Relics of the Holy Confessor Nicholas, Metropolitan of Alma-Ata and Kazakhstan

On September 8, 2000, with the blessing of Archbishop Alexy (Kutepov) of Astana and Almaty (now Metropolitan of Tula and Belev), the holy relics of the confessor Saint Nicholas were discovered at the city cemetery and transferred to the Nicholas Cathedral in Almaty.

One of the most significant acts of the Jubilee Bishops' Council of 2000 was the glorification of a host of new martyrs and confessors of the Orthodox faith, among whom was the Holy Confessor Nicholas (Mogilevsky), Metropolitan of Almaty and Kazakhstan.

On April 9, 1877, on the day of the Bright Feast of Pascha, a son was born to the humble psalmist Nikifor and his wife Maria. He was named Theodosios, in honor of Saint Theodosios the Martyr.

"Our father was strict," recalled Vladyka. "He was very demanding about order and the completion of the tasks assigned to us." He was a great connoisseur of church singing, especially valuing congregational singing, and he instilled this love in his children.

Regarding his mother, Vladyka Nicholas recalled: "Our mother was love itself. She never shouted at us, and if we misbehaved, which of course happened, she would look at us so sorrowfully that we would feel terribly ashamed."

Theodosios' upbringing was significantly influenced by his grandmother Pelagia. "During the long winter evenings," the Archbishop recalled, "our grandmother would take us to the stove and begin endless stories about the holy servants of God." He also frequently remembered his grandfather, who was also a priest.

In 1904, Theodosios' cherished dream came true. On the eve of the feast of Saint Nicholas the Wonderworker, Archbishop of Myra in Lycia, he was tonsured a monk and given the name Nicholas.

In May 1905, on the feast day of Saint Nilus of Stolobny, the protector of Nilova Pustyn, Monk Nicholas was ordained as a hierodeacon. On October 9 of the same year, he was consecrated as a hieromonk.

After studying for four years under the protection of Saint Sergius of Radonezh, Father Nicholas successfully graduated from the Moscow Theological Academy in 1911.

In October 1919, in Chernihiv, Archimandrite Nicholas was consecrated as the Bishop of Starodub, a vicar of the Chernihiv diocese. Bishop Nicholas' further service was under the blessed patronage of Saint Theodosios of Chernihiv, whom he deeply revered.

In 1923, Bishop Nicholas was appointed as the Bishop of Kashira, a vicar of the Tula diocese, where the situation was very difficult at the time. The renovationists had taken over the vast majority of parishes. However, with his small flock, Bishop Nicholas steadfastly fought against the enemies of Orthodoxy. This struggle led to his arrest on May 8, 1925.

After spending more than two years in detention and being released, Bishop Nicholas was appointed to the Orel see. He served in Orel until his next arrest. Bishop Nicholas recounted that period: "On July 27, 1932, I was arrested and sent to Voronezh, where the investigation took place. There's no point in talking about living conditions, as in those years, our entire country was experiencing hardship.

"When the investigation concluded, the investigator and I parted ways with some regret. He confided in me, saying, 'I am glad that I could at least prove the correctness of your statements through my investigation. This means a lot to you — now your charge will be reclassified, and you will get no more than five years, instead of the expected ten.'

I couldn't help but ask, 'What will I get five years for?'

'For your popularity,' he replied. 'People like you need to be isolated for a while so that the public forgets about your existence. You have too much authority among the people, and your preaching significantly influences them. They follow you!'

It was unexpected for me to hear such an assessment of my ministry from a representative of that institution, but it was indeed so. 'Lord! Glory to You! Glory to You, Lord! I, a sinner, served You as best as I could!' was all I could say, overwhelmed by the joy that filled my heart. Now, no term will frighten me anymore."

"Recalling his wanderings through the camps, the Vladyka often spoke about Sarov, where he spent a considerable amount of time: 'After the closure and desecration of the monastery, a correctional labor camp was established in its premises, where I ended up. When I crossed the threshold of this holy abode, my heart was filled with such inexpressible joy that it was hard to contain. 'The Lord has brought me to the Sarov Hermitage,' I thought, 'to St. Seraphim, to whom I have often turned with fervent prayer throughout my life.'

I kissed all the little grilles and windows in the monastery. At that time, the cell of St. Seraphim was still intact.

Throughout my stay in Sarov, I considered myself to be on obedience to St. Seraphim, through whose prayers the Lord sends us such consolation that we can serve the Liturgy and partake of the Holy Mysteries of Christ even in imprisonment.'"

In 1941, Vladyka Nicholas was elevated to the rank of archbishop.

The news of the beginning of the Great Patriotic War reached Vladyka as he was about to celebrate the Divine Liturgy.

"I was serving the Proskomedia," Vladyka recalled, "when one of my friends quietly informed me of this dreadful news in the altar. What could I say to my flock, who, in tears, awaited not my consolation but Christ's? I could only repeat what St. Alexander Nevsky once said: 'God is not in strength, but in truth!'"

That year, June 22, marked the Feast of All Saints who shone forth in the land of Russia. I believe there is a special meaning in this. Due to our sins, we underwent severe trials, but the Saints of the Russian land did not forsake us with their intercession. We turned to them, our fellow countrymen, for help, and this heavenly assistance manifested itself when it was least expected."

Following this news, Archbishop Nicholas faced another trial—on June 27, 1941, Vladyka was arrested and imprisoned in Saratov.

After spending a total of six months in Saratov, Vladyka Nicholas was sent to Kazakhstan, first to the city of Aktobe, and then, three months later, to the city of Chelkar in the Aktobe region.

Many years later, when Vladyka was asked how he felt about this relocation and whether there was any bitterness or resentment in his heart, he responded: "Everything is according to God's will. It was necessary for me to endure this severe trial, which ultimately ended in great spiritual joy.

"Think about it—what would happen if a person spent their entire life in comfort and abundance, surrounded by loved ones? A life oversaturated with earthly pleasures leads to a hardening of the heart, a cooling of love for God and for one's neighbor. Excess makes a person cruel and unable to understand others' sorrow or misfortune."

Vladyka traveled to this "voluntary exile" in a prisoner car. The train arrived at the Chelkar station at night. Guards pushed Vladyka onto the platform wearing only his underwear and a torn quilted jacket. All he had in his hands was an identification card, with which he was required to report to the local NKVD office twice a month for check-ins.

The rest of the night, Vladyka spent sitting in the train station. Morning came, and he had to go somewhere, but how could he walk in the winter dressed like that? Moreover, he had nowhere to go. Vladyka had to seek help from the elderly women, whose kind hearts responded to his plea. One gave him a quilted jacket, another a hat, and another patched felt boots. One elderly woman even offered him shelter in her barn, where she kept a cow and a pig. Vladyka was 65 years old at the time, his hair was white, and his appearance inevitably evoked sympathy.

Vladyka tried to find work, but no one would hire him—he looked older than his years. He was forced to beg for alms to avoid starving to death.

Later, when his spiritual children asked, "Why didn't you tell the elderly women who gave you clothes that you were a bishop?" Vladyka would respond, "If the Lord sends a cross, He also gives the strength to bear it and lightens it. In such circumstances, one's own will should not be manifested; one must wholly submit to God's will. It is unworthy of a Christian to go against God's will, and after a person patiently endures the trials sent to them, the Lord sends spiritual joy." This is how Vladyka concluded his explanation.

Until late autumn of 1942, Vladyka continued to lead his impoverished existence. His physical strength was waning. Due to malnutrition and cold, he developed emaciation, his body was covered in sores, and lice had infested him due to filth. His strength was ebbing away, not by the day, but by the hour…

Finally, the moment came when his last bit of strength was exhausted, and Vladyka lost consciousness.

He awoke in a hospital, in a clean room, in a clean bed. It was bright and warm, and people were bent over him. He closed his eyes, thinking it was all a dream. One of the people checking his pulse said, “Well, it’s almost normal! Our grandfather has come around!” Vladyka recovered slowly. When he finally got out of bed, he immediately started trying to help those around him. He would bring water to someone, fetch a bedpan for another, adjust someone’s bed, or say a kind word. Everyone in the hospital grew fond of this kind old man. They all affectionately called him “Grandfather.” However, only one young doctor knew the tragedy of this "grandfather," knowing that if he were discharged from the hospital, he would again have to beg for alms and live next to the cow and pig.

And then the day came when the doctor proposed discharging the "grandfather" from the hospital. Vladyka Nikolai began to pray to the Lord, once again surrendering himself to His will: "Wherever You send me, Lord, there I will go!" Just as everyone gathered to say goodbye to the kind "grandfather," a nurse entered and said, "Grandfather, someone has come for you!"

"Who has come?" everyone asked at once. "It's that Tatar who sometimes brings you packages, don't you remember?" Of course, Vladyka could not forget how regularly, every ten days, he received a couple of Tatar flatbreads, a few eggs, and some pieces of sugar from an unknown Tatar. He also knew that this Tatar had found him half-dead and unconscious on the road and had taken him to the hospital.

Stunned, Vladyka went to the exit. Indeed, there stood the Tatar with a whip in his hand. "Well, hello, father!" he said to Vladyka with a good-natured smile. Vladyka greeted him as well. They went outside, the Tatar helped Vladyka into the sleigh, then got in himself, and they drove off. It was the end of winter 1943.

"Why did you decide to take part in my life and treat me so kindly? You don't even know me," Vladyka asked. "We must help each other," the Tatar replied. "God told me that I must help you, that I must save your life."

"How did God tell you?" Vladyka asked in amazement. "I don't know how," the Tatar answered. "When I was on my way, God told me, 'Take this old man; he needs to be saved".

For Vladyka, a peaceful life began. The Tatar had connections and managed to arrange for Vera Afanasyevna Fomushkina, his spiritual daughter who was also exiled but to another location, to come to Chelkar. Vera Afanasyevna did not hide from the locals who the "grandfather" that the Chelkar residents had lovingly nursed back to health was.

On October 10, 1944, Vladyka himself sent a "fervent request" to the People's Commissar of Internal Affairs of the USSR, asking to be relieved of the status of "voluntary exile," to be allowed to return to Russia "and there to take up an episcopal see by appointment of the Patriarchal Synod."

By a resolution of the Special Council at the People's Commissariat of Internal Affairs of the USSR dated May 19, 1945, Vladyka Nikolai was released early.

On July 5, 1945, by a resolution of the Holy Synod, the Alma-Ata and Kazakhstan Diocese was established, with Archbishop Nikolai (Mogilevsky) appointed as its head.

Vladyka arrived in Alma-Ata on October 26, 1945, on the feast day of the Icon of the Mother of God, known as the Iveron Icon.

Upon arriving in Alma-Ata, Vladyka Nikolai began his ministry in the small, remote Kazan Church, which had been opened a few months before his arrival.

Vladyka had an extraordinary zeal for the services, which he conducted with the utmost adherence to monastic rules, as much as was possible in a parish church. He always served reverently and never hurried. When the choir would rush the service, Vladyka would immediately look out from the altar and ask, "Who here is in a hurry to catch a train?" This would make everyone feel ashamed, and the choir would immediately slow down.

Once, Vladyka arrived at the cathedral at half-past six in the evening, and the Vespers service, which had begun at six o'clock, was almost over. Vladyka said, "Let's start again; we cannot treat the divine service so carelessly." And so, the Vespers began anew. Vladyka stood in the choir and sang.

Thus began the archpastoral ministry of Vladyka Nikolai, far from his beloved Russia, in the distant land of Kazakhstan.

At that time, Vladyka was already nearing his 70th year. He not only demanded strict adherence to the liturgical rules but always explained the meaning of the services, why specific hymns or readings were necessary. Vladyka prayed with tears, especially during the Divine Liturgy, when "We hymn Thee, we bless Thee..." was sung, he would always cry. He said that he cried out of joy that the Lord granted him the honor of performing the Liturgy and out of happiness that he could offer prayers for all his spiritual children, for all those under his care. Often, he would implore his flock: "I teach you, my friends, you see that I am an old man—yet the Lord will ask me about you. And you forget my words and do not follow what I teach you. The Lord will also ask you why you do not remember my words and do not strive to follow them. I beg you, remember my words and act as I teach you, my friends."

A fervent intercessor, Vladyka especially loved and venerated the Mother of God. To the great spiritual consolation of his flock, during the Feast of the Dormition of the Most Holy Theotokos, Vladyka began, for the first time in Alma-Ata, to perform the beautiful Rite of the Burial of the Theotokos. When someone suffered a misfortune or fell ill, Vladyka's first advice was always to make a strict confession, receive Holy Communion, and only after that, to begin addressing the situation or seeking treatment. "An unclean confession is the root of all our troubles. Why? Because the Lord wants everyone to be saved, so He saves us through various trials. Only in adversity do we remember God, while in our well-being, we forget about Him."

During the Holy Paschal and Nativity seasons, Vladyka's doors were always open. Everyone would come to greet him with "Christ is Risen!" and "Christ is Born!" Everyone! "On Pascha," recall the choir members, "after the church service, we would go to Vladyka's home to congratulate him on the feast. We would sing all of Pascha hymns, yet he would always ask for more, saying, 'Let’s sing some more… such joy we have!' Vladyka rejoiced in the Great Feasts like a small child.

On Christmas, we would go to his place to glorify Christ. He would give us gifts. And it was joyous for us that our Vladyka was so kind, glowing like the bright sun, with every wrinkle on his face shining."

Saint Nicholas of Alma-Ata often said: "My friends, do not forget me, a sinner, in your prayers now and after my death. I do not forget you and never will. If I gain boldness before the Lord, if He accepts me into His dwellings, if He forgives and has mercy on me, I will pray for you even after my transition to the other life."

After every Liturgy, Vladyka would stand on the ambo and bless each person, despite the fact that on Sundays and feast days, the church would be filled with up to a thousand people or more.

"Vladyka," his spiritual children would say to him, "it's hard for you to bless so many people after the service. You could give a general blessing and then go home to rest." Vladyka would reply, "Ah, you don't understand how much our Orthodox people cherish and value an archpastoral blessing!" After a pause, he would continue, "Yes, sometimes I get so tired that I think of giving a general blessing. But then another thought comes: 'What if the Lord calls me to Himself today and asks how I parted with my flock?' This thought gives me strength, and I bless the people."

He loved everyone with a steady, divine love, and he poured this love onto every person he met.

With great diligence and tearful prayer, Vladyka prayed at home in his quiet cell, dressed not in archpastoral robes but in a humble monastic habit. Every morning and evening, Mother Vera would hang dry towels near the analoy and later retrieve them soaked with Vladyka's tears.

In July 1947, Vladyka was scheduled to fly to Moscow for a session of the Holy Synod.

As they were boarding the plane, Vladyka stood at the entrance and blessed all the passengers as they entered. He always traveled in his cassock, despite often being ridiculed for it. This time was no different; passengers noticed him blessing and began to mock him, with some sarcastically exclaiming, "Well, we have nothing to fear, we're flying with a saint!" Almost no one had a kind word to say.

"I didn't listen to them," Vladyka recounted upon his return. "I felt sorry for them. People don't even realize that they speak slander not from their own minds but by fulfilling the evil will of the enemy of mankind. I calmly blessed everyone."

Once all were seated, the plane took off. After some time, the pilots grew anxious. Finally, the senior pilot announced that there was a danger: one of the engines was failing. The situation was dire, and a catastrophe loomed. Panic began to spread among the passengers. But Vladyka said, "Let's pray! Not a single soul will perish!" and then added, "We might just get a little dirty."

Vladyka stood up and started praying. The passengers' anxiety persisted. Initially, no one paid him any attention, but after a few minutes, people began to calm down, get up from their seats, and listen to his prayer. He prayed to the Lord to save everyone on the plane. At that moment, the plane began to descend. To the pilots' astonishment, instead of a typical uncontrolled descent, the plane seemed to glide gently downward. The plane landed in a swampy but shallow pond.

Once people had calmed down from their fear, they approached Vladyka to thank him. The senior pilot also came forward: "A miracle happened, Father," he said. "Please forgive our mockery!"

"God will forgive," Vladyka replied. "Thank God and His Most Pure Mother, and place your hopes in Saint Nicholas."

In the memory of the senior subdeacon Arii Ivanovich Bataev, one of their visits to the city of Uralsk is vividly imprinted. "It was," Arii Ivanovich recalls, "in the early 1950s. Vladyka was conducting a service in the Michael the Archangel Cathedral in the city of Uralsk. After the service, he began talking with the faithful. The people complained to the Bishop about the heat and drought in the Uralsk region, as since the snow had melted, not a single drop of rain had fallen on the land.

The Vladyka said: 'Let's pray to the Heavenly King, maybe He will hear our prayer.' They began to perform the rite of supplicatory prayer during a drought. And a miracle happened—the sky, which had not a single cloud, darkened, became covered with thick clouds, and not just rain fell, but a downpour poured like from a bucket. The walls of the old Uralsk Cathedral trembled from the terrifying claps of thunder. The Bishop paused the prayer and said: 'Orthodox believers! Is this not a miracle?!'"

Completing the supplicatory prayer and waiting for the downpour to subside, everyone went out into the yard and breathed in the fresh, clean air. The Bishop needed to walk about 200 meters from the church to the rector's house, but after the downpour, the dusty road had become a mire of mud. Then the people, filled with love and gratitude towards the Bishop, immediately laid this path with the clothes they had taken off themselves."

From the memoirs of Protopriest Valery Zakharov, rector of the Holy Nicholas Cathedral in Almaty:

"In the 1970s, Metropolitan Joseph (Chernov) of Almaty and Kazakhstan said in one of his sermons: 'We, the people of Almaty, live at the foot of the Tien Shan mountains. And, on one hand, we are fortunate that the beauty of these mountains pleases the human eye, but, on the other hand, the mountains harbor the danger of earthquakes and mudslides. But Almaty will never be swept away by a mudslide and will never be destroyed by an earthquake, because we have wonderful intercessors in the person of Metropolitan Nicholas and Schema-Archimandrite Sebastian.' Bishop Joseph spoke these words, and I remember them clearly."

From the memoirs of Valentina Pavlovna Shitailova, Yelets:

"Vladyka often stood with us in the kliros; he loved to sing the early liturgy with the left choir. He would set the tone himself. He had a velvety baritone, very soft and beautiful. When Vladyka sang, his singing pierced the soul. Especially during Great Lent—he would step onto the ambo and sing 'I behold Thy bridal chamber, O my Savior, adorned...'—he sang soulfully, wistfully. His voice flowed through the church, there was a deathly silence, only the sound of the censer bells and people weeping could be heard.

And Vladyka himself always cried. His tears were especially visible on his velvet Lenten vestments under the evening electric lighting—like strings of pearls, the tears glittered on his sakkos. And what was remarkable—if we cry, we cannot sing or read. But Vladyka would cry and give exclamations with a clear voice."

From the memoirs of Maria Alexeyevna Petrenko, Almaty:

"It was 1948. My life, like that of millions of others in this difficult post-war time, was very hard. My husband, father, and brother died on the front. I was left with two children. Additionally, I was developing a serious condition in my left lung.

I cried a lot and fell into such despair that I began to think about ending my life. It seemed like ending it all at once would bring me relief. I had never seriously considered the essence of religion. Then one night, I heard someone say to me in a dream: 'Go to the Vladyka, he is kind. He will help you. And you need to baptize your children...' Now I can't remember if it was a dream or if I was awake. My soul probably cried out for help, and maybe my Guardian Angel was nudging me: go, seek and you shall find!

I found out who the Bishop was and where he lived. After work, at 6 o'clock in the evening, I came to the gate of house 45 on Kavaleriyskaya Street. An elderly woman opened the door and asked why I had come. I said I wanted to tell Vladyka about myself.``

When I saw Vladyka, I started shaking, feeling that I couldn't say a single word. "Hello," was all I could manage to squeeze out. "Calm down, my child," the Bishop said gently. He patted my head, seated me on a chair, and asked the woman to give me some water. As I drank, my teeth clattered against the edge of the glass. "Please, calm down, there's no need to cry, you should have come here long ago," I heard the elder's kind voice again.

When I calmed down a bit, I began to speak... I told him about my life, my illness, and the terrible thing I had planned. "Thank God!" he said, "It's good that you came to me so simply!" After my story, Vladyka explained to me what a great sin suicide is. "No matter how hard it is, you can't end your life voluntarily, you must turn to the Lord in prayer, and He will always lighten the burden of your cross." Then he stood and praised God: "Glory to You, Lord, glory to You for everything forever!"

I stayed with the Bishop until 10 o'clock in the evening. It was hard for me to believe that all this was happening to me. And I felt so joyful and light! Yes, indeed, I felt that God was with us!

From the memoirs of Valentina Danilovna Yeremina, Almaty:

In his later years, Vladyka was often ill, but he still strived to be in church. Sometimes, Mother Vera would ask him: "Vladyka, stay home, you are so sick!" And he would reply: "I'll get better in church. If I stay at home, I'll get even worse."

Wanting to prolong the Bishop's life, the doctors advised him to change climates, hoping it would support his health. But the Bishop, sensing the inevitability of death, refused to move, saying: "Everyone here loves me so much, and I want to die in the arms of my children."

The prayerful mood did not leave the Vladyka during all the days of his illness. On Sunday, October 23, after his last communion of the Holy Christ's Mysteries, when the nuns in the dining room began to sing "The Eternal Council...," the Vladyka from his bedroom, straining his voice, shouted to them: "Mothers, mothers, let’s stop here. Now let’s begin the rite of the burial of a bishop." The singing stopped, but the tears could not be held back.

Especially intensely and loudly did the Vladyka pray on the night of October 23 to 24. One could hear the words: "Lord, do not judge me according to my deeds, but deal with me according to Your mercy!" Many times he repeated with deep feeling: "Lord! I ask for mercy, not judgment!"

On Monday, October 24, the day before his death, the Vladyka still spoke a little. He said something especially kind to each person, as if saying goodbye. Around 5 p.m., he had a heart attack with sharp pain, after which he no longer spoke and lay with his eyes closed.

On Tuesday morning, he found the strength to cross himself several times during the reading of the akathist to Saint Barbara the Great Martyr at his bedside.

At 5 p.m. on October 25, those around noticed the approach of the end. They began to read the prayer for the departure of the soul, gave the Vladyka a lit candle in his hands, and with the last words of the canon for the departure of the soul, the saint quietly and peacefully breathed his last. It was 4:45 p.m., just as the bells of the Nikolsky Cathedral were ringing for the evening service on the eve of the feast of the Iveron Icon of the Mother of God, to whom the Vladyka loved to proclaim: "Rejoice, O Blessed Gatekeeper, opening the gates of paradise to the faithful!"