One Could say that I was attached to Vladika John from my early childhood, in the church in Belgrade. At that time he was not yet forty, and his hair was still dark; I was just an ordinary little boy, but I loved Vladika John deeply. Vladika John was Bishop of Shanghai, but often visited Belgrade. Whenever he came to Yugoslavia, he came to the church and served. Everyone knew him, loved him, and considered him their own. I remember how I would press my head against him, and he would say: "Don't butt into me." These, then, are my first impressions of Vladika John. Of course, we knew that there were two pillars of our Church, which we could hold onto: the wise and very subtle Vladika Metropolitan Anastassy, and Vladika John, who was remarkable for his holiness and asceticism. Afterwards, everything was turned upside down. As a result of Yugoslavia's submission to the new [Communist] regime, the Russian Church Abroad left Belgrade, and all contact with Vladika John was lost.
I heard a great deal about Vladika John's ascetical struggles; how he never lay down to sleep, but slept sitting up. That he was a man of prayer was obvious. One sensed that Vladika was surrounded by an aura of prayerfulness.
I met Vladika John for the second time in my life in 1950, when he was appointed to the West European diocese. The situation there was very difficult. The Church was struggling financially, as were the clergy, myself included. Economically, Vladika John could not help me: there were no parishes and therefore no place to send me. However, Vladika John received many donations of church articles, cassocks and the like. One day (I was a young, 26-year-old priest at the time) he said to me, "Try on this cassock." I tried it on, and couldn't tell if it fit or not. And Vladika John stood on his knees to see whether the cassock reached all the way to my feet. Such humility!
Later on, Vladika John visited us in London. He usually visited us every year on the Feast of the Dormition of the Mother of God, the patronal feast of our church. Vladika John was an outstanding personality. Everyone loved and revered him, but not in an idolatrous way. It was, rather, a profound deference to his ascetical struggles, and to himself, as one who voluntarily carried on this spiritual struggle.
Vladika John routinely visited churches of other faiths, where the grace of Orthodoxy might still manifest itself, especially in the form of holy relics of saints whom we revere in common, who were glorified before the Schism of the Christian Churches. Following this practice, Vladika John expressed the intention of visiting Westminster Abbey. At one time it may have been a holy place. In spite of the devastation wreaked by Henry VIII, the Abbey was miraculously preserved as a functioning church. Now, however, it no longer possesses the holiness it once had as an ancient church. Now we simply come to see it as one of London's tourist attractions. Vladika also went to see it, but after spending only a short time there, he left, saying, "There is no grace here." It is true, one could find there the remains of renowned figures of England, of the country's political founders, writers, and scholars, but not of saints.
Here is yet another impression I had of Vladika John. He was coming by train to London, from France as I recall. A group of clergy — the late Vladika Nikodim, Archpriest George Sheremetieff, and I — met Vladika at the train station. At that moment, there came out of the train station a hunched-over old man, wearing sandals on bare feet, carrying a heavy icon on his chest, and with a klobuk that was slightly askew. Although he was not an elder (starets), he had the appearance of one, as if worn down by life's concerns. Vladika came out of the train station and an Englishman, a simple man, said: "Now that is a bishop!" He felt a tremendous spiritual strength in Vladika. It must be added that the same impression applied to Vladika John as to all bishops, that is, when they are in church, you feel that it is a day of celebration. Although you think, "This isn't a feast day; it's an ordinary day: three stichera from the Octoechos, three from the Menaion on the tone 'Lord I have cried'; there is no doxology or polyeleos"; nevertheless, you feel that it is a feast day, a great holiday, because Vladika John is there. This should apply to all bishops, but that is far from true. It applies, apparently, to bearers of holiness, such as Vladika John. Wherever he was, there was something special, an invisible light, that which we call grace, although we don't really understand this word.
Vladika John served with great flair (this is too secular a term), with great feeling and deep involvement in the church service. While his sermons were virtually unintelligible to the ear, when they were read they made a great impression. Only two or three people standing at the front of the church were able to hear him; the rest was lost. Vladika John considered it his duty to preach, but he had difficulty pronouncing words clearly, and it was hard to understand him.
Vladika John could be very strict and very forbearing at the same time. If he knew that someone could do better, he was strict with him, but if he could see that the person could not manage, he was very understanding and forgiving. I noticed two things about Vladika John: on the one hand he was pedantically strict about the order of the services. For example, he would expect you to sing the sessional hymn or the exapostilarion; it wasn't important in which tone, but it had to be sung. On the other hand, he could be exceptionally understanding. For instance, I know of two cases where Protestant ministers converted to Orthodoxy. Vladika baptized them and, although they had been married twice, he ordained them. Thus, in him was a strictness as well as an incredible kindness. If anyone took offense at Vladika, Vladika himself would ask forgiveness of that person, even though the other could sense that he himself was at fault. Vladika saw his flock as truly his flock: he was closely bound to it. He constantly visited the sick and went to parishioners' homes.
On theological issues Vladika and I discussed very little. He was greatly pressed for time, and I was shy about bothering him. However, I know that every translation that I sent to him, even the most insignificant, Vladika John received with great enthusiasm, praise and gratitude. And this gave me noticeable energy to continue this work, knowing that there was someone who would find the time, even if it tore him away from sleep or rest, to read it.
Vladika John's services were extremely long. Perhaps this was necessary as an ascetical practice, but there were few who could endure it. However, now that Vladika is gone, I remember how wonderful it was to live with him and pray with him. You had someone to whom to open your soul, someone to support you, someone who, if you fell, would pick you up again, who would give you courage, show you compassion, give you spiritual strength. This was a saint. Without him, you have the feeling that your whole life is passing between pieces of ice, and that warm heart is not there.
I know that Vladika read thoughts. Once I had a very bad thought, and Vladika turned around and looked at me very sternly. Vladika's clairvoyance was hidden; in order to avoid sinning by false humility, he preferred never to admit this gift.
During the last months of Vladika's life, I was in San Francisco. Vladika received me with such warmth, that I simply cannot express the joy I felt in my heart during those two months. He had reached such an unattainable level of holiness that during that last period it was almost frightening for me to be with him. Imagine if you were to actually see an angel before you; you would feel awestruck in his presence. As he approached the time of his death, Vladika was already in the realm of God's grace.
Did Vladika John foresee his own death? It is difficult to say. If he did, as some say, then, out of his own modesty, he concealed it. In any case, knowing that he wanted to reimburse me right away for my travelling expenses to San Francisco, I said to him: "It's all right, Vladika; it can be done another time." "No, no, it must be done right now." "Why?" "Because it must be so." Then he directed me to supervise courses in theology, which I did gladly. Then Vladika said to me: "All right, now that you have rested for a month and a half, it's time you get to work — serve and work." And then suddenly came the unexpected news, the dreadful news, that Vladika had died.
Bishop Nektary was in Seattle, and it was my duty to preside at the first panikhida for Vladika John in the cathedral in San Francisco. It was unforgettable. We started with a resounding: "Blessed is our God" [Blagosloven Bog Nash], and then you start to cry, and the concelebrating priest follows suit and also starts to cry. The deacon's voice breaks and he cannot get through the litany. . . The entire city was crying, including the clergy. Vladika John departed this life, bearing the aura of holiness and boundless love for people.
Archimandrite Ambrose Pogodin