Your Eminences and Your Graces!
Dear brothers and sisters!

I sincerely thank all of you for your prayers, especially on this day, which is associated for me with particularly profound memories and which has become an important milestone in my life.

Many of you know that I was born into a devout family, that my grandfather was a confessor who endured prisons and labor camps. The same fate also befell my father, though not as dramatically as in the early post-revolutionary years. Nevertheless, Nagaev Bay and Kolyma are geographical names that I absorbed from early childhood through the stories told to me by my father and my grandfather.

In the postwar period, together with significant changes in the thinking of the country’s then leader, a restructuring of church–state relations took place. From 1945 until 1961, the Church existed under relatively favorable conditions. It cannot be said that many churches were opened, yet some were. It cannot be said that many seminarians studied in our theological schools, yet they did. In other words, although certain limits were imposed on the development of church life, there were no persecutions—no one suffered for the faith during that time.

It was precisely during this period that my childhood took place. I well remember visiting churches in Leningrad at that time—the Smolensk Church at the Smolensk Cemetery, the Prince Vladimir Cathedral, the Transfiguration Cathedral, and St. Nicholas Cathedral. From childhood, coming to church was a great joy for me. Although services were quite long, I always remained willingly until the very end. The church was a place of warmth and joy for me, and already in those early years I felt a desire to dedicate a greater part of my life to the Church.

Then very dangerous times came. In 1961, the ruler who had come to power declared that the current generation of Soviet people would live under communism and that by 1980 communism would be built. As I have said before and will repeat again: this was a program for the complete destruction of the Russian Orthodox Church.

It was during these years that I studied at the seminary and academy and received holy orders. I remember the difficulties our priests, rectors, and deans faced even in resolving the simplest matters. For example, inviting the ruling hierarch, the Metropolitan of Leningrad, to preside at a parish service required mandatory approval from the representative of the Council for Religious Affairs. That representative was, of course, an enemy of the Church, yet he tolerated the existence of priests simply because they were not imprisoned and thus had to be endured. At the same time, he did everything possible to ensure that church life neither expanded nor strengthened.

At one point he summoned me to his office—a very rare occurrence, for a seminary student to be invited by such an official. Our conversation lasted four hours. Perhaps it is not entirely appropriate to mention another detail here, but without it the era cannot be fully understood: we drank two bottles of cognac. And then I realized—yes, he was an enemy, undeniably an enemy; but if he was willing to treat a student with cognac and talk for four hours, then something could indeed be done.

And believe me, despite extremely unfavorable conditions, much was accomplished. We were the first to admit young people with higher secular education into the theological academy. We opened this gateway, and many graduates of Moscow and Leningrad universities and other institutions entered our schools. The composition of the faculty changed. Finally, I became convinced that Orthodox women must also receive education, for they often form the backbone of parish life. I therefore resolved to make every effort to open a musical department at the theological academy, which we called the regent (choir director) class. There we trained choir directors, but also theologically educated women who later worked in Sunday schools—which did not yet exist at the time, but would soon appear.

I recount all this so that many who do not know may understand the era in which we lived and, on the basis of our dramatic experience, realize how powerful God truly is. No state authority, no superpower, no political party is capable of halting the movement of Divine Providence. Only one thing can stop it: the indifference of the clergy, the inability to remain faithful to one’s vows, the unwillingness to practice self-restraint, to undertake ascetic struggle, to risk one’s own well-being.

In those years, there were also those who renounced the priesthood and publicly declared on television that God does not exist. Among them was even a professor of the Leningrad Theological Academy. All of this was aimed at the total destruction of Orthodox faith. But there were also remarkable priests who boldly proclaimed the Word of God—at the risk not only of being expelled from Leningrad to some remote province, but even of losing their freedom.

I thank God that among such priests were my father and my grandfather, who was also a priest and who endured prisons and camps solely because he supported Patriarch Tikhon, stood for the Church, and fought against the Renovationist schism. My grandfather used to say to me: “Never be afraid of anything. Fear only God, and you will prevail.” Had this been said by some intellectual who merely read certain books, I would not have believed it. But the words of a man who endured prisons and camps and suffered for Christ throughout most of his life were engraved in my memory forever.

“Never be afraid of anything. Fear only God.” I believe this principle—this, if you will, slogan—must be present in our consciousness. Today, by God’s mercy, we have nothing to fear. As I have said, our authorities—both central and local—are for the most part Orthodox. We receive permission to build churches; land is allocated for this purpose, and in some cases even material assistance is provided. Yet we must always remember how the position of the children of God, the position of the Church, has changed throughout history. And in order to remain faithful to the Lord under any circumstances, we must be instructed by the experience of our predecessors—above all, the new martyrs and confessors of our Church, as well as those confessors with whom I am bound by ties of blood.

I would like to thank you all most sincerely for your participation in today’s service. I especially thank our episcopate for its active work in developing diocesan life. Everyone knows about the establishment of Orthodox schools—both general and Sunday schools—about our work in higher education and in the Armed Forces, about everything we once could only dream of. Today, however, it depends solely on us whether these instruments, when used wisely, will truly bear fruit.

There is only one obstacle to success: our laziness, our lukewarmness, our indifference, the lack of inner zeal, the lack of desire to do for the Lord today what we did not do yesterday. This must be present both in the hearts and in the minds of our episcopate, upon whose activity depends the work of the clergy and, indeed, of all our faithful people.

We thank the Lord for the time in which we live—for our authorities, for our President, our Prime Minister, for many ministers and leaders of major enterprises and research centers. It was once impossible to imagine that such people would become active members of the Church. Today, the Church is indeed becoming stronger—not because it pursues political goals. Politically, the Church is not strong, because politics is alien to her. But as a spiritual force of the people, the Church is growing ever stronger.

And here is my sincere request to our episcopate and clergy: never lower the standard of your striving to do more and better for the Church. None of us has the right to say, “I have done enough; now I may reduce my zeal.” The moment we say this, we as archpastors immediately embark on a path of spiritual and intellectual decline. Therefore, I once again call upon all of you, my dear ones—taking advantage of the fact that so many of my brethren are gathered here today (and that many more bishops and clergy will hear my words via television)—to labor as though everything were difficult, not as comfortably as it now appears. To set tasks we have not yet set, precisely because everything seems well, and to strive to accomplish them.

Above all, we must measure our success by the social reality of those who call themselves Orthodox. Of these millions, how many attend church on Saturdays and Sundays? How many children attend Sunday schools? Here, those millions turn into far smaller numbers. Therefore, dear hierarchs, we have an immense amount of work ahead of us. No one has the right to rest on their laurels. I would also ask the Managing Director of Affairs—no longer in a pastoral sense, but in an administrative one—to assist our brother archpastors and to report to the Patriarch in a timely manner both successes and, perhaps, shortcomings.

I am deeply convinced that all of you, my dear hierarchs, whom the Lord has called to serve at this time, possess the opportunities, the education, and the strength to serve the cause of the flourishing of our Mother Church in precisely this way. And so that no one might think that there is criticism in my words—there is none!—I simply wish to thank you all sincerely for your labors, for your service, and for all that you are doing today to strengthen the Orthodox faith in our country.

Once again, I thank you for your participation in this service and for your prayers for me, unworthy though I am.
May the Lord preserve you all!