SAINT MARK THE GRAVEDIGGER

“The dead do not praise, do not scold, do not shoot, do not make noise. The dead do not sow, do not sing, do not know how, do not live,” wrote the great Russian poet, musician, and, dare we say it, theologian, Yegor Letov (1964-2008), in his poem and sang in a corresponding song. The Life of Saint Mark confirms what Letov said, but at the same time asserts that, through the power of the grace of holiness, sometimes things can be different.

1 On January 11, the Russian Orthodox Church commemorates Saint Mark of the Kiev Near Caves. “You, honorable Mark, through much abstinence and obedience, like a gravedigger, have put to death the desires of the flesh. You always lived in a cave, as if dead, and by your command you raised the dead. Kill our carnal thoughts and teach us to strive for virtue, praying for us to the One who loves mankind,” says the troparion to the saint.

2 From the saint’s very brief biography, which is itself part of the ancient Kiev Caves Paterikon, we learn that Mark was indeed a gravedigger at the monastery. The Paterikon recounts the lives of monastic saints in brief form. In this it follows the patterns of the paterikons of more ancient times. It is distinguished by its bold desire to look at the history of holiness “through the eyes of God.” This is expressed in the leitmotif of this work, which is based on the idea that since the baptism of Rus’ took place “too late,” God decided to repeat, in the lives, ascetic deeds, and, most importantly, miracles of the cave monks, the deeds of the earliest Christian charismatic era. Thus, Mark is characterized in the Paterikon as “the cave dweller who heard the dead.”

3 So, Mark was the gravedigger at the monastery. One day, he was very tired from his work and did not have time to dig a grave large enough. The brethren of the monastery brought the deceased, who had been ill before his death. According to sacramental tradition, it was necessary to pour oil from the sacrament of unction performed on him onto the body. The grave that Mark had prepared was too small for this gesture. The monks became angry with Mark, and there was a general murmur of discontent. “Since you are cramped, brother, take the oil yourself and pour it on,” Mark said in a kind of apocalyptic indignation. The deceased rose, stretched out his hand, took the holy oil, poured it on his chest and face in the shape of a cross, and then died again. his ritual contains very instructive instructions on what the priest should do at the funeral before closing the coffin. Another time, Mark simply didn’t have time to dig a grave for the next deceased person, so he asked to tell him to let him live a little longer. At these words, the deceased opened his eyes and remained alive for another day and night but said nothing to anyone. Waiting for Mark’s next “order” that the grave was ready, he gave his soul to God.

4 The saint also had the gift of reconciling enemies before death, for which, also under amazing, dramatic circumstances, the dead came back to life. In a subtle but extremely important testimony, he claimed that the dead did not come back to life because of his words, for “I am a humble man,” but out of fear of mutual brotherly animosity and timidity in the face of human malice. “The dead have no shame,” says the proverb. From the life of Mark and his “revived dead,” we learn that they can be afraid by the power of the Holy Spirit.

5 Saint Mark lived during the pre-Mongol period of Russian Church history, that is, until 1237, and witnessed the transfer of the relics of one of the monastery’s founding fathers, Theodosius (+1074), from his burial place in the caves to the Dormition Church in 1091. During the Mongol invasion, the relics of Theodosius were hidden in an unknown location, but the relics of Mark himself have survived to this day. Moreover, his iron cap has been preserved too. It is used in a special sacred manner to exorcise demons as well as for regular pious veneration by believers. This combination of the ordinary and the extraordinary became the essence of Saint Mark’s holiness. The unpretentious simplicity with which the hagiographer recounts the miracles he has performed is reminiscent of postmodern irony. In this respect, it is akin to holy foolishness. After all, both are essentially risky and extraordinary ways of fitting the unfathomable into the comprehensible.