Let me introduce you to Father Andrei Urusov. He was indeed an unforgettable character, whom I was privileged to know in the '60s, when he was at the Russian Center in San Francisco. Born a prince in 1914 of an aristocratic family in Moscow, he emigrated with his family from Soviet Russia after the Revolution. Eventually he came into the Catholic Church and entered the Society of Jesus. He studied at the Russicum in Rome and in 1946 was ordained a Russian Catholic priest. He ministered in the Jesuit mission in China and in the USA. In 1966 Father Andrei returned to the Orthodox Church, founding the Russian Orthodox Center in Oregon. He died in 2002 and is buried on the grounds of his humble hermitage in Trail, Oregon.

The following is a news report of his death.

Father Andrei Left His Little Bit of Noise

By Paul Fattig MEDFORD, OR, March 17, 2002 (MT) -- One of our more fascinating Rogue Valley residents quietly left us March 9. You may have noticed his short but intriguing paid obituary at the bottom of the Records page on Thursday: "Father Andrei Urusov. Sept. 6, 1914 March 9, 2002. A Priest-Monk, a servant of Christ was born (did not choose to be born), made a little noise, and died." The Moscow-born Russian Orthodox monk who founded the Research Center of Christian Russian Culture near Trail a quarter-century ago did make a little noise. But those who knew him say it was a beautiful noise filled with wonder at the world and warmth for fellow humans. "He was a philosopher who was greatly influenced by St. Thomas Aquinas," says Suzanna Canonizado. "He was a great listener and talker. He never judged you." Canonizado was his gardener over the years as well as his caretaker at the end of his days on Earth. "He was very sensitive with a deep maturity," she says. "Yet he could also be an imp at the same time. He had a great sense of humor." For instance, he liked to try to blow out candles on her children's birthday cakes before the traditional wishes were made. The result was Father Andrei in a long black cassock robe and a flowing white beard chasing someone carrying a lighted cake around the house. "He would say Russian ladies don't like priests because they collect soup in their beards," she says. During a 1996 interview for the Mail Tribune, Father Andrei recalled the time in California when a police officer pulled him over. The monk was driving a borrowed, flower-painted Volkswagen. The officer was a bit befuddled by the whole scene but decided no ticket was warranted. "Far out!" Father Andrei exclaimed. And there was the conversation with the science professor who told Father Andrei that God doesn't exist. "That's too bad," Father Andrei replied. "Someday you'll meet Him anyway." Perhaps it was having seen the uglier aspects of humanity that caused him to seek a higher calling. Born to Russian nobles lost during the Bolshevik upheaval of the Russian Revolution, he was orphaned at 9. He was raised by Russian expatriates in Belgium, ordained by a Russian bishop in Rome when he was 30. He lived in Ireland, Shanghai, a Philippines island and in several cities across the United States and Canada. Before moving to Oregon, he spent 17 years as a college lecturer in San Francisco. "He loved Trail, and all the people here," Canonizado says. At his retreat, he received visitors of all faiths from around the world. In addition to performing liturgies in the chapel, he also conducted marriages and funerals. "There was really only one thing Father Andrei wanted," she says. "His one goal was to sit on the lap of our Lord. He said the rest was secondary. He said you make a little noise in life and then you disappear. The rest was secondary, he always said." Had he written his obituary, he would not have used the term "died," she says. "No, he would have said disappeared," she says. "He never said 'dead.' He often complained about the American language as being too heavy. He was a romantic." In addition to speaking English, albeit with a rich Russian accent, he was fluent in Russian, French and Italian. He could also communicate passably in Spanish. "He touched a lot of people," Canonizado says. "A lot of us who knew him never knew each other but we knew of each other through him. He had friends all over the world." His funeral service began Monday night with a special priest service conducted by his monastic brothers from the Monastery of St. John in Point Reyes, Calif. "It was a long beautiful funeral, and all-night thing," Canonizado says. That service was followed by an Orthodox service, then the gathering of friends. He was buried as he wished, on the grounds of the retreat looking out over Trail. "I miss him but at the same time I don't because he is here anyway,? she says. "You can still feel his presence." And maybe hear a little bit of his wonderful noise. [Mail Tribune, Medford, Oregon] March 17, 2002