricably linked. I recall another family, Irina and her daughter Olga. The girl was frail from early childhood, often sick, and then the doctors gave a diagnosis that sounded like a sentence. The illness was long, exhausting, taking away the child's strength, and the mother's last hope. Irina went to doctors, followed all prescriptions. But every evening, when Olga fell asleep, she would stand in a quiet corner before the icon of the Mother of God. She did not ask for a miracle to happen tomorrow. She simply read this prayer, pouring all her pain and all her hope into it. She asked the Most Pure Virgin to cover her child with her protection and to implore her Son to grant her healing. And the miracle did not strike like thunder. It came quietly, step by step. First, Olga began to sleep better, then she had an appetite. At a subsequent examination, the surprised doctor, who a month ago had been shaking his head, looked at the scans for a long time and said, "I don't know how to explain it, but we see a clear positive trend." Day by day, prayer by prayer, the illness began to recede, just as the sea recedes during low tide, leaving life on the shore. Let us return now to Valentina, the mother of that very lost Pavel. She began to pray. Every day, morning and evening, she knelt and uttered these words. A week passed, then another, a month. Externally, nothing changed. Pavel did not appear, there were no calls, but Valentina herself was changing. The hunted, despairing look left her eyes. She stopped crying at night. In her heart, instead of icy anxiety, a quiet, sorrowful, but surprisingly warm peace settled. She told me later: "Father, I just gave him into the hands of the Mother of God and found peace." And then one evening, as she finished her prayer, the phone rang in the house. With a trembling hand, she picked up the receiver and heard her son's quiet, unfamiliar, grown-up voice. He didn't say he had reformed. He didn't promise to return. He said only three words: "Mom, forgive me." And this was only the beginning of a long journey. But it was the very first step from the bottom of the sea. And in this, brothers and sisters, lies the main secret. A mother's prayer changes not only the child; it first heals and changes the mother herself. It grants her unearthly strength, patience, and peace in her soul. And the child, even at a distance, feels this peace. He, like a ship lost at sea, sees the distant light of the lighthouse and begins to row towards it. Therefore, today I address every mother, every grandmother, whose heart aches for her children. Do not give up. Never consider your prayer in vain. You are that very lighthouse, that very unquenchable lamp that God has lit in this world for your children. Your love, united with prayer, is a force that truly changes destinies. Do not despair, even if you do not see immediate results. Just pray. Stand before the image of the Most Pure Virgin and give her your pain, and she will carry it to the throne of her Son. Remember that in heaven there is not a single forgotten mother's tear and not a single unheard mother's prayer. Every word of yours, every breath, is a seed that will one day surely sprout. And I believe that by your holy prayers, the Lord will return the lost, heal the sick, instruct the doubting, and cover all our children with His boundless love and grace. May the Protection of the Most Holy Mother of God be upon all of you, upon your homes, and upon your children, wherever they may be. Amen.