It Happened That Night

They had consecrated their entire lives to God, so that every minute of their days was spent in service. Thus, they considered spiritual service to be their primary work, and regarded all other worldly occupations as secondary matters.

It happened that night that I was alone in my private room, lying on my couch and gazing into nothingness. A misguided smile passed over my lips—perhaps I was thinking of myself as a servant. At that moment, something strange occurred: did my head grow heavy and I fell asleep, or did my thoughts wander and turn into dreams? Or did God reveal to me one of His visions? I do not know. But I know one thing only: I looked and behold, before me stood a multitude of radiant angels. They carried me on their wings and lifted me upward.

I looked down at the world beneath me, and it grew smaller and smaller until it became a tiny, shining point in the vastness of space. I listened to the sounds and noise of the world, and my body grew lighter and lighter until I felt as though I was a spirit without a body. I turned around in amazement and saw countless spirits, like myself, floating in the boundless expanse. I saw thousands upon thousands of angels—here were the cherubim with six wings, and the seraphim full of eyes. The voices of all rose together in one wondrous musical harmony:

“Holy, Holy, Holy.”

I could not restrain myself, and without realizing it I joined them, chanting:

“Holy, God the Father… Holy, His Only-Begotten Son… Holy, the Holy Spirit.”

I awoke from my chanting to hear a soft, holy melody such as no ear had ever heard before. With deep longing, I turned toward the source of the sound. And behold, at a distance before me was a beautiful, radiant city, suspended in the Kingdom of God, overflowing with praise and hymns. Every melody that reached me filled my heart with joy, and my soul trembled with longing.

Then I looked again and saw, within the city, figures more beautiful than angels: Moses with Elijah and all the prophets; Saint Antony, Saint Athanasius, and all the saints; my fathers the bishops and my fathers the priests—there was my father of confession—and also some of my colleagues and Sunday School teachers.

I could not bear to contemplate any longer. I rushed forward with great force toward that radiant city. But—how strange! I could not advance. A mighty angel, full of awe, majesty, and dignity stood in my way and said:

“Stop where you are. Where are you going?”

I replied:

“To that great city, my lord the angel—to where my colleagues, my brethren, and my saintly fathers are.”

The angel looked upward in astonishment and said:

“But this is the City of the Servants. Are you a servant?”

When I answered “yes,” he said to me:

“You are mistaken, my friend. Your name is not recorded in the register of the servants.”

Astonishment overwhelmed me, and I cried out to the angel guarding the city:

“How can this be? Perhaps you do not know me, my lord the angel. Ask about me in Sunday School and youth meetings. Ask about me in churches and associations. Ask about me even in the City of the Servants, for many of my fellow Sunday School teachers know me there.”

The angel answered me with firmness and clarity:

“I know you very well, and they also know you. Yet, you are not a servant. This is God’s judgment.”

I could not endure those words. I fell at his feet, weeping bitterly. But another angel came, wiped every tear from my eyes, and said gently:

“You are, my brother, in a place from which sorrow and grief have fled. Why then do you grieve? Come with me, and let us speak.”

We sat alone and conversed. He said to me:

“Those whom you see in the City of the Servants consecrated their entire lives to God, so that every minute of their lives was spent in service. Was this not the life of Paul and the other apostles? Was this not the life of Moses and the prophets? Was this not the life of the bishops, priests, and deacons? Was this not the life of the saints? But you, my friend, were not consecrated—you were serving the world. All your spiritual service amounted to one hour a week in Sunday School, and sometimes other services made you give God a second hour. Do you think that for two hours a week you deserve to sit beside the apostles, prophets, and priests in the City of the Servants?”

Throughout this conversation I hung my head in shame. Yet I resisted my embarrassment and dared to ask:

“But I see in the City of the Servants some of my fellow Sunday School teachers who served just as I did.”

The angel replied:

“No, they are not like you. True, they taught for an hour or more in Sunday School, but they spent the entire week preparing for that hour—preparing lessons, teaching aids, methods of engagement, and praying for all of it. They studied each student’s situation individually and thought deeply about how to reform each one. Added to this was their pastoral visitation and their efforts to find meaningful ways to occupy their students during the week. Moreover, they had other hidden services unknown to you. Thus, they regarded spiritual service as their primary work and considered all other worldly occupations secondary. This does not mean they neglected their worldly duties; on the contrary, they were extremely faithful and successful in them. Even their worldly work was not devoid of service. Therefore, God counted them as consecrated.”

I marveled at this and asked:

“How can I be a servant while I am occupied with my job?”

The angel answered:

“Perhaps you have forgotten the universality of service. You must serve God at all times and in every place: in church, on the road, in your home, at your workplace, wherever you go. One must not separate profession from service. In the City of the Servants there are teachers who drew all their Christian students to Sunday School and cared for them continuously. There are doctors who did not treat medicine as a business but cared above all for their patients’ health, regardless of their financial condition—often treating them and sending them medicine without charge, and even establishing free hospitals and clinics. There are employees who led all their coworkers to church for confession and communion. There are engineers, lawyers, artists, merchants, and craftsmen. All of these were servants in their professions. Were you like them?”

I was ashamed and did not answer. The angel continued with painful reproach:

“And what about your service in your family? Joshua, whom you see in the City of the Servants, said: ‘As for me and my house, we will serve the Lord.’ But you did not serve your household. On the contrary, you were in constant conflict with your family members, and you failed to be an example to them or lead them to follow your way. And what about your friends, colleagues, neighbors, and acquaintances? You visited them on Christmas and Easter without speaking to them about the Nativity and the Resurrection, about new birth and rising from sin. You rejoiced with them in a worldly manner. You had many opportunities to serve them and did not seize them. After all this, do you consider yourself a servant?”

For the third time I lowered my head in shame. Yet I tried to justify myself and said:

“But you know, my lord the angel, that I am a person of limited talents and was unable to do all that.”

The angel was astonished, as though hearing this opinion for the first time, and said sharply:

“Talents? Who told you that without talents you cannot serve? There is what they call ‘the silent sermon.’ You were not required to be a preacher, but to be a sermon. People look at your face and learn gentleness and cheerfulness; they hear your words and learn purity, truth, and honesty. They deal with you and see forgiveness, sincerity, sacrifice, and love for others—so they love you, imitate you, and become godly through you without a sermon or a pulpit. And there is also your prayer for them; your prayers may be more effective than your sermons.”

For the fourth time, shame and confusion overtook me. I had no answer. The angel continued:

“You should also have avoided causing others to stumble; even by actions that appear innocent but are misunderstood and lead others astray– so that you might be blameless before God and people, remembering the words of Paul the Apostle: ‘All things are lawful for me, but not all things are beneficial’ (1 Corinthians 6:12).”

I reflected on my life and realized that many times I had caused others to sin, even unintentionally. The angel interrupted my thoughts gently:

“But this is not all. I pity you greatly, my human friend. I pitied you even more while you were still in the world, especially during moments when you suffered from self-righteousness. You looked at your many services and considered yourself a model servant, while in truth you were not counted as a servant at all. Your service was formal and routine—attendance, records, rewards for attendance, neglect of absentees. Your service lacked spirit and love, and you could not reach the depths of the children’s hearts. Your hymns lacked joy, your commands lacked love, and your service produced no real effect. Even your sermons in church were given out of obligation rather than concern for salvation. You cared more for eloquence than for souls. Your voice was loud and clear, but cold and lifeless. You rejoiced—at least inwardly—when people praised your sermons, without caring whether anyone’s life had changed. You were serving yourself, not God or people.”

He continued, speaking with sorrow and love:

“Two things were missing from your service: love for service and love for those you served. Love for service is seen in Christ’s words: ‘Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness.’ Were you hungry and thirsty for the salvation of souls? Did you long all week for the hour you spent with your students? Did you feel pain when one was absent? And love for those you served—did you love them as Christ loved His disciples? Without love, service is impossible.”

I bowed my head in bitter shame as the truth was revealed. The angel looked at me with compassion and said:

“You should have spent a long time preparing and being filled before beginning service. Because you began early without sufficient spiritual experience, you fell into many errors.”

He reminded me of a boy I had expelled from Sunday School. That expulsion pushed the boy toward rebellion, the streets, and bad company– making him worse than before. The angel said:

“Had you devoted all your efforts to saving that one soul alone, it would have been enough for you to enter the City of the Servants.”

He continued:

“God’s servant never knows despair as long as he has humble prayer and a loving heart.”

Then he reminded me of another boy who had been absent for weeks, whom I never visited. I merely recorded his absence and erased his name. The angel asked sternly:

“Why did you not visit him?”

He told me that even if the boy were saved later through another servant, I would not be free of responsibility.

Overwhelmed, I fainted.

When I awoke, the angel looked at me with compassion. I said weakly:

“Forgive me, my lord the angel. I had thirty boys in my class; I could not care for them all.”

He replied:

“God does not measure service by the number of students, but by the number of truly renewed souls.”

He concluded gently:

“The greatest cause of your failure was your reliance on yourself. You forgot prayer and fasting for your service.”

Finally, I cried out in pain:

“Enough, my lord the angel. Now I know that I am utterly unworthy to enter the City of the Servants. I ask for another chance—to serve as a true servant.”

He said:

“You were given your chance, and it ended with your earthly days.”

I wept and begged, crying, “I want another chance!”

Suddenly everything faded. I lost consciousness.

After a long time, I awoke—and to my astonishment I found myself still alone in my room, lying on my couch.

Oh, the mercy of God! Was I truly given another chance to be a faithful servant?

I rose and offered God a deep prayer of thanksgiving. Then I resolved to tell my brethren everything, so that they too might be worthy to enter the City of the Servants.

And so I took some blank pages and began to write:

“It Happened That Night…”