This is a heartfelt and tender dedication to his mother by Vasyl Velychkovsky, then a Redemptorist priest and missionary. It appeared in 1938, in an almanac published by the Ukrainian Redemptorist Fathers at Stanislaviv, Ukraine, to honor the holy Mother of God of Perpetual Help. The dedication beautifully illustrates the sentiments of Bishop Velychkovsky, as well as his way of life.
In pain you bore him,
with care you carried him,
in prayer you educated him…
He was your one son:
your other sons died…
Your entire godly soul you wished to transfuse into him.
Barely had he a few little years.
and already at the knees of his mother
he was learning the holy warmth of prayer,
which he would himself then lisp…
For she did not feel strong enough
to safeguard her son: she herself
was without strength. Only then was she strong
when, on her knees, she knelt
at the foot of the Holy Table, at the feet
of the Holy Icon of the Mother of God
—oh yes, there she was strong!
There,
the whole hurt of her heart,
the full fear of her painful soul,
she pours fourth.
There she seeks solace.
There she gains strength,
for herself, for her own.
There he, too, with his mother,
Kneels on his tiny knees;
“Pray, my son, Pray…
Ask for this, as well… And pray…
Pray: “ Dearest Mother of God,
give me the grace to become
a holy priest, a monk! “
And he prayed,
repeating the words after his mother
—he prayed.
And these last words of the prayer
—though he comprehended them
not at all—
somehow were sown
deep in his childish soul.
And he always prayed these words,
even later, on his own.
From the sixth, already, year of his life,
together with his mother, he
received into his heart Jesus
in Holy Communion.
Ah, this daily food for the soul
early in youthful years
will become, in time, forever
the determining force of his life.
Fortunate mother! How well
she comprehended the words of Christ:
“Allow children to come to Me!”
In the parish—great good news
has come the monk-missioner
to proclaim the lessons of God.
And at the end
of the holy days
who is there before the Bohoroditsa?
My mother,
offering her children,
putting them under the protection
of the heavenly Mother.
He kneels beside his mama.
heart beating more alive,
eyes looking with some shining
—immersed in the icon of Mary.
And the monk-missioner recite the prayer,
consecrates them to Mary, Mother of God…
How fortunate that day forever!
And mama whispers: “Little son,
you belong now to Her,
the dearest Mother of God: to Her
I have offered all of you
Oh, remember this, child,
forever this blessed day remember:
“A Child of Mary never is lost:
and you are a child of Mary
from this day forth.”
And again the days go by…
Now
He is in school, in the city.
But everywhere it remains the same
as mother had taught him
by word and by her example holy:
He prays still
before the icon of Mary.
He approaches,
with the fear of God and with faith,
to receive the Holy Communion.
Days go by…
Came terrible times
War.
But the family offered to Mary,
as always, safeguarded.
And the battle rain of bullets,
and the press of evil people,
pass by…
For always,
every day at the feet of Jesus,
and under the protection of Mary.
And days go by…
Oh, what this sudden upheaval,
this unusual noise, not unlike
the noise of powerful wings?
Why do our hearts beat together
in so monotone a measure?!
Oh the endeavor,
the bloody strife for one’s fate,
for freedom
for the honor and the glory
of our native land!…
And he went to the strife,
flew away like an eagle,
like other youths so young
—like children, to early…
He went.
And with him went
the prayer and the blessing of Mama.
And with him went
incomprehensible power.
In moments of leisure,
in the darkness of night,
and along the way,
something is lovingly pressed in his hands,
something his lips seem to whisper…
What!
A holy rosary,
given him, one for the road,
by his mother, to remember
his being a child of Mary…
Where was he not
during those terrible times,
as with rapid steps he paced
the steppes without end,
empty space…
And shook in the shelling, benumbed,
and lay among the typhus-laden,
and rested among the corpses,
—and waited against the wall, even,
and looked into the eyes of death…
Was it only once?
But beside him, as it were,
Some charm?…
Yes!
The rosary of the Mother of God,
the perpetual protection of Mary,
for this child of hers!…
But those days, too, go by…
Then, detention camps and fences go,
and prisons, and chains…
And again in school,
as a beginning student again.
But, now, a school for the warriors of Christ,
his steps directed there
by Mary, his heavenly Mother—he is,
after all, her child!…
Here,
he is tested for a new battlefield.
The days go by, peaceful, amid labor and thought…
Then, one day,
toward the end of a summer vacation,
he speaks:
“Mother, Father, I stand
already on the threshold of a holy state,
but I wish, all at once,
to cross further over, For something,
I know not what, draws me to be
a warrior of Christ
more full and completely;
something draws me
completely to renounce my self,
to dedicate myself to God
for His glory, and for the sake
of our poor people,
as a monk and a religious.”
His Father: “Think well, my son,
and go with God, if God
calls to this higher ideal.”
And Mother,
through her tears
and with sorrow of heart
together with prayed-for gladness: ‘I bless you,
my son, and I give you
once again
to Jesus and to Mary!…”
And boldly he went.
And served all with the world.
Days go by…
Now,
He is a man of the mission,
a fighter indefatigable.
Hundreds, thousands,
of his own brothers and sisters
with himself he leads into battle.
for Christ,
for truth,
for victory forever!
Beneath his feet they spread flowers.
At times they strew rocks at his feet.
Spread, too, their hearts full of thanks,
for holy help,
for salvation.
—But whence his strength
in him so wonderful, whence?
He is, can’t you see,
a child of Mary,
Christ’s battle man:
holy cross on chest,
spiritual rosary sword in belt.
And so the days go by…
And the shining sun of freedom
raises hope for a brighter future,
waxes warmly over the people!…
And you!
May you be blessed, Mother,
for offering to God, for His people,
your son, your child!
He died to the world,
but was not lost to his God,
was not lost to his people.
He lives, and will live,
and will bring life and salvation
to millions most abundantly
—he, your son:
missionary of Jesus and Mary;
Redemptorist.
BLESSED MAY YOU BE, MOTHER!
Now
And always.
And forever and ever.
Amen!
-taken form the publication of the Congregation of the Most Holy Redeemer – Vasyl’ Vsevolod Velychkovsky Redemptorist, Bishop-Confessor of the Faith.