This selfless missionary devoted his entire life and energy to preaching the Gospel and sowing the Word of God in the Land of the Rising Sun, and his apostolic labors bore rich fruit. Naganawa Mitsuo writes: "He left behind a cathedral, eight temples, 175 churches, 276 parishes, and raised one bishop, 34 priests, eight deacons, and 115 preachers. The total number of Orthodox believers reached 34,110…"
Archpriest I. Vostorgov , who visited Japan, wrote: "No one in Japan, after the Emperor, enjoyed such renown. In the Japanese capital, there was no need to ask where the Russian Orthodox mission was; it was enough to say the word 'Nikolai,' and literally every rickshaw driver immediately knew where to take a mission guest. The Orthodox church was called 'Nikolai,' and the mission site was also called 'Nikolai,' even Orthodoxy itself was called 'Nikolai.' Traveling through the country in the garb of Russian priests, we always and everywhere encountered kind glances, and in the greetings and conversations about us, we caught with our ears, amidst the incomprehensible words and expressions of an unfamiliar language, one familiar and dear one: 'Nikolai.'"
The renowned orientalist D. M. Pozdneev, who knew the saint closely, recalls: "Along with gentleness, he was a man of iron, unaware of any obstacles, a practical mind and administrator who knew how to find a way out of any difficult situation. Along with his kindness, he had the ability to be icy, unyielding, and harsh with people whom he found necessary to discipline with strict measures, to punish or stop for something. Along with his sociability, he possessed a very strong reserve, acquired through long experience and bitter trials, and it took much time and effort to earn his trust and frankness. Along with a certain childish naiveté of a cheerful conversationalist, he possessed the breadth of ideals of a great statesman, an endless love for his homeland, suffering with its sufferings, and tormented by its torments... Broad and holy ideals, an iron will, and an inexhaustible love of work—this is the essence of Archbishop Nicholas."
One cannot but agree with A. Platonova, the author of one of the saint’s biographies, who wrote: “It is the duty of every Russian person to know about him in as much detail as possible, because people like Archbishop Nicholas are the pride and adornment of their country.”
His activities were fraught with many sorrows. Archbishop Nicholas was persecuted from two sides: by the Japanese, as a Russian political agent, a spy, and an agitator sowing treason and sympathy for a perfidious, predatory Russia on Japanese soil; by the Russians, as someone telling Japan things about Russia it didn't need to know... The archbishop's activities were thus declared not only useless but also harmful, and many in Russia viewed him as an eccentric possessed by a strange mania. Archbishop Nicholas was saved for his work by two ideas that guided him throughout his life: the first was the idea of apostolic service, the feat of spreading Orthodoxy among the pagans; the second was a fervent conviction that his work should stand apart from any connection with politics." And elsewhere: "He was imbued with something he kept within himself not for earthly purposes."
Vocation
Ivan Dmitrievich Kasatkin was born on August 1, 1836, in the village of Bereza, Velsky District, Smolensk Governorate. His father, Dmitry Ivanovich Kasatkin, served as a deacon in the village church. The child was named John in honor of the glorious Prophet, Forerunner, and Baptist of the Lord. His mother, Ksenia Alekseyevna, died at the age of 34, when he was only five.
Despite extreme poverty, the boy was sent to study first at the Velsk Theological School and then at the Smolensk Seminary. S. Nedachin writes: "In the absence of railways, the young man had to trudge through the dreadful, still-in-the-world Velsk slums to the provincial city of Smolensk to receive an education at the seminary. Not all seminarians of that time rode horses to their studies. Many of them, the poorest, including the boy Kasatkin, had to walk over 150 miles to reach the seminary."
In 1856, he graduated from the seminary with honors and was sent at government expense to the St. Petersburg Theological Academy, where he studied until 1860.
Parishioners of the Moscow Church of the Ascension of the Lord on Nikitinskaya Street discovered that the site of this village now stands as the village of Bereza, Mostovsky Rural Okrug, Oleninsky District, Tver Region. In 1836, Bereza was the center of the Berezovskaya Volost, Velsky District, and consisted of five households (seven men and six women). Not a single house remains in the village. The village church was destroyed during the Great Patriotic War.
The saint took care of his father until his death, giving him part of his salary every month.
The young man showed outstanding abilities; it was assumed that he would remain at the academy to prepare for professorship, but the decision to go to Japan completely changed his destiny.
It was accepted completely unexpectedly. According to Saint Nicholas himself, the thought of monasticism had never even occurred to him before. One day, while walking through the academy's rooms, Ivan Dmitrievich noticed an announcement in one of the "interesting" sections, inviting one of the academy's graduates to Japan to serve as rector of the embassy church in Hakodate. Several of Kasatkin's comrades had already expressed a desire to go to Japan as priests. This invitation didn't particularly impress the young man, even though Golovnin's memories of Japan had once greatly impressed him. He calmly went to the all-night vigil. And then, during the service, he suddenly decided he must go to Japan. Returning from the vigil, deeply moved, he went to the rector of the academy, Bishop Nektary, and announced his desire to go to Japan, not as a married priest, but as a monk. The rector of the academy was very sympathetic to the young man's impulse and reported his wish to the metropolitan. In a very short time, Ivan Dmitrievich Kasatkin's fate was sealed.
On June 21, 1860, the young man was tonsured a monk with the name Nikolai. On June 29, the feast day of the Holy Apostles Peter and Paul, he was ordained a hierodeacon, and the following day, the feast day of the Synaxis of the Twelve Apostles (the patronal feast of the academic church), he was ordained a hieromonk. Bishop Nektariy, who tonsured the young man, named him Nikolai and said: "You must not complete your ascetic life in a monastery. You must leave your homeland behind and go serve the Lord in a distant and faithless land. With the cross of an ascetic, you must take up the staff of a pilgrim; along with the struggle of monasticism, the labors of the apostles lie before you."
At the end of June, Hieromonk Nikolai left St. Petersburg and spent three days with his family in the village. After bidding them farewell, he set out on a long journey. He took with him the Smolensk Icon of the Mother of God, which he treasured throughout his life.
The journey to Japan was long and arduous. Hieromonk Nikolai spent the winter in Nikolaevsk-on-Amur. There he met with Saint Innocent, the Enlightener of Siberia (then Bishop of Kamchatka). The latter blessed him for his upcoming endeavors and advised him to study Japanese. Seeing the hieromonk's poor cassock, Bishop Innocent purchased fine velvet and personally cut a cassock for Father Nikolai. He also presented Father Nikolai with a bronze pectoral cross, received for his participation in the Crimean campaign.
On June 14 (2), 1861, Hieromonk Nikolai arrived at the Japanese port of Hakodate on the military transport “Amur”.
Hakodate
The first Russian consul in Hakodate was Iosif Antonovich Goshkevich (1814–1875), a remarkable figure in many respects. He arrived in Hakodate in the third week of September 1858, accompanied by his family, a naval officer, a doctor, a clergyman (the latter had returned home due to illness the year the consulate was established), four servants, and two maids.
Even before Hieromonk Nikolai's arrival in Japan, the Russian consulate had already built the Church of the Resurrection of Christ in Hakodate (later, during the Great Hakodate Fire, this church burned down, and a stone church was built in its place). The church was built and consecrated by Father Vasily Makhov. Illness forced him to leave Japan and return to his homeland just a year later, after which I. A. Goshkevich approached the Synod with a request to send a priest with a higher theological education.
It should be noted that at this time, Japanese attitudes toward foreigners were quite hostile. The "peace" treaties imposed by Western countries provoked extreme resentment among the samurai, who considered foreigners "barbarians" and advocated their complete expulsion. Consequently, the opening of the country and the arrival of foreigners contributed to the development of extreme xenophobia, sometimes manifesting itself in open violence. Thus, in the first half of 1861, six foreigners were killed. Armed attacks against Christians, whom the Japanese viewed as their main enemies, occurred in Kyoto, Edo, and Yokohama. There were no such incidents in Hakodate, but the Japanese viewed Russians with no less, if not greater, suspicion than other foreigners. The turmoil, and with it, anti-shogunal sentiment, intensified. In 1862, a full-blown civil war began, ending in 1868 with the resignation of the shogun and the establishment of an imperial government. As fate would have it, Hakodate, occupied by Enomoto's fleet, became the last stronghold of the shogun's forces. However, this fleet was defeated by imperial forces in May 1869. The emperor moved to Edo, which was then known as Tokyo, or the "eastern capital." The Meiji era, the era of "Enlightened Rule," had begun.
"Only the Lord knows how much torment I had to endure in those first years. All three enemies—the world, the flesh, and the devil—rose against me with all their might and followed me closely, determined to overthrow me in the first dark, narrow place. And these temptations were most legitimate in appearance: 'Am I, like every human being, not created for family life? Can't you brilliantly serve God and your neighbors in this world? Finally, aren't people needed in Russia today more than in Japan?' And so on. Thousands of slanders are poured into your ears, and this happens every day and hour, both waking and in dreams, both at home in your cell and during prayer in church. Much spiritual strength is needed, a great deepening of religious feeling, to overcome all this."
Preaching was out of the question, for "the Japanese of that time viewed foreigners as beasts, and Christianity as a villainous sect, to which only the most ardent villains and sorcerers could belong." Furthermore, the young missionary did not know Japanese and was unfamiliar with Japanese religion, history, and culture. "Upon arriving in Japan, I studied the local language as best I could. Much time and effort was spent before I had time to get a good grasp of this barbaric language, positively the most difficult in the world, since it consists of two languages: native Japanese and Chinese, intermingled, but by no means fused into one. Somehow, I finally learned to speak Japanese and mastered that simple and easy method of writing that is used for original and translated scholarly works." He was initially taught Japanese by the Hakodate governor's translator. On the latter's recommendation, Hieromonk Nikolai began attending the private school of Kimura Kensai, renowned for his rare erudition. There, he began studying Japanese history and literature, as well as Buddhism, Shintoism, and Confucianism. In addition to Kimura Kensai, his mentors were Saga Juan and Niijima Shimeta. His study sessions lasted eight years, practically the entire time working 14 hours a day. He also began attending literary gatherings and pagan temples. D. M. Pozdneev writes: "Through constant reading of Japanese literature and constant interaction with the Japanese, Father Nikolai acquired an astonishing knowledge of both colloquial and literary Japanese. He had a strong foreign accent, but this did not prevent him from being understood by all Japanese, young and old. The richness of his vocabulary and the ease of his sentences gave his speech a power that delighted all Japanese... His phrases were brief, his turns of phrase the most unexpected, yet extremely vivid and powerful."
“I first tried to study with all due care Japanese history, religion and the spirit of the Japanese people in order to find out to what extent the hopes of enlightening the country with the Gospel preaching were feasible there, and the more I became acquainted with the country, the more convinced I became that the time was very near when the word of the Gospel would resound loudly there and quickly spread from one end of the empire to the other.”
First successes
The first Japanese convert to Orthodoxy was Takuma Sawabe (1835–1913), a former samurai of the Tosa clan and a priest at the old Shinto shrine in Hakodate. Sawabe was a member of a secret society dedicated to expelling all foreigners from Japan and was known as an excellent swordsman. He served as a fencing instructor to the son of the Russian consul, I. A. Goshkevich. He had once traveled throughout Japan, earning a living by giving fencing lessons. Arriving in Hakodate, he married the daughter of a Shinto shrine priest and adopted not only the priest's surname, Sawabe, but also his father-in-law's hereditary priesthood and position.
Sawabe lived a peaceful and serene life among pagans. As a priest of the city's oldest idol temple, he enjoyed the people's respect, earning a considerable income and knowing only contentment and happiness. His family included a beautiful young wife, a young son, and his wife's mother. He was proud of his homeland and the faith of his ancestors, and therefore despised foreigners and hated their faith, about which he had the most flimsy notions.
A detailed account of the conversion of the stern Japanese man, which took place in 1864, is given in the book by A. Platonova.
Sawabe would often run into Hieromonk Nikolai in the consul’s house and would always look at him with such hatred that one day he couldn’t stand it and asked:
"Why are you so angry with me?" came the very definite answer:
"You foreigners must all be killed. You came to spy on our land. And you, with your preaching, will do the most harm to Japan."
- Are you already familiar with my teaching?
“No,” the Japanese man said, embarrassed.
"Is it fair to judge, let alone condemn, someone without hearing them out? Is it fair to blaspheme against something you don't know? First listen and learn, and then judge. If my teaching is bad, then drive us out of here. Then you will be just."
– Well, speak!
Hieromonk Nikolai's words shocked the samurai. He asked permission to meet with the hieromonk again and continue the conversation. Some time later, Father Nikolai wrote to Metropolitan Isidore: "A priest of an ancient religion comes to me to study our faith. If he doesn't grow cold or die (by the death penalty for converting to Christianity), much can be expected from him."
In a letter dated April 20, 1865, Hieromonk Nikolai writes: "The priest eagerly awaits my baptism. He is well educated, intelligent, eloquent, and wholeheartedly devoted to Christianity. His only goal in life now is to serve the fatherland by spreading Christianity, and I am forced to constantly stop his requests for fear that he might lose his head before he can accomplish anything toward this goal."
The following account of Sawabe's situation gives us an idea of the danger of his situation: "I couldn't read this book [the Gospel] openly, but I wanted to. So I decided to read it while I was conducting services in my miya [i.e., a pagan temple]. I would place the Gospel in front of me instead of a pagan service book and read, beating on an ordinary drum. No one thought I was reading foreign 'heresy.'"
Soon, Sawabe brought his friend, the physician Sakai Atsunori, to Hieromonk Nikolai. A short time later, they were joined by a third friend, the physician Urano. The Japanese began conducting catechetical discussions independently, and by the spring of 1868, there were already up to 20 people ready to be baptized.
At this time, persecution of Catholics began again in Nagasaki, and a new official arrived in Hakodate. In April 1868, Hieromonk Nikolai secretly baptized three friends in his office, after which they left Hakodate. They were Pavel Sawabe, John Sakai, and Jacob Urano. It was then, five months before the Meiji Restoration, that the Japanese Orthodox Church was born .
Sawabe was immediately beset by severe trials. His wife went mad, and a few months later, in a fit of illness, she burned down their own house. Sawabe never found refuge and soon returned to Hakodate. Now he was destitute not only of food but also of shelter. Then, in 1868, he was imprisoned. Saint Nicholas wrote: "Before my eyes, the process of a man's birth to a new life by the grace of God took place, and behind my eyes, another process began—the process of testing and strengthening the strength of the newborn Pavel." His eight-year-old son, by hereditary right, became a priest of the same idol temple, which provided him with the means to support himself and his ailing mother. Later, Pavel Sawabe was given the consolation of seeing his son also become a Christian. The trials only strengthened Pavel's zeal, and in 1875 he was ordained a priest.
“Our second Christian was Mr. Sakai John. He was a local doctor and a close friend of Mr. Sawabe, who had converted to Christianity. Sawabe tried to persuade his friend to do the same, but Sakai was strong in dialectics, and it was difficult to overcome him; then Mr. Sawabe began to invite him to me more often, and together we persuaded him. Finally, Mr. Sakai was baptized and even ordained a priest, in which rank he soon died due to illness. The third Christian was Mr. Urano Jacob, also a former doctor. After him, holy baptism was performed in Hakodate over the current Father John Ono, and then several others were baptized. But the above-mentioned persons were the most important of our first Christians. After that, the number of those receiving holy baptism increased more and more, and the possibility of systematically spreading the Christian faith in Japan began to be foreseen. It was precisely for this purpose, in order to obtain official authority for this, I went to Russia for a time and, having received permission and blessing from the Holy Synod, returned to Japan. Soon after my arrival, Mr. Sawabe visited me and, among other things, informed me of the strange behavior of Mr. Sakai during my absence from Japan. He spent all his time concerned with maximizing the profits from his activities, while the other Christians, on the contrary, tried to share everything with their brothers. Upon hearing this, I wanted to confront Mr. Sakai, but upon his arrival, the matter was immediately explained. Mr. Sakai came to me and presented the one hundred yen (about two hundred rubles) he had collected, which he wished to use for the affairs of the Church. Thus, Mr. Sawabe's confusion regarding Mr. Sakai's apparently strange behavior was cleared up.
Another incident, similar in its apparent strangeness, occurred with Mr. Peter Tomi. One day, everyone noticed his sudden disappearance. No one knew where he had disappeared to. I asked my wife, but she didn't know either, although her face showed no grief or even any particular concern. It was all quite mysterious and lasted for quite a long time. Then, eleven days later, one evening, around eleven o'clock, Mr. Peter Tomi appeared to me, accompanied by Mr. Sakai. I saw that he was incredibly thin, his bones protruding sharply from his completely discolored face; it was simply pitiful to look at him. To my questions about where he had been and why he had lost so much weight, he replied that he had spent all this time abstaining from sleep and food and praying for the speedy enlightenment of his pagan brothers with the light of truth to which he himself had recently been granted. Hearing all this, I was greatly amazed by such a touching display of ardent faithfulness. But I still had to point out to him that such a deed must henceforth be carried out in accordance with the Church's regulations, for otherwise one could cause serious harm to one's health."
Help from Russia
At the end of 1869, Hieromonk Nikolai, having requested leave, traveled to Russia to petition the Holy Synod for permission to open a Russian spiritual mission in Japan. Hieromonk Nikolai arrived in Russia in February 1870. His petition was granted. On April 6, 1870, Alexander II confirmed the Holy Synod's decision to establish a Russian spiritual mission in Japan, consisting of a mission director, three missionary hieromonks, and a clergyman. Half of the planned expenses were covered by the treasury, the other half was allocated from the printing capital of the spiritual department. The spiritual mission was allocated a total of 6,000 rubles annually and 10,000 rubles as a lump sum. Mission centers were located in Tokyo, Kyoto, Nagasaki, and Hakodate. Hieromonk Nikolai was appointed head of the mission and elevated to the rank of archimandrite. The mission was under the jurisdiction of the Kamchatka Diocese. The missionaries' duties were outlined in the "Instructions for the Mission," presented by Hieromonk Nikolai and approved by the Synod. Archimandrite Nikolai himself wrote in 1879: "It is characteristic of Orthodox Japan that the Orthodox mission, existing for only eight years, with two missionaries present during this time, and without any specific financial resources, was already twice as numerous in terms of Christians as the Catholic and all Protestant missions combined." Before leaving for Japan, Archimandrite Nikolai was able to see his elderly father. He returned to Hakodate in March 1871. The preaching of the Gospel continued even in his absence. At the end of the year, Archimandrite Nikolai baptized eleven people in Sendai. In 1872, Hieromonk Anatoly (Tikhai), a candidate at the Kyiv Theological Academy, arrived in Hakodate. Archimandrite Nicholas spoke of him thus: “I could not wish for better assistants!” He left the Hakodate church on Anatolia Island and on February 4, 1872, moved to Tokyo.
Translations of the Holy Scriptures and other necessary books
The saint's main work, begun in Hakodate, was the translation of the Holy Scriptures and liturgical books into Japanese. As early as 1869, Saint Nicholas wrote: “From all that has been said so far, it seems we can conclude that in Japan, at least in the near future: the harvest is plentiful. But there is not a single activist on our part, if we do not count my entirely private activity… Even if I were to continue my studies in the same direction, the strength of one person here is almost like a drop in the ocean. One translation of the New Testament, if done clearly (and is it possible to do otherwise?), will take at least two more years of exceptional work. Then a translation of the Old Testament is also necessary; besides, if there is even the smallest Christian Church , it is absolutely necessary to conduct services in Japanese; and other books, such as Sacred History, Church History, Liturgics, Theology? All these are also items of urgent necessity. And all this, and other similar ones, must be translated into “Japanese,” which is still unknown whether it will ever be given to a foreigner in such a way that it would be possible to "to write at least half as easily and quickly as a foreigner usually writes in his own language." Much later, he wrote that translation work "contains the whole essence of the mission. Nowadays, missionary work in any country cannot be limited to oral preaching alone. The times of Francis Xavier, running through the streets with a bell and thus calling listeners, are gone. In Japan, however, given the population's love of reading and the development of respect for the printed word, believers and catechumens must first of all be given a book written in their native language, necessarily in good style and carefully, beautifully, and inexpensively published. Of particular importance for us are books that clarify confessional differences with Catholicism and Protestantism."
In Hakodate, due to the lack of a translation, the service was conducted in Church Slavonic, with only "Lord, have mercy," "Holy God," "I believe," and "Our Father" chanted and recited in Japanese. While translating the prayer "Lord, have mercy," the question arose of how to translate the word "pomilui," which is often perceived as pardoning a criminal. Bishop Nicholas said, "We don't have such a relationship with our God. We will take the word "avarema." This is how a mother "has mercy" on her child, "has pity" in the original Old Russian sense." There, in Hakodate, Saint Nicholas began translating Scripture from Chinese, but soon became convinced of the imperfections of the Chinese translations and switched to translating the New Testament from Church Slavonic, which he considered more accurate than Russian. Each verse was checked against the Vulgate, the Septuagint, and the English translation. In difficult passages, the saint relied on the commentaries of St. John Chrysostom . He could translate no more than 15 verses in four to five hours of work. After the saint completed his translation of the Gospels and the Epistle (its first version), they also began to be read in Japanese. Among other translations, the Epistles of St. Paul to the Galatians, Ephesians, Philippians, and Colossians, as well as half of the Epistle to the Romans, were translated in Hakodate. At that time, he also translated a short prayer book (from Chinese), the rite of baptism and the incorporation of non-believers, St. Demetrius of Rostov's "Orthodox Confession ," a catechism for catechumens, a summary of the Old Testament, Bishop Michael's "Explanatory Gospel," and Metropolitan Platon's "Moral Theology."
Having moved to Tokyo, Saint Nicholas first translated the Octoechos, then the Pentecostarion and Lenten Triodion, simultaneously working on a new translation of the Gospel. He translated all the parts of the Old Testament necessary for the annual cycle of services. He distrusted the less pedantic translations of Catholics and Protestants and therefore avoided even reading them, fearing to submit to them or inadvertently borrow from them. The saint's cherished dream was to translate the entire Bible. In 1910, he stated that, according to his calculations, he needed another five years to complete this work.
"The translation of the Gospel and the Divine Liturgy should not be reduced to the level of the masses; rather, believers should be elevated to an understanding of the Gospel and liturgical texts. Vulgar language in the Gospel is unacceptable. If I encounter two completely identical characters or expressions, and both are equally noble to the Japanese ear and eye, then I will, of course, give preference to the more common one. But I never make concessions to ignorance and will not allow the slightest compromise in the accuracy of translations, even if I have to use a Chinese character very little known in Japan. I myself feel that sometimes my translation requires great effort on the part of the Japanese to understand. But this is largely explained by the novelty of Orthodoxy itself for them…"
A number of difficulties and dangers in translation were also related to the fact that many of the characters had been used for centuries by Buddhists and Shintoists, which imbued them with a very specific semantic connotation, making their use in an Orthodox context impossible or risky. In a number of cases, the saint sent translations of a particular verse or concept to parishes, asking the clergy and laity to comment on it.
For thirty years, at precisely six o'clock in the evening, his constant collaborator on translations, Pavel Nakai, a man of excellent education, exceptionally hard work, and utterly devoted to the Orthodox faith, would enter the bishop's cell. He would sit on a low stool next to the bishop and begin writing under his dictation. The work usually lasted four hours, finishing at ten o'clock in the evening.
Before me lie the Slavonic and Greek texts of the service, with books at hand that facilitate its proper understanding. My coworker has Chinese and Japanese lexicons and grammars at hand, as well as the Chinese text of the service, borrowed from our Mission in Beijing. Looking at the Slavonic text and checking it with the Greek, I dictate a translation, striving to express the meaning with literal accuracy; the coworker writes in Chinese characters interspersed with Japanese alphabetic signs. The difficulty of translation at this stage lies in the fact that Japanese grammar is the opposite of ours, that is, in Japanese, the subject must be placed first, between it and the predicate everything in the translation must fit, no matter how many subordinate and introductory clauses there are, they must all come before the main predicate; in each subordinate and introductory clause, the same arrangement of parts.
Once a song or prayer has been dictated and the syntactic relationship of its parts established, the finishing touches begin. My primary concern is to ensure that not a single iota of deviation from the text's meaning is allowed. My collaborator, meanwhile, strives with no less care to ensure the correctness and elegance of the grammatical and stylistic construction of the speech. This part of the work is the most difficult and painstaking. Here, Sino-Japanese scholarship is especially needed, because, firstly, it is necessary to clearly understand the meaning of each Chinese character in order to select the most commonly used and understandable one from among the many univocal hieroglyphs. Secondly, it is necessary to consider whether to retain the Chinese pronunciation of a character or give it a Japanese one. For hieroglyphs, passing from China to Japan, brought with them the monophonic Chinese reading, which remains with them to this day and is fully accessible only to the most learned, but which, gradationally abbreviated and descending, has largely penetrated to the lowest strata of the people. At the same time, almost every character is translated into Japanese and has its own Japanese reading. What should one follow? Apparently, one should adhere to purely Japanese speech, but it often happens that the Japanese reading of a character is less understandable than the Chinese one, even for the uneducated. Thirdly, we must consider whether to leave the characters without Japanese alphabetic transcription or, due to the complexity of the characters or their ambiguity, to substitute it, and to what extent. In short, we must decide what language to adopt for the translation. Considering the importance of what we are translating, we favor the most venerable, learned language, one that is unconstrained by either characters or pronunciation and requires no transcription; but such a language would be inconvenient even for the average scholar, and completely incomprehensible to the lesser scholars. Considering that what we translate must be accessible to all, and that this should be its main merit, we are drawn to the language of the masses, the vernacular, but then our translation would be so vulgar that it would immediately be disdained by all who are not members of the common people. We must use the vernacular. We strive to adhere to this, although, given the vagueness of the features and the obscurity of the boundaries, this leaves ample room for endless debate. I strive to uphold the utmost intelligibility, while my collaborator strives to avoid vulgarisms and maintain elegance of speech. When all these difficulties are finally resolved, the translation text is established, and the entire book is translated, we go through it again, carefully comparing it with the original text, ensuring that the same translated hieroglyphs and readings are used throughout the book for the same original words and expressions.
A whole team of translators was formed from among the seminary's former students, working on the translation of not only Russian theological literature but also Russian fiction (initially, the translation department consisted only of individuals who had received their theological education in Russia; later, Japanese scholars also joined the team). Among them were the seminary's rector, Ivan Senuma, and his wife, Anna Lukinichna Senuma; the seminary's professor of philosophy and theology, Konishi Masutaro, who spent 10 years in Russia (later converting to Protestantism); and the renowned translator and scholar, Nobori Shomu. The saint wrote: "Let them translate and read. Having learned Russian literature, having learned about Pushkin, Lermontov, Count Tolstoy, and Dostoevsky, one cannot help but fall in love with Russia."
War
Since 1900, anti-Russian sentiment has again intensified, inevitably affecting attitudes toward the church. D. M. Pozdneev cites a characteristic excerpt from the newspaper "Nihon": "The Orthodox Church is a malicious place from which curses rain down upon Japan and where prayers are made for its defeat. It has always been a central agency for spies in Russian service. The Japanese detest the dome of the Russian cathedral, which, towering over the entire city, seems to send contempt to the imperial palace itself; they detest the church bell, whose din every Sunday morning disturbs the peaceful sleep of the inhabitants."
After the alliance between Japan and Great Britain in 1902, it became clear that war between Japan and Russia was inevitable. At the Council of 1903, Bishop Nicholas was forced to answer the question, which deeply troubled Japanese Orthodox Christians, of whether they should participate in the war against Russia. He replied that they would have to fulfill their duty to their homeland, along with the entire nation. If war broke out, they would have to regard Russia as an enemy, but "fighting enemies does not mean hating them, but only defending one's homeland."
On February 5, 1904, Japan severed diplomatic relations with Russia. Two clergymen working at the mission at the time returned home. The clergy and laity of the Japanese church appealed to their bishop with a request to remain in Japan. Bishop Nikolai replied that he had already made a decision before God to remain in Japan, in his small apartment near the cathedral. "I hope that the declaration of hostilities will not bring any change in the activities of our church. Catechists will continue to preach the Gospel of the Savior, students will attend the mission school, and I myself will devote myself entirely to the translation of our liturgical books..."
Today, as is my custom, I serve in the cathedral, but from now on I will no longer participate in the public services of our church... Until now, I have prayed for the prosperity and peace of the Japanese Empire. Now, however, since war has been declared between Japan and my homeland, I, as a Russian subject, cannot pray for Japan's victory over my own fatherland. I also have obligations to my homeland, and that is why I will be happy to see you fulfilling your duty to your country." A "Circular Letter" was sent to all parishes of the Japanese Orthodox Church, alarmed by the declaration of war with Russia. In it, the bishop blessed Japanese Christians to fulfill their duty as loyal subjects, but reminded: "Whoever must go into battle, not sparing your lives, fight—not out of hatred for the enemy, but out of love for your compatriots... Love for the fatherland is a sacred feeling... But besides our earthly fatherland, we also have a heavenly fatherland... This fatherland of ours is the Church , of which we are equally members and through which the children of the Heavenly Father truly constitute one family... And let us together fulfill our duty to our heavenly fatherland, as each one deserves... And at the same time, let us fervently pray that the Lord will quickly restore the broken peace..."
The saint stopped all correspondence with Russia and devoted himself entirely to translation work.
When Russian prisoners of war began arriving in Japan (their total number reached 73,000), Saint Nicholas, with the consent of the Japanese government, founded the Society for the Spiritual Consolation of Prisoners of War. He selected five priests who spoke Russian to minister to the prisoners. The Japanese church blessed each prisoner who arrived in Japan with a silver cross. The prisoners were provided with icons and books. Saint Nicholas himself repeatedly addressed them in writing.
Bishop Nikolai's work during the war was highly praised not only in Japan but also in Russia. Emperor Nicholas II wrote to Bishop Nikolai at the end of 1905: "You have demonstrated to all that the Orthodox Church of Christ, alien to worldly domination and all tribal strife, equally embraces all tribes and languages. You, in accordance with Christ's command, have not abandoned the flock entrusted to you, and the grace of love and faith has given you the strength to endure the fiery trials of war and, amidst hostility, to maintain peace, faith, and prayer in the church founded by your labors."
The rare tact and wisdom displayed by Saint Nicholas during the war further enhanced his prestige in the eyes of Japanese society once the war ended. This saintly prestige contributed to the rapid recovery from the psychological consequences of the war and paved the way for a Russo-Japanese rapprochement, which lasted until 1917.
The post-war period brought new challenges. The flow of donations to the Orthodox mission in Japan from Russia almost ceased. Consequently, the mission was forced to dismiss 30 catechists and close the catechist school.
In 1908, Bishop Sergius (Tikhomirov) arrived at the Kyoto Diocese . He quickly mastered Japanese and became actively involved in missionary work, traveling throughout Japan. His arrival greatly consoled Archbishop Nikolai, who wrote: "Now I can die peacefully, confident that the mission is in good hands," and also: "...if only we could have two more such zealous missionaries. Let us pray to God for this and turn our gaze to Russia."
The last years of life and death
In July 1911, the fiftieth anniversary of Father Nikolai’s service on Japanese soil was solemnly celebrated. Bishop Sergiy (Tikhomirov) wrote: “Then priests and catechists began to arrive from all over Japan… There were over 120 of them alone, and many provincial Christians also contributed. And so the 75-year-old elder sat in his room every day from early morning until late evening and listened to the priests’ reports on the state of their parishes, the catechists’ stories about preaching within their jurisdiction, or chatted pleasantly with some grandmother who had arrived from distant lands. The council began… And wasn’t there enough work and excitement at it? Celebrating an anniversary… In the course of one day, there was liturgy, a prayer service, a dinner at the hotel with distinguished guests, a musical evening. That’s how we, young people, ended. But the 75-year-old elder was invited to a meeting of former students of the Surugadai school. And he went. And he didn’t so much listen as he spoke and taught. One had to be amazed at how he could The bishop had to endure such a day... And tomorrow didn't promise any rest either. A long, four-hour reading of addresses. And in the evening, dinner in the mission courtyard, with hundreds of Christians... But it seems to me that this day would have passed relatively well for the deceased, if not for the final moment... Inspired by the speeches, the bishop stood up, somehow tossed his head with extraordinary energy, and in a voice that reached the entire wide square occupied by hundreds of Christians dining, proposed singing the Japanese anthem in honor of His Majesty, the Emperor of Japan, thanks to whose religious tolerance Christianity was able not only to spread, but also to enjoy, if not patronage, then, in any case, complete well-being. One should have seen the bishop's extraordinary excitement, his flushed face. One should have heard how the bishop not only began to sing the anthem, but also sang it to the end... One should have seen this youthful fire in such an already aging body. And then it would have been clear to everyone that this moment could not “The upset heart of the ruler will pass without a trace…”
The nervous tension and fatigue of these days exacerbated the cardiac asthma from which the bishop suffered. His strength began to rapidly decline.
Not long before his death, the bishop told Bishop Sergius: “…Our role is no higher than the plow. A peasant has plowed, and the plow wears out. He abandons it. I, too, have worn out. And they will abandon me. A new plow will begin to plow. So watch, plow! Plow honestly! Plow tirelessly! May God’s work grow! And yet, it is gratifying that it was you with whom God plowed. It means you have not rusted. It means that by working in God’s field, your soul has been somewhat purified, and for this we will always thank God.”
Archbishop Nicholas served for the last time on Christmas Day, 1912. A few days later, he was admitted to St. Luke's Hospital in Tsukiji. However, on February 5, the bishop, in a rush to complete his business, insisted on being taken back to Surugadai and resumed his translation work. On February 13, he compiled his final report to the Synod on the state of affairs at the mission.
On February 15, the bishop demanded the resumption of the choir’s classes, which usually took place in the next room and had been cancelled on the recommendation of doctors, and asked that his favorite “On the Rivers of Babylon” be performed.
That night, delirium set in, during which the dying man repeatedly uttered the word "Resurrection." On February 16, at a quarter past seven, the large church bell rang, announcing the death of St. Nicholas.
Bishop Sergius writes: "The bishop no longer groans. The sister no longer administers injections to him. Only the quiet reading of the Word of Christ, to whose service the bishop dedicated his entire holy life, breaks the mystery of death, so evident at his bedside so recently, just yesterday, while he was animatedly conversing and plotting his 10-year work.
The body of His Eminence the Archbishop lay in state in the Church of the Cross… On Saturday, February 4 [O.S.], morning and evening after the all-night vigil, on Sunday after the Liturgy and in the evening, and on Monday, February 6, solemn memorial services were held here, morning and evening, always to a packed church. The Bishop was not yet in the coffin, for the coffin was not ready. I observed a wondrous custom during these days, the first time during my service in Japan! A certain group of Christians, by mutual agreement, comes to the body of the deceased in the evening and remains vigilant until morning, listening to the reading of the Gospel.
The bishop's body was afflicted with holy oil from the relics of St. Joasaph of Belgorod . A small plot of land in the Yanaka Cemetery (Ueno district) was purchased with money donated by A.P. Sinelnikova, where his burial took place on February 22.
In the morning, four liturgies for the repose of Archbishop Nikolai's soul were celebrated on four altars. At 11:00 a.m., the funeral service began in the Cathedral of the Resurrection of Christ, conducted primarily in Japanese. Among the wreaths, a wreath from the Emperor of Japan stood out—an honor rarely bestowed upon foreigners. After the funeral service, the coffin was carried around the cathedral and placed on a chariot. The funeral procession, stretching for ten kilometers, headed to the cemetery. The wind lashes our banners. We have to carry them lowered. The students are walking, all in uniform costumes. They all hold palm branches, a symbol of faith in the victory of the bishop's cause in Japan. Numerous flowers, hundreds of wreaths. Holy icons, crosses. Priests and deacons in sacred vestments... Many catechists in surplices. The bishop, in full vestments, holds his staff. The bishop's medals. All the paraphernalia of the bishop's rank, worn by the bishop. Finally, a chariot with an expensive coffin, a representative of Russia in a gold-embroidered court uniform. And a ribbon, an endless ribbon of Christians...
Source: https://azbyka.ru/otechnik/Aleksandr_Mileant/svjatitel-nikolaj-japonskij/