He was compassionate, and had no care for wordly things or estates. Night and day he was absorbed in divine worship, and with his small parish of St. Panteleimon in Neo Kosmo which was comprised of thirteen families. The people loved him. His simplicity, his island piety, his kindness, his chastity, his lack of love for money, drew everyone to divine worship. Everyone wanted him to bless their homes, their stores. And he ran everywhere joyously. From aristocratic homes down to the poorest homes, he never kept a drachma on him. The poor always waited outside the church for him to distribute whatever he had in his pocket.
However, a certain priest without a parish of his own, in cooperation with the council members of St. Panteleimon, kicked him out of his parish and sent him to the Church of Saint John, (“the Hunter” as they called it then) in Vouliagimeni. The new parish was very poor and was comprised of eight families. His payment as a priest was one piece of meat from the fattened lamb of Meatfare Sunday or Christmas. This did not brother him, however, because fasting was most important in his life. So long as he had a church in which to liturgize, he was happy.
His having been kicked out of St. Panteleimon, however, bothered him a lot. One night, as he was leaving St. John to go home, he was crying on the road. The place was deserted at that hour. Suddenly he saw on his path a young lad said to him, “Why are you crying, Father?”….
“I’m crying, my child, because they kicked me out of St. Panteleimon’s.”
“Don’t be said, Father. I am always with you.“
“Who are you, my child?”
“I am Panteleimon, who lives in Neo Kosmo.”
And immediately he vanished from in front of him.
Every year, on the feast of St. Panteleimon, he would go to the Saint’s church in Neo Kosmo and do a vigil. One year, as he himself reated, he was sick and had a fever. His relative did not allow him to go for his customary vigil. But because of the love which Father Nicholas had for the Saint, he went anyway. “That night,” he himself said,
“after the Liti, exhausted, I leaned on the edge of the Holy Table. In the delirium of the fever I saw the Saint in front of me, young and vigorous, holding a small glass full of medicine, and he told me, ‘Drink it, my Father, to become well.’ I took it from the hand and drank it and became completely well. The fever left me. For a whole week out through the Royal Gate and said, ‘My children, I was very sick tonight, and at this moment Saint Panteliemon gave me medicine and I drank and became well.’ Everyone believed it and knelt down, glorifying the Saint.”….
The children who were in church would see him shining with heavenly light, doing unexplainable gestures, or remaining for a long time attentive, as if something were happening to him. Therse were the moments when he was communicating with the saints and being dreanched with the light of Paradise. Many times they would see him not standing on the ground. A little eight year old child once came out white from the altar and told his mother “Mo-o-om, Father Nicholas is this high off the ground” and he showed her with his hand a half cubit above the ground. “Don’t be afraid, my child, all priests are elevated off the ground that way when they liturgize,” his mother responded, doing her cross to settle him down.
The children would see him being elevated to the sky and not stepping upon the ground, because he scorned all earthly and material things. His mind was high up, on Him Who He worshipped, and he would not turn his eyes to look at what the people call material goods….
The text has been translated from Greek by Fr. Nicholas Palis