Father Constantin Sârbu – the icon of perfect service

Like many others, I longed for an altar server from whom and through whom the light of God could shine. I knew many beautiful, large churches – with priests dressed in expensive, shining clothes, some with beautiful and cultured voices, others with the gift of speaking beautifully and loftily – with much pomp, much pageantry, put there as if you could not get close to them.

And so, one day, confessing this desire, someone led me to the Church of Sapiența, where the famous priest who had built the church in Vergului Barrier was a newcomer. It was the priest Constantin Sârbu, who had returned after 8 years in the communist prisons, plus 2 years of compulsory residence for his great sin of being a priest, a man and a good Romanian.

I searched and found the church of Sapienței. It was a modest church, difficult to find. I was greeted by a rose garden that captivated me with its beauty. A few well-tended trees, a few benches and a trough (a large wooden or stone cross) with a candle burning, as if to remind us that those in whose honour it was built, the heroes of our nation, are always present. On the base of the cross there was a vase of fresh flowers. The clean courtyard invited you to walk with confidence. The church – a small white house, freshly whitewashed with lime. This little church had been the chapel of the Crețulescu family, next door was the house, now a home for the blind. A white marble slab, carefully carved, stood above the door, illuminating it. Everything was simple, modest.

I entered the church. In the neat and tidy vestibule, a small table sold candles and presses. On the freshly painted walls, saints greeted me. The whole interior was filled with deep silence, impressive cleanliness and order. Everything was modest, but with a taste that captivated you.

The ceiling and two scenes – the Nativity and the Resurrection – on the south and north walls were painted by Gheorghe Tătărăscu. His painting, although in oil, was not heavy at all, but light and soft, full of delicacy and refinement. The brass chandelier shone like gold. It wasn’t lit, and yet there was so much light, light that seemed to come from the ceiling, from the walls, from the canopy, from everywhere.

At the door of the altar you were greeted with a smile, with gentle but penetrating eyes, with a face that expressed sadness and pain, but full of light, giving you the certainty that you could trust the priest Constantin Sârbu.

The world was small. The Holy Liturgy was celebrated in an atmosphere of sanctity. You were lifted off the ground and floated in this light that seemed to come from the altar, from the holy icons, from the priest. You were no longer you, but you were one with all those present. At the end of Liturgy, in the middle of the church, Father gave the homily. But it was not a sermon, it was weeping and sighing for all that was happening in the world and especially in our country. Without fear, without shyness, he pointed out and condemned all the evil, all the wickedness that had fallen upon this good, just and faithful nation, which was now groping in the most terrible darkness. The whole sermon was embroidered on the text of the Gospel pericope. You shuddered!

I tried to find out who this priest was and where he came from, clothed as he was in the image of a guide through whom the Holy Spirit speaks. For the first time, the image of the servant of God and the community around him, a very peaceful community, with all its being directed towards God, changed fundamentally in me. It was like a flash of lightning to realise who I was dealing with. He was a chosen vessel of God, to whom I owe much of my understanding of life and death, of the path from death to life, and above all the teaching of how to walk that path.

Of course, anyone can tell you about a path, the stumbling blocks along the way, the ways to remove them, but not everyone has the gift of making you feel like you are with them on that path. That was one of his many precious gifts. It didn’t take many words between us. I have learnt that a word, a gesture, can create a much more valuable relationship if behind that word or gesture you feel the total commitment of the other person. In such a context, it is very easy for his beautiful message to break through the shell of enclosure, of weariness, of carelessness.

This was the priest Constantin Sârbu, born on 10 January 1905 in a village near Galați. His parents, middle-class peasants, neither poor nor wealthy, spent their days working and thinking. When their first child, Constantine, was one year old, his mother and younger brother departed this earthly life.

Little Constantine was taken in and brought up by his grandmother, Ioana. The father is no longer able to look after himself, let alone the child, after a head injury. Constantine and his father remain in the care of his grandmother, whom the child believes to be his mother and whom he will adore for the rest of his life. When he learns the truth at the age of 6, he is shocked, suspicious and demands an explanation from his grandmother. She tactfully and wisely explains that his mother is alive, but in heaven, with God, watching over him and helping him. Even more wisely, on the first feast day when they went to church, his grandmother took him to the icon of the Mother of God and told him: “This is your true mother, She will take care of you, She will pray for you!

After the death of his grandfather, the family of two moved to a shanty town in Galati, to a small house bought by his grandmother. Here the child grew up in poverty and hardship, frail but hardworking and kind, obedient and submissive. He was his grandmother’s companion in life and her only joy. They lived on the farm’s savings and the milk they sold.

Gifted with a sparkling intelligence, coupled with common sense and wisdom, Constantine goes through life like lightning. At school, he is first in his class, loved by teachers and classmates. He finishes primary school as a prize winner, spends his holidays helping his grandmother with the housework and, on hot days, goes to Lake Brateș with other boys his age to swim and catch fish, much to his grandmother’s delight.

In the autumn, when he was almost 12, he enrolled in the school of church singers. He was musically inclined, had a voice and a musical ear. Here, too, he excelled, but poverty took its toll and, having nothing to pay the fees, he was expelled after the first term.

And so, in a poor little house in the slums of Galați, a 12-year-old child and a grandmother live out their days of poverty in a dreary, dreary winter that promises nothing good or beautiful for its inhabitants. It’s cold! The stove, which burns maize cobs or a tree stump, is not enough to heat the shabby room with one bed where the two live most of the time. Grandmother spun wool or cotton, whatever was offered to her, which was her source of income. In order to make the atmosphere as pleasant as possible, and to prevent the child from feeling all the horror of need, the grandmother would urge him to sing psalms and prayers with her. Thus a winter passed in the house from which a guide for souls yearning for truth and light was to depart.

With the coming of spring, hope for better things was born in their souls. The grandmother decides to introduce the boy to her other son, a priest in a village near Galați, asking him to take him as a cantor in his church, so that the boy will not be alienated from the sacred and will find his own way.

It’s hard for the rich to understand the poor, but he doesn’t hesitate to squeeze the last drop of strength out of him! Constantine, the nephew, has to graze the cattle, clean the stables and do all the work of a field hand. All without pay! And so Constantine spent two years of his life without murmuring, without protesting, although his soul longed for books, for prayer, for beauty.

When his grandmother saw what was happening, she took the boy to Galați with great pain and rebellion, and asked his former tutor to help her prepare him to enter the theological seminary. The tutor had to be paid. The grandmother sells the calf in the sheepfold to pay off her debts. Constantine was the first to succeed, but as he was too old, a dispensation was requested and granted. With the advice and help of his teachers, he prepared the following year’s subjects each term as a private student at the Roman seminary. He completed his studies at the seminary in 4 years and then enrolled at the Faculty of Theology in Bucharest.

As a student, he organised and directed the seminary choir, helped the weaker students, and supported himself. As a student, poor as he was, it was difficult for him to find a place in the dormitory. He wanted to acquire as much knowledge as possible.

So he went to all the churches in Bucharest to find what he wanted. He stopped at the church of Zlătari, where Toma Chiricuță was the priest. Here he found an atmosphere of true communion with God, and he absorbed all that was most beautiful and valuable in the behaviour of the priest Chiricuță. He stayed there until he finished his studies. He was noticed and asked to organise the church choir, made up of believers. It was here that he met and married Maria Constantinescu. After graduating from the Faculty of Theology, he accepted a position as cantor at the Lucaci Church, where he remained for two years. A life of hardship and misery.

He married and was appointed director of the school of church singers in the diocese of Huși. He was ordained a priest on the feast of the Spring of Healing in the monastery of Adam. Here is the miraculous icon of Our Lady, the patron saint of the monastery. And Father tells us: “Standing in front of the icon of the Blessed Virgin, praying with tears, asking for her support and protection, from where until then I had been timid and afraid, lacking courage, I rose full of strength, only light, bringing my own creature to the feet of Jesus, without having to fear anyone”.

Returning to Huși, he was appointed parish priest of the diocese, where he worked with other priests. He always tried to live his priestly life according to the will of Jesus. He serves God with dedication, convinced that the priest’s life must be at the service of the many, of those who are deprived of moral and material help, and must be a permanent renunciation of self. “Love your neighbour as yourself” is the guiding principle of his life. And because he knows and feels in all its horror what it means to be hungry and have nothing to satisfy it, to be cold and have nothing to keep warm, to be poor, to be humiliated and rejected by those in charge of the kitchen, he tries by his actions to support those who are obstinate (poor, suffering), beaten by fate, marginalised.

With the support of the parish committee, food parcels are distributed at Christmas and Easter according to tradition and custom. Teams of the faithful are formed to collect food, winter and firewood, and even money where necessary. Priest Sârbu and his wife organise and manage everything. The sick, the elderly, orphans and widows are not forgotten. Everything is done through the church, with prayers of help and thanksgiving.

Deeply moved by the number of elderly people without help, without a safe place to stay, or with the burden and ridicule of those who should be taking care of them, he, together with the faithful, but with his care, encouragement and prayers, built from scratch and equipped with everything necessary, a home for the elderly which collapsed in the earthquake of 1940.

He was appointed Protopriest, a position that required him to visit, guide and resolve disputes and complaints that arose in the parishes under his jurisdiction.

He was therefore obliged to investigate any accusation against a priest and bring it to light. He learns from the faithful that the priest is fair, honest, dignified and a good householder, and therefore wrongly accused, and that the accusation is due to the fact that he has a different policy from that of the bishop. The resolution of the matter did not please the lordship, and Father Sârbu asked to be relieved of his office, as he could not be a follower of dishonesty and injustice. Knowing well the true role of the priest, he decided to leave the diocese of Huși. He said to his wife: “If I stay here any longer, I will lose my soul!”

A competition was held in Bucharest to fill the post of parish priest in a newly established parish (in Călărași Park in Bariera Vergului), and Father Sârbu was chosen from among the three candidates. He is a parish priest, but he has no church, no vestments, he is poor, but full of faith and love.

The first thing he did was to visit each of the parishioners, house by house, stopping at each one’s home to get to know their needs, their worries, their occupations, their ideas of charity. It was a working-class neighbourhood, most of them working in the Malaxa factories, most of them coming from the village, with its beliefs and customs.

It was the height of the war, 1941-1942. Most families had someone who had gone to the front. There was a lot of worry and anxiety about tomorrow. The only hope, the only light, the only truth was God. There was an urgent need for a guide, a servant of the altar, to enlighten, to help, to encourage this flock, to show them the way.

In this district were the Queen Mother Elena’s Hospitals, with a hospital run by Dr. Gomoiu, which still operates as a children’s hospital. Next door was the Establishment Materna, run by a committee of women, which took care of mothers with their children and orphaned or abandoned children.

To be an altar server without a place to serve, without a place to gather Christians, without a place to strengthen the spiritual bond between the priest and the faithful, was difficult and incomprehensible for the priest Constantin Sârbu. With the help of the management of the Queen Mother Elena Hospital and Dr. Gomoiu, he obtained a room in the basement of the hospital administration, where, with the help of the parishioners and the committee of women from Materna, he set up a small chapel, where he celebrated all the religious services and gathered the faithful to consult and decide together what they had to do.

It was decided to build a church. It was a long, hard road, full of suffering. With the help of the women’s committee, he made every effort to obtain the necessary land. He was given a piece of land in the hospital garden, behind the storerooms and the kitchen, with a direct exit to a side street, now a summer theatre. The father refused the land. God’s place should be in the open air, where everyone could see it, as it should be. So Father insisted on a suitable place opposite the Materna, but was refused.

Undaunted, and convinced that what he was asking for was right, he sought and obtained an audience with Marshal Antonescu. The audience lasted more than an hour, a time which Father used not only to obtain the necessary land, support and assistance, but also to explain how he saw the role of the Romanian Christian Church and of the priest. The church should not just be a place of worship where the priest would serve. The church was to be the pillar around which all Christian social activity was to take place, with the priest and his wife as leaders and coordinators. The church was to be the hall for religious conferences, where social and religious issues would be discussed. There was to be a cinema and a theatre with religious themes that could be understood by everyone and through which Christians could be led to goodness, truth and justice. A library, workshops where girls can learn to work and cook to become good housewives and wives. There should be a flat-bed van to take those from poor families to the cemetery free of charge. There should be a committee that visits the suffering, the sick, the helpless, and helps each one as needed. The Church should organise trips with the faithful to all the holy places in the country. The whole activity should be carried out under the direction of the priest, who should be present at every visit. The priest should be present at the school near the church, and in his presence, after invoking God’s help, the classes should be entered. On feast days, children should be in church, where the Gospel texts should be explained to them in their own language. The poor or those with family problems should be helped and encouraged.

Children and adults without the possibility of a warm and substantial meal should find it in the church. All this was to be done with the help of donations from Christians and by organising exhibitions and conferences.

Impressed by this humble priest’s presentation, Marshal Antonescu promised to give all his support to the purchase and preparation of the land, wishing to be, together with his wife, the founders of this holy place. The deeds of donation were drawn up and soon it was announced that Marshal Antonescu and his wife would lay the first stone.

According to Father Constantin Sârbu, in just one night, the night before the laying of the foundation stone, the land was cleared, the profile of the church was drawn, trees were planted and, as in the story, in the morning everything was ready. In the presence of Marshal Antonescu and the lady, the digging of the foundations began. As an architectural model, the architect proposed the Domnească church from Câmpulung, with some modifications to adapt it to the space and the decoration. In the corner where the altar wall was to be built, a glass tube covered with metal was buried, in which the deed of construction of this church was closed and sealed, with the date and the names of the founders: Marshal Ion Antonescu, Maria Antonescu and the parish priest Constantin Sârbu. It was in 1942.

The church was built between 1942 and 1949 and was consecrated on 17 April 1949. The work was completed later, in 1960, and the painting was carried out between 1971 and 1976. On 3 October 1976 the church was consecrated by Bishop Roman with a choir of priests and was named after the Holy Emperors Constantine and Helena, in honour of Queen Mother Helena. For the time being, with funds raised through donations and the tireless work of the parish committee, intensive work is being carried out on the foundations and basement, with the aim of completing the basement and ground floor within 12 months. The whole neighbourhood and even strangers come and work voluntarily. When the basement is finished, the altar will be installed and consecrated, and all religious services will be held here. Conferences are also held here and religious films are shown. Choirs, theatres and charities are used to raise funds.

Although the basement was large, it was often overcrowded. People came not only from the neighbourhood, but from all over the city and the surrounding area. The Vergului church and the priest Constantin Sârbu were well known and in demand. No one was turned away or put off. For example, a woman from another neighbourhood, whose student daughter had been abandoned by her husband with a 6-7 month old child, asked the priest for help.

Not only was she not turned away, but for six weeks the priest came every week to pray with the family and help them with food and money. This was Father Constantin Sârbu’s way.

The walls of the church were rising, sometimes faster, sometimes slower.

His wife, a teacher, was always at his side. Through the church, a workshop was set up under the auspices of the relief committee, where girls from poor or troubled families could receive guidance and those who needed help were given materials to work at home. The items were sold, the money was deposited in the name of the girl concerned, and at the age of marriage, the husband was chosen through the church or with the help of the church. The church organised the marriage.

The money collected formed the dowry, the whole community attended the ceremony and everyone contributed what they could. The new family was always under the guidance of the church.

After the building was completed, the church was consecrated on 17 April 1949.

Not long after, on the 6th of August, Father’s wife passed away. Father was announced in the middle of Liturgy.

He continued the Liturgy as if nothing had happened. At the end, he announced to all the faithful that he was taking to her final resting place the one who had accompanied him in his life, in his work, in his struggle and in his suffering. He had lost a great soul who understood, supported and helped him.

Father was left behind with his two little girls, the completion of the church and many difficult financial and family problems. He tried to finish the work he had started and, remembering the legend of the Monastery of Curtea de Argeș, he thought that his wife’s departure was the sacrifice that had to be made to lay the foundation for the construction of this holy place. He kept his children close to him, took care of their education and continued to live as a family.

The difficulties were many, there was a war, there was no money for building materials. Father called together the parish council, the parishioners and all those who could help. He explained the situation, but no one offered to help.

Then Father stood up and donated 100,000 lei, all the family’s money. This gesture mobilised all the help and broke the deadlock.

In general, it’s voluntary work. Russian prisoners of war were sent to help him. Thinking of our own people who will be in the same situation, the Father, together with the faithful and the parish committee, provides them with a place to stay, a bathroom and a kitchen. Every day, a housewife prepares a warm, nutritious meal for them, using food donated by the faithful. Because he spoke little Russian, Father understood these people who, like us, were suffering far from their country and their loved ones. To alleviate their suffering, he bought them an accordion and, with the good will and understanding of the Christians in the parish, he organised trips for them on feast days.

To make the community truly a family, at Christmas there is a tree in the church and everyone, at Father’s insistence, brings presents for their children. The workers in the Malaxa factories are in charge of organising the pompous arrival of Santa Claus, who comes from above. Packs of food and clothes are laid out for the needy, and teams of Christians go out with firewood and gifts to those who cannot attend the celebrations.

At the school near the church, now the Emil Racoviță High School, Fr. Constantin Sârbu, together with the students and teachers, says the prayer every morning and then goes to class. In the church, teams of students clean and dust the icons, and each receives a bag of sweets at the end. Father talked with these children, learning about their worries, concerns and aspirations, leading them to good works, humility and goodness.

The year 1944 followed, a year of long and oppressive suffering for the Romanian people. Spiritual life became difficult. Securitate was always present. Father Sârbu, aware of all that was being plotted against him and for his destruction, continued to behave like an enlightened priest and a good Romanian. His sermons are inflammatory. The truth is spoken, the faith in better days is kept alive, the people are encouraged and feel safe under the eaves of the church.

One day, the church and the priest were stormed by people who seemed frightened but also very curious. On the glass of the door at the entrance was the image of the Mother of God. Father Sârbu, alone, did not see the Mother of God, but the road to Calvary (perhaps as an image of the suffering that awaited him). The apparition disturbed him, but all his pleas for the crowd to withdraw were in vain. Nothing could erase the apparition. The bottle was replaced, but the same scene reappeared. The father was taken to the police to explain.

Someone contacted a former prisoner of war who had worked in the church and was now employed in the August 23 factories. After his intervention, Father was released, but his days of freedom were numbered. He was considered an “enemy of the regime” and a seditionist.

Arrested on 10 January 1954, his birthday, he was taken to the Ministry of the Interior. The investigation lasted a year. He was tortured and forced to admit that he had given money to the Legionaries. In vain, even after using the most sophisticated methods to destroy not only his body but above all his soul, the security forces sentenced him to 8 years in prison for “supporting an organisation that is an enemy of the people”.

He was taken to Jilava, then to Poarta Albă, then to the island of Marea Brăilei, then to Gherla, then to Aiud. On the island of Brăila, he worked on the reeds and was the support and soul of the prisoners. On the days when they did not work, he celebrated Holy Liturgy and when he had a piece of bread, he broke it, consecrated it and gave it to everyone, blessing them. He does not receive any letters or parcels, and for a long time he does not hear from anyone at home. People often die here. It is a real persecution and a cause for gratitude to those who lead and supervise. Life and human beings have no value for them.

After a year, Father was transferred to Gherla and then to Aiud, where he found the same high moral standards. One day, through the prison’s communication system, they learned that a lawyer was isolated in the next cell and asked for help. He was told that Father Sârbu and the others were praying for him and that he should trust them. After a few days, there was no sign of the neighbour, and they did not know what had happened. Many years passed, Father Sârbu was serving in the Church of Wisdom when a lady asked him to attend her daughter’s wedding in the White Church. There were several priests there.

The priest was not invited to the altar and remained in the church with the couple until the service began. During this time he was recognised by the lawyer who had once been confined to his cell in Aiud. He found out where Father was living and came to thank him because, thanks to his prayers, he had been released from solitary confinement and transferred to another prison.

During his many years of imprisonment, he had spent time in many prisons and had met many former dignitaries, and Father had learned from them that Marshal Antonescu, impressed by the conversations he had had with Father years before, had given orders that when the question of the Church was raised in the country, Father Sârbu should be invited.

Prison, with all its long and hard years, was a purification for Father. He never complained, never blamed anyone. He always said: “I alone am to blame for what happened to me”.

Released on 10 January 1962, he was sent to the village of Viișoara in Bărăgan for two years. Here, alone in a house left by some people from Banana, he lived a life of poverty, deprivation and illness. He is visited by his family and the faithful of the Vergului parish. The woman who used to sell candles in the church came to see him and, touched by his shabby clothes, took off her coat and gave it to him. Father Sârbu did not forget her gesture, and when this woman, Mitana’s mother, was later in great pain and unable to walk, Father Sârbu admitted her to a special hospital, provided her with everything she needed and helped her until the end of her life, even serving at her funeral.

On his return to Bucharest in 1964, Father was summoned several times by the Securitate and asked to be an informer, promised any parish he wanted. If he refused, he was told, he would starve or be imprisoned again.

Outraged and indignant, the priest refused. Neither the promises nor the threats moved him.

When he was released from prison, Father was not for a moment overcome by the thought that he was a finished man, that he was no longer fit to fight and to be reborn. So he sought and obtained an audience with Patriarch Justinian. The audience lasted two hours. Father explained the whole situation, all his past activities and how he saw them in the future.

Very ill and alone, he asked for a parish in Bucharest. He was offered the church of Sapienței and another church in the suburbs. He chose the church of Sapienței.

Alone, sick, hungry, in rags, with broken shoes, but full of confidence, Father arrived in the courtyard of Sapienței Church on 1 June 1965. The parish was limited to a few blocks, two of which were institutions.

The church, formerly the chapel of the Crețulescu family, a historical monument, was in ruins.

The present porch did not exist, inside you entered by pushing the door with your shoulder.

The vault was supported by pillars to prevent it from collapsing. The rain had left its mark on the ceiling and walls, the sashes (the curved woodwork in the middle of the window) were largely rotten, the debris on the floor was as it had been when the chapel was completed, the outside walls were covered with damp and wild vines, and at the back of the church – rubbish, puddles and a birdcage. There was grief and ruin everywhere, zero material resources, but unlimited hope and faith.

Father sat on a tree stump in the courtyard, waiting for a sign, for help, for something. Then an unknown woman appeared at the gate.

Father greeted her and said: “It’s me, Matilda, I’ve been waiting for you! The woman came from Bucureștii Noi, having been led by fervent prayers to find a church and a real priest. And so it was that Matilda Mircea from Bucureștii Noi arrived at the Church of Sapienței, where she would work day after day with Father and remain faithful to him until the end of her days.

Now that he had a support, a Christian soul at his side, Father could begin the work of rebuilding the church. Through Matilda, he arrived in Bucureștii Noi, where “people with big souls”, as Father called them, bricklayers, woodworkers, blacksmiths, housewives, women, intellectuals, came to work with great dedication.

They are also coming to help the Christians of Vergului Barrier. Anyone who could help with money, materials or labour was called upon. The monastery of Cernica, where the priest Roman was abbot, was asked to provide wood and bricks. Cement was bought. The work began, the walls were repaired, the roof was repaired with new sheet metal, the cross was repaired, the damaged woodwork was replaced, the canopy was moved one metre towards the altar to increase the space in the church, the icons and the chandelier were cleaned, the porch was built from scratch. The church is being repainted and the porch is being painted.

Work is in full swing. Father appealed to all those who felt Christian and Romanian. He is always among the people, explaining, guiding, encouraging and rewarding. The church is a Christian construction site. Now help of all kinds is beginning to arrive, but because times were hard and people were afraid of their own shadows, everyone tries not to be seen doing or bringing something. So carpets are brought in for the church – Matilda is called in and entrusted to a gang. Packets of money were found thrown into the altar or into the rectory when the door was open, without the donor being known. The courtyard was paved, the sewerage and heating systems were repaired. The presbytery was repaired and the former poultry house was converted into a library. The garden has been landscaped, roses planted, the trough restored and cleaned, and benches installed.

Inside the church, marble was laid in the church and the altar was covered with parquet. An electric fan is installed, chairs, folding tables and 3 stainless steel holy water kettles are bought. A cloakroom was set up outside the church to avoid the accumulation of clothes and luggage inside. Everything was done with care and order for the best possible service.

Father proved to be a very good organiser. Each week he makes a list of those who are to come to water the flowers, wash the courtyard and clean the church.

Father’s prayers, accompanied by the prayers of the faithful, always bring waves of people and massive help, which, well used, make the Church of Sapiența a jewel.

In parallel with the restoration of the building, much emphasis is placed on awakening, educating and leading souls to salvation. Father is the pillar, the lamp, supporting and guiding by personal example. He is tireless. He responded immediately to every request, even though his health was failing. One day, on his way to the Brâncovenesc Hospital for treatment, after an x-ray of his spine, the astonished doctors gathered around him and asked him to explain the secret of how he was able to walk and even work in his condition. With the smile of an innocent child, he replied: “The soul is everything, doctors, where there is no soul there is nothing!”

Every feast day and on Sundays Father celebrates Liturgy, and on Wednesday and Friday afternoons he prays, followed by a word of teaching. The Services are more like family gatherings, where everyone is one body and soul. Father is always explaining and giving advice. He didn’t step back to interrupt the Mass to make an observation, a comment, when and where he felt it was necessary. For example, when he felt that we were not paying attention to prayer, he would say: “Gather round, because you are dragging me down, I cannot get up! You are scattered! Go down in yourselves and you will find God!”

The wise, the prophets, see God through prayer, which lifts their souls from earth to heaven. The same thing happened to Father Sârbu. He told us: “When I am at the altar, before Holy Liturgy, and I pray with tears and strength, I feel that I am rising, that I am floating, that I am no longer myself.”

Nor can we forget how he would interrupt a service to rebuke someone who was more concerned about lighting a candle than listening to and understanding the Word of God. Sometimes those who were rebuked did not understand, but those who understood the meaning of the rebuke benefited. For the general message, preached not only in word but also in deed, was: “Seek ye first the kingdom of God!” Not that lighting a candle was not important, but he was assuring us that such acts were secondary, helpful.

There is a hierarchy of value in religious acts, and on the scale of that hierarchy, lighting a candle is far less important than listening to and learning the Saviour’s teaching. Father explained to us the importance of every moment of the Mass, teaching us when to kneel and when not to kneel.

He was always anxious that the ship should run well, and he would not allow any of his passengers to be ill.

It was a real joy to watch and listen to Father. He kept everything under control with an extraordinary presence of mind.

He prevented and removed anything that would disturb the smooth running of the service. He clung to your soul like yeast that helps you grow. And I don’t say this as an exaggeration – as it is when you want to idealise someone’s memory – but I never came out of his church bored or tired. Beyond the words, you could feel his deep, deep love for those around him, or that was enough. Human beings need nothing more than love. The spiritual organism, if it too is not nourished, withers and dies. We all take care of the physical body to feed it as best we can, but where can we get food for the soul when the world is so barren? That is why the Church of Wisdom was like a loving oasis in the midst of the worldly desert, an oasis where we could always find food of spiritual bread to help us survive.

Although he was always in our midst, Father was a loner. He had no friends and no time for them. Like all great souls, he knew the loneliness that comes with true moral greatness.

A doctor removes from a person all that is evil and life-threatening, nurtures the sick until he is cured, searches and watches over him.

This is what Father Constantin Sârbu did with the people around him.

For example, when he was asked to intervene in the case of a woman who no longer wanted to listen to the priests, the father, after listening to her arguments, said to her without mercy: “You are mad, madam! We must pray for the enlightenment of your mind and soul”. Not only did the lady not get angry, but she remained faithful to the priest and to our church until the priest fell asleep.

Another time, a lady whose student son had found an unwed father asked Father to help her with prayers as she wanted to abort the child. Father, understanding the situation, rejected her with the words: “Get out of my sight, you have Satan!”

On another occasion, he was asked to bless a memorial table for a parishioner in Vergului. A large table under the trees in the courtyard, with all the good things of the earth and many and varied drinks.

Father, accompanied by Matilda, looked at the table with all that had been prepared and said to the hostess: “Forgive me, I cannot bless this table, it is for a feast, not a memorial. Call another priest!” And he left.

Another time, when he was present with many priests from Bucharest at the enthronement of a bishop, after all those present had offered the appropriate greetings and praises, Father Sârbu stood up and, addressing the celebrant, instead of any greetings or praises, said to him: “No high chair and many cushions, Your Holiness! Go down to the people, investigate their sufferings and their needs, help them to find themselves and to find the right and luminous way. This is Your Holiness’ mission and purpose!”

Father knew exactly what he had to do. He knew that the man on the street came to him with a wounded and empty soul, helpless and disappointed. So he healed him, gave him strength and confidence, turned his attention to God and entrusted him to Him through prayer. It was the most appropriate way to serve God, to bring his sick and desperate creature to his feet, to fill him with strength and hope, with the power of grace.

In addition to the Wednesday and Friday afternoons when he lectured and explained the Holy Scriptures, on Thursday afternoons, in front of a blackboard like in school, with chalk in his hand, Father taught those who wanted to learn sacred music. He wanted the choir to be taught by the faithful. During his studies, he had also attended the conducting courses at the Bucharest Conservatory for two years.

On feast days and Sundays, he would come to the church at 6 o’clock in the morning to prepare everything necessary for Holy Liturgy and to give and take away the parts for the living and the dead. He celebrated solemnly, always watching the altar and often coming to sing the prescribed hymns himself, because the one who was supposed to sing the hymns was often absent or drunk. However, Father did not complain, did not ask him to change, and even asked him not to come, sending his salary home.

Father was very particular about the order of the service. The faithful who entered the church came first to bring the offering to the altar, but only if they were reconciled with their brothers. At the altar they were received with great confidence, no one was left waiting at the door. Father knew each one of us, what our material possibilities were, what our joys and sorrows were. Knowing these things, where he knew there was great need, he accepted the gift offered and then asked: “You have given it to me, yes?” And he would ask you to take back the gift given. He did the same with the children, who were all given sweets at the end of the Liturgy.

From the very beginning, Father explained the Liturgy to us in detail – with the most important moments, with the attitude that the faithful should have – and then he imposed discipline. For example, the gifts had to be brought to the altar until a certain point in the Liturgy, after which the priest would only say the prescribed prayers. Everyone sat in their place, no one moved, no one spoke, all eyes and souls were on the altar. There was an aisle in the middle of the church that no one was allowed to occupy. The children sat quietly in front of or beside their parents. After the reading of the Gospel, a cordon was placed between the porch and the nave, and no one approached the altar. Father explained to us that prayer in the Church is divine-human, and that only by entering into the atmosphere of prayer can we be sure that our prayer, which is inseparable from that of others, will be lifted up and received, and that our souls will be filled with joy, peace and hope. The responses to the Liturgy were sung by a choir made up of the faithful, under the direction of Father Sârbu, for the glory of God, not for the sake of money or for the sake of one voice or another.

There were always so many people that there was no room in the church. In summer, when the windows were open, people would listen from outside. Those who didn’t come with the intention of praying, Father would immediately recognise them and ask them to leave, saying: “You would be more useful walking around”.

During the sermon, in the middle of the church, on a small platform covered with a mat, he spoke the healing word for 40 minutes. Every word was a call to truth, to peace, and Father never forgot to remind those present how victimised (persecuted, wronged) this Romanian nation is, and that salvation can only come through faith and love, that is, through God.

After the sermon, we all went before the Father for the anointing and he had a word of encouragement, a smile, a warm word for everyone. Spiritually uplifted, we went to our homes, trying to show by all our actions and words that we were Christians.

We went home, but the day was not over for Father.

He had to answer the questions of those who were waiting for him to share their fears, worries and concerns. The answer came on the spot or, depending on the situation, there would be more discussion, more research. With gentle but firm words, Father Sârbu gave advice, showed where the mistake was and what needed to be done. But for all and sundry, the verdict was: “Let us pray! Our difficult problems were much explored and Father wondered: “Christ, what would he have done in such a situation?” (What would Christ do if he were in your place?).

After talking to people and resting for a while, Father would go and visit one or more sick people in hospital or in their homes. He would bring them gifts and prayer cards. Returning home alone, he would end the day reading and praying for us and for all God’s creatures. This was how a feast day or Sunday would end for the priest Constantin Sârbu.

If any of the faithful were absent from one or two Holy Liturgies, Father would call, send someone or even go himself, and he never went empty-handed.

If a member of the congregation was ill and was unable to find or pay for his medicine, Father would immediately inform the Church and ask that everything possible be done to help him. The response came without delay. Appeals were also made to those who could intervene for hospital admissions, consultations and treatment.

Everywhere Father Sârbu was present, encouraging and resolving situations.

Brotherly love was a constant in the life of Father Constantin Sârbu.

He was once informed by a student at the Faculty of Theology in Sibiu that a well-known woman had attempted suicide, but someone had caught her in time to save her, although her condition remained worrying.

Father left on the first flight. He stayed with the family for several days and was convinced that it was a mental illness. He encouraged her, counseled her, invited her to Bucharest and prayed for her. The lady is still alive today and comes to Father’s memorial services with great gratitude whenever she can.

In another family, the three boys, in agreement with their wives, placed their elderly mother in a nursing home far from Bucharest. Since the old lady knew Father Sârbu, she asked him for help. In order to be successful, Father Sârbu prepared a table full of everything and invited the three boys. He tactfully persuaded them to bring their mother back and put her up in a room in one of the boys’ houses in a suburb of Bucharest. The father brought the old woman many of the things she needed and kept a constant eye on her. In this way, he fulfilled the word of the Saviour who blesses “peacemakers”.

Also out of love for his neighbour, Father took with him about 5 or 6 boys of 6-8 years of age, whom he constantly visited and whom he guided.

To make them feel that they were helping, Father had them pick up dead leaves from the churchyard and flowers that had fallen to the ground. They were rewarded with sweets and help for their parents, as they all came from poor families with very limited material resources.

Much can be accomplished by the persevering prayer of the righteous, says the Scripture (James 5:16). This was also true of Father Sârbu. A woman threatened with blindness came to the Church of Sapiența with great faith.

The prayers of Father Sârbu, together with the prayers of the lady, meant that on Holy Thursday, before the beginning of the service of the 12 Gospels, the lady, who was praying with tears in her eyes, stood up and exclaimed: “I can see, Father!”

Father Sârbu did not despise or turn away from any other denomination. He argued and supported his point of view with great spirit.

He once brought an Adventist to the right faith, but only after talking to her for a long time and convincing himself that she could be rebuked in the Church. He would not tolerate and was merciless against witchcraft practices.

Father was very fond of remembering and honouring the dead. With great respect for the departed souls, he warned us not to make the mistake of not remembering them on their birthdays. Father himself went to his home village every autumn and held a funeral at the graves of his parents, ancestors and forebears. So that the man would not be detained for lack of money, he insisted that we should not be afraid to put moneyless votive offerings on the altar table, that money had no value. When the memorial service was over – a service in which we all had to take part and not just pray for our own – we would take the offerings collected to an old people’s home, usually Ciolpani, where the poor were considered the scum of society. Food and clothes were distributed and Father gave each one a sum of money.

But people also went to the care homes outside the days of remembrance for the dead or on major holidays. If the people in the care homes visited had made something – nets, napkins, tablecloths, small woodcarvings – they were all taken to the church and sold to the faithful, and the money was given back to the care homes.

Not only in the asylums, but also in the church there were faithful who regularly received food, clothes and money for their needs without anyone knowing. And Father saw to it that this custom was continued by those who remained after his departure from this world.

Next to the parish house in Sapienței was the garden of the home for the blind. One of the rooms in the parish house had a window overlooking the garden.

In summer, the residents of the home would come to the open window and Father would welcome them with great affection and share with them the best he had to offer.

Priests, churches, monks and convents also were being helped.

Father Sârbu disregarded canonical strictures and the laws of society. What interested him was to win lost and sick souls and bring them to the feet of Jesus. For example, a gentleman who did not want to hear anything about the Church, confession or communion was invited by his faithful wife to talk to Father. In the course of the conversation, Father Sârbu learned all that was troubling this lost soul. As he was leaving, he asked Father to confess him so that he could receive Communion. The answer: “You are confessed, come and receive communion!”

Another time there was the problem of a lady who wanted to get married, but there were material obstacles to a civil marriage because she would lose her survivor’s pension. Father performed the religious marriage in great secrecy so that these souls could be united before God.

This is how Father won and guided people’s souls with wisdom, discernment and love. The Church of Sapiența became overcrowded with the many faithful who came from all corners of Bucharest and even from the provinces. But it had also become a thorn in the eyes of the Securitate, in the minds of those who had driven God away and replaced Him with fear, misery, poverty and lies. The Church of Wisdom was a pillar in this silent struggle to preserve the soul and identity of the Romanian Christian nation. That is why it was so carefully guarded. At least two secretaries were present at all services. Father always recognised them.

The light in the Church of Sapiența had to be put out. The shepherd had to be beaten so that the sheep would be lost. But how could this be done without causing a fuss? The world was not to know the truth, so the most evil thing was done. The guards knew that Father was suffering from a duodenal ulcer in prison and forced him to go to hospital for an operation when it was not necessary. He was threatened with arrest if he didn’t report. He was given the right to choose his hospital, but the operating doctor had to be appointed and brought in by the Securitate.

After much deliberation and care, he was allowed to check into the surgical ward of the Postal Hospital, where a nephew of the brother of Father’s wife worked.

On 14 October 1975, on the feast of St. Parascheva, Father told us at the end of Liturgy that he had to go to hospital for an operation and that it was not known whether he would return. He asked the people not to leave the church “so that it would not be a deserted church”. We were also told that he would be with us all the time and to call him. He put everything in order. He left instructions on how the church should be prepared, where the grave should be dug, who should take care of the funerals, how to deal with his little savings. Finally, he asked that no one mourn him, but that everyone rejoice that he had escaped the torments of this life: “Mourn yourselves, you who are left!” He was sad, preoccupied. He put everything in perfect order and left his servant at the altar.

He was admitted to the hospital on the morning of 15 October 1975. He was operated on Monday afternoon, 18 October.

He developed an abdominal abscess, septicaemia, which was reopened a few days later, and a few hours later, while he was saying the prayers of the Holy Mass, Father’s soul departed to meet his Creator.

Shortly before his death, Father Argatu was brought from Antim Monastery to receive his last communion. A golden halo appeared around Father Sârbu’s head, which Father Argatu saw. To make sure he was not mistaken, he moved the pillow, but the same halo appeared. Then Father Argatu exclaimed: “A martyr’s wreath!”

On 23 October 1975, at 3 p.m., Father Constantin Sârbu left this world. On the last night of his life, with a fever of 39-40 degrees Celsius, asking for “water, cold water”, he said to me: “Soon I will fly away. It was my destiny. Do not grieve and do not judge, for nothing happens by chance, but everything is done with great wisdom. I have loved you very much. With you and through you I have done the work of God entrusted to me. Pray for me. I am in great need of your sincere and profound prayers. I will always be with you. Call me! Remember that prayer is everything and that prayer in the Church is even more important!”

His soul left with the pain of not being able to avoid the operation and with the fervent wish that his wife’s bones be placed in the same tomb as his own.

The body was buried in the Church of Sapiența. Pilgrimage to Father’s catafalque. Many tears, many sorrows.

Our light, our guide, leaves us.

When, a few days before he was admitted to hospital, a lady, a spiritual daughter, gave him flowers and a beautifully written card on parchment on behalf of the faithful, Father Sârbu, very moved, said to me: “You see, they gave me a royal charter, a book like a gentleman’s! What have I done for you to deserve so much love and gratitude?”

I knew well what he had done for us. He prayed with tears and prayed with tears that we would walk in the way of light. Day after day, year after year, he surrounded us with rivers of love. And the miracle happened: we were born again, we were other people, we understood and accepted our suffering and we did not pass by the suffering of others unnoticed. We lived like Father and with him the drama of each one of us. We were one with him, we were a family and we walked the same path.

Through him and from him we received the unguarded light of goodness and truth and we understood what we had not understood before: that God is in us.

These lines were written to fulfil the last wish of the priest Constantine Sârbu, who, on the last night of his stay on this earth, in terrible physical suffering, asked: “If it is possible, let the truth about my death be told!”

Although 24 years have passed since Father Constantine Sârbu entered into eternity, the faithful have not forgotten him. Every year, on the feast of Saints Constantine and Helen and on 23 October, the day of Father Sârbu’s death, funerals are held at his grave. The Christians gathered give glory to God in prayer, thanking Him for the blessing of having lived in the presence of this priest and asking for his soul to rest in the undivided light of the Kingdom of Christ.

(Doctor Octavia Tăslăoanu, 1999, testimony published in the booklet Preotul Constantin Sârbu, slujitor of the Supreme Truth, Bucharest, 2002)