I awoke today with the remembrance of Archimandrite Cyprian in my head. For those who are unfamiliar with the name, Archimandrite Cyprian was the world famous iconographer of Jordanville. Today marks the 11th anniversary of his repose.
Fr, Cyprian was a well known sight to those of us who remember old Jordanville. A spry, little man, with a duck walk, long white beard and hands folded behind him, he seemed to be everywhere at all times. One never knew when he was standing right behind you. Many of the younger seminarians walked in fear of Fr. Cyprian, who was strict, and ever ready to correct. But I remember him differently.
As a first year seminarian, I had the luck of the draw of getting the smallest kelia in the seminary building, a room no bigger than a broom closet. I remember how my mother cried when she saw where I would be living for the next 5 years! My room measured barely 10'x7', with a radiator and a window overlooking the the entrance to the building. My bed consisted of a frame made of 2x4's with a plywood top and a mattress designed for someone of about 5'2". Being a person of about 6'2", I quickly learned to sleep curled up during the long upstate New York winters, as the heat in the building was sporadic at best.
For reasons known only to himself, Fr. Cyprian took an interest in me, an English speaking, foolish young seminarian, with all kinds of grandiose ideas. I would be practicing reading the Slavonic Psalter aloud in my room, with the door closed, and out of nowhere, Fr Cyprian's voice would correct my pronunciation. He had been standing outside my door listening to me!
My first winter in Jordanville, I contracted a viral illness of some sort, and I was bedridden for almost a week, fighting a high fever and occasional delirium. I remember someone coming in, pulling the blankets up around me, and leaving a pot of hot tea, with lemon and sugar!, a rare treat in the monastery! Later, one of my classmates told me that Fr Cyprian himself would come into my room and pray for me as I lay sleeping. It was he who would leave me the tea. Once I started feeling a bit better, I sat bolt upright in bed in response to a staccato rapping at my door. That sound was only made by Fr Cyprian! In he came with a whole pot of hot chicken soup! Where he managed to come up with chicken soup in a monastery where no meat is ever served was beyond me! I later found out that he had walked into the village and convinced! one of the local Russian woman to make me a pot of chicken soup!
Jordanville There were several large ponds on the Monastery property. In the Spring, after classes and my work assignments were done, I liked to go fishing for an hour or two before Evening Prayers. As I stood on the shore, fishing rod in hand, who would come strolling by, but Fr. Cyprian. He always said the same thing, "Ну так, вот рыбака!", "Behold, the fisherman"!
In passing, one day, he asked me where my family had come from. I answered from the Carpathian Mountains, on the border of Czechoslovakia and Ukraine. I thought nothing more of it until, about a week later, outside my door sat a beautiful watercolor of a Carpathian wooden Church, done in shades of blue and grey. I found myself the owner of an original Archimandrite Cyprian watercolor, which remains one of my most cherished possessions, and graces my wall to this day!
Once Graduation ceremonies were done, and I was packing to leave the monastery, I went to Fr. Cyprian's kelia to ask for one final blessing. He invited me in, the first time ever. He told me to always remember what I had learned, seen and heard here in the Monastery, for soon it would be a thing of the past. His last words to me were "Помни, помни все!", "Remember, remember everything" So today, dear Fr. Cyprian, I remember, I remember everything!
Вечная память, дорогой отец!
Eternal Memory, dear Father!
