Calming the Storm. Протоиерей Олег Штельман

Writers, 2020

      Poetry

      The Happiness

      A man is born into this world,

      It dwells, gets strong, surviving,

      Towards the happiness, this road

      Is all what he is striving:

      Towards the mountains to conquer,

      To love, to glory, and the wealth

      To force the enemies to fear,

      To stay in power's control shells.

      Still, there's a problem here today,

      This happiness is flipping,

      Like water – it just drifts away,

      Like sand through fingers slipping.

      Is it an enemy to blame,

      Insidious case you're fighting?

      Where is the safety beacon’s fame

      From all this mess inside you?

      It happens so that only one,

      A peak abandoned in thought,

      Unbowed, it still stays alone,

      Only a soul of it's lord.

      And very often, this same man,

      It's own enemy becomes,

      Living for years, even then,

      Misses solution in a glance.

      An answer in what Christ has taught,

      In simple things He asked to follow,

      That's hidden in your heart and thought,

      In His to us so humble calling.

      And there is harmony of soul,

      As being born in heart so pure,

      Will thirst for silence of the Lord,

      And towards Him will open door.

      And there is an immortal love,

      That costs much more than diamonds,

      And there's eternity's embow,

      And passionless talent's finding.

      And there is real power there,

      As it's a miracle from God,

      To stay in control of one's being everywhere,

      No greater power man has got.

      That happiness – inheritance so peaceful,

      The simple things for us in store,

      Next to eternity, so quiet and blissful,

      It's where the Christ is calling His friends for.

18.08.2017, Šiauliai, Lithuania.

      The Christmas Miracle

      The Earth has taken shelter of the night

      And all the ways drown deep inside,

      All voices became silent and the eyes are closed tight

      Under the power of the darkness falling wide.

      Then sound of the heavens opened doors —

      Along to hymn of solemn winds so strong

      A glorious angel came to Earth

      And many choirs sang along:

      – ”Oh, people, people! Praise the God!

      He came to you with love

      To find a way to people’s hearts,

      A little child sent from above.”

      The constellations move in skies above,

      And Milky Way has made a different turn

      To city of the Bethlehem it ran

      To manger where the baby has been born.

      The star has been born in the night to stay —

      There is a banner in the wondrous skies,

      Kings with the camels are on their way

      As every heart to cradle so aspires.

      And all the shepherds, next to flocks they sit

      Next to a manger they all see

      An infant-God and Christ they watch in it

      As their lambs so quietly bleat.

      And He just watches them with light so pure

      And gives the joy He has for all inside.

      Mother of God, just like a moon through door,

      Reflects all glory with her divine light.

      What shall one give to baby Christ,

      How can one show the love so strong?

      – Live with your hearts all pure inside,

      Gifts – acts of faith that come along!

      Christ's Commandment

      As He prepared the Apostles,

      To the covenant of the new Easter,

      With love, He tried to fill their hearts,

      With fire so bright and blissful.

      And knowing that the time has come,

      Last moment that's deciding,

      And that the light of sun's gone down,

      A coming of an hour terrible.

      Rose from the supper and took of

      The clothes he was in,

      And then picked up a towel clean,

      And sink with water filled.

      And He began to wash their feet,

      Of disciples beloved,

      And wiping of with towel, saw them sit,

      With eyes of so much yearning.

      Comes up to Simon Peter as He says,

      “Give me your feet, my brother?”

      Apostle, hesitating, sways:

      “Lord, you do not wash them, rather.

      As all the hosts, they have the slaves,

      To wash the feet of strangers,

      We must respect you, so it says,

      And wash the dust remaining.”

      “This, what I am doing now,

      Will be revealed as time passes by,

      If I won’t wash your feet by now,

      You will not be a friend of mine.

      Neither a part to share with me,

      That for my children I prepare.

      And here is covenant I give,

      Accept it free with greatest care.”

      And Peter then exclaimed to Him:

      „Not only feet, my Lord,

      My hands and head can be washed too,

      If only you so want.“

      „To those who washed only feet left

      To wash and then he is all clean.

      And you are pure, oh, friends of mine,

      Still one of you remains unclean within.“

      Since you believe that here I am,

      A