A man who crossed the threshold of holiness

One day the cell door opens. We all hurry to be found in the “regulatory position”. A new comrade was introduced to our cell. He simply introduced himself:

– Gheorghe Jimboiu.

I had heard of him a long time ago. Jimboiu was originally from Oltenia, from the commune of Vela, Gorj County, and at the time of his arrest in 1948 he was a student at the Commercial Academy in Brasov. We already knew that Jimboiu focused his inner energies on a deep religious experience. Now the man stands before me and I can see for myself what true Christian living means.

After 12 years in prison, Gheorghe Jimboiu is very ill. He suffers from two serious illnesses which, here in prison, are inexorably leading to his death. He has tuberculosis and cirrhosis of the liver. He has also been to the prison infirmary, but now he has been sent back to his cell. The only thing he’s allowed to do is lie down. He sits on the edge of the bed, leaning against the wall, watching the life in the cell. He rarely intervenes in our conversations. He mostly listens. I think he is always saying the prayer of the heart. This inner concentration gives him an air of peace and serenity. There’s no sign that this man knows he’s going to die. There’s no sign of fear on his face. Perhaps others would despair and knock on the door to be taken to hospital. He knocks with faith and humility at another door: the door of heaven to which he longs for.

“And our Paul, who had been educated in the teachings of the prophets, and who longed for the things that are above the world and the heavens, and made every effort to obtain them, says in the Second Letter to the Corinthians: “For our present affliction, which is light and transient, brings to us an eternal glory that far exceeds all measure, not looking for what is seen but for what is not seen, for what is seen is transient and what is not seen is eternal” (Origen – Against Celsus, pp. 386-387).

In his rare interventions, he tells a significant story from the Paterikon. I am impressed by his capacity for discernment and choice. From the treasury of the Holy Fathers he gives us the most brilliant gems.

“One of the Fathers used to say about Avva Xoie the Theban that he once entered Mount Sinai, and when he came out, a brother met him and said with a sigh: ‘We are sad, Avvo, because of the unpleasantness’. The old man said to him, ‘Why don’t you ask God and pray? He said to his brother: “We pray and do litanies, but it doesn’t rain. He said to the old man: “You certainly don’t pray fervent enough. But do you want to know? And he stretched out his hands to the sky in prayer and immediately it rained. And when he saw the brother, he was afraid and fell on his face and worshipped him, and the old man fled. And the brother told everyone what had happened, and those who heard praised God. (Paterikon – For Avva Xoie, p.160).

An old man said, “The one who has wronged himself of his own free will and has forgiven his neighbour naturally belongs to Jesus. And he who has neither wronged nor forgiven himself naturally belongs to Adam. And he who does wrong, or gainsaying, or deceiving, is of the devil”. (Paterikon – For Long-Suffering and for Forbearing Evil, p.380).

Now I understand. I am convinced that this profound life of Christ was sent by Providence to see how a man who has crossed the threshold of holiness approaches death. He travels to a place where he is no longer troubled by doubts or passions. Watching him, I feel that Jimboiu is the man of whom I would be most ashamed if he knew my sins. Not because he would judge me harshly, for he is the man from whom I have felt brotherly love in its purest form, but because while he flies through the celestial spheres, I lie helpless and wretched in dust. (…)

Here, in Aiud, one has the impression that some of the legionaries belong to the most demanding monastic order. Gheorghe Jimboiu, with whom I stayed in the cell, was for me, to paraphrase Constantin Noica, “the complete Christian”. (…)

After so many joys, there was bound to be pain. A great pain. When I asked about Gheorghe Jimboiu, I found out that he had died. He couldn’t go on. A year before, God had called him home. He loved him too much to leave him in the whirlwind of free life, which could have tarnished the crystalline purity he had achieved in the kingdom of pain.

The belief that God takes those He loves to Himself has never seemed truer to me than in the case of Jimboiu. Go in peace to heaven, righteous soul, and forgive me if I have offended you in any way while we were together. I don’t know if this nation can still be worthy of chosen ones like you. I have faith that it is only for men like you that God will endure this world!

Many years later, after I had become a priest, one day, out of a mysterious impulse, I wrote down the following thought in my pastoral diary: “Gheorghe Jimboiu died in a state of holiness”. Why did I write down this thought, which came to me while I was at the holy altar? Undoubtedly so that when I looked at it, I would remember my duty. I could no longer spend the rest of my life in blessings or idleness, knowing that this lily-livered young man and others like him had died for Christ in the catacombs of the dungeon. Gheorghe Jimboiu’s life was a burning one, pleasing to God. He must join Valeriu Gafencu and other young Romanians who died in prison in the gallery of Romanian saints, who lived a holy youth, crowned with the supreme sacrifice for the resurrection of the Romanian nation, and constitute an uplifting example for future generations.

(Liviu Brânzaș – Ray from the catacombs, Scara Publishing House, Bucharest, 2001, pp. 224-226, 308)