Batyushkov's stories - Rev. Alexander Avdyugin

My friends, as if by agreement, are writing various kinds of accusatory posts addressed to the Russian Orthodox Church. And against the backdrop of all this, I remembered how I once interviewed one of our Orthodox priests.

It was around Christmas. This was the first issue of the newspaper that was published in the New Year and, due to the stupid ten-day holidays, there was absolutely nothing for the whole country to fill it with - people are celebrating, press services are on vacation, no fateful decisions are being made... So we decided to bring some joy for Christmas Orthodox comrades with revelations from the priest. We have three churches in our city. It was decided to “catch” one of the abbots for an interview. By hook or by crook, I got the cell number of one of them and agreed to meet on Sunday. “I’ll just perform the baptismal ceremony there, and then I’ll talk to you,” the priest puffed into the phone.

How I got to this temple is a different story. It began “working” back in Soviet times, led a semi-underground existence, and therefore was converted from an ordinary private house and is located in the *** city, on a street with a beautiful name, designed to immortalize the poet Lermontov on the map of Komsomolsk.

In general, being quite frozen, I finally reached the church. As promised, the ceremony took place there. Six people stood in front of the priest, dressed in something solemnly golden (I don’t understand the styles of church clothes), and he read a sermon to them. In my opinion, only one older woman listened attentively, the rest were frankly bored, and a girl of about five completely imitated her father, jumped around her mother and spun around like a top. All this went on for quite a long time, so I was a little distracted, looking at the painting of the walls and dome. I was brought out of a somewhat hypnotized state by words spoken by a hysterical female voice. The mother of that same fidgety girl, almost holding the priest by the breasts, asked:

- Father, where is my cross?

He answered complacently that the cross would be found, as soon as we completed the sacrament, but the young lady did not lag behind. As a result, having completed the ceremony, the abbot was forced to enter into an explanation with her and her determined mother, and I finally understood what was going on.

Before being baptized, everyone who wanted to undergo the sacrament handed over to the priest prepared crosses, which he then had to bring to the temple on a special tray. The rest of the people had modest ones - silver, but the hysterical young lady had them “6 grams of gold,” as she herself said, plus a chain. As a result, all the crosses arrived safe and sound, but this particular one was lost somewhere. And now the lady and her mother demanded that the loss be found, and even almost openly accused the priest of theft and threatened to call the police.

He turned gray. He apologized to me, called everyone who serves in the temple and urgently ordered me to look for the ill-fated little piece of gold. Two ladies (one of whom, mind you, had been baptized by that same priest 10 minutes earlier) meanwhile were loudly discussing that they couldn’t trust anyone these days, since they were already stealing from churches. My father became paler and paler, but did not interfere in the conversation. Then one of the women ran into the temple:

- Found, father, found! Nikolka the cleaner near the path in the snow noticed how the chain glittered.

With trembling hands, the priest accepted the cross and put it on the young lady, who was displeasedly curling her lips, who did not fail to let in the poison:

– Thank you, of course, but it’s still strange that it was my expensive cross that ended up in the snow, and not some cheap one...

And so, you know, I felt disgusted and disgusted that I wanted to punch this girl. I myself cannot consider myself either an adherent of Orthodoxy or a fan of any other religion, but such an attitude always makes me disgusted. My God, girl, you just, so to speak, entered the faith, and it was the one you accuse of stealing who introduced you... Well, in general, I could barely restrain myself. And the priest simply had some kind of humility on his face. He thanked God for helping him find the loss, and he let the brawler go in peace, and then, sighing with relief, he talked to me...

A wonderful selection of touching and funny stories from the lives of priests, collected on the Internet.

Chapter 17 from Mark

One day, after finishing the service, the priest said: “Next Sunday I will talk with you about lies. To make it easier for you to understand what will be discussed, read the seventeenth chapter of the Gospel of Mark at home before this.” The following Sunday, before the beginning of his sermon, the priest announced: “I ask those who have completed the task and read the seventeenth chapter to raise their hands.” Almost all the parishioners raised their hands. “It was with you that I wanted to talk about lies,” said the priest. “There is no seventeenth chapter in the Gospel of Mark.”

Fairy Pilgrimage

Once, during a pilgrimage to Optina Monastery, the famous monastery, the novices observed the following picture. A little boy approaches Father Venedikt, the abbot of Optina: he has arrived with his family and wants to take a blessing from the abbot’s father. The following dialogue takes place between them:

Hello, Venya’s father... Vini... (can’t pronounce the name).

And he affectionately pats him on the shoulder and says:

Hello, Piglet!

"Bitterly!"

Once upon a time, a wedding of a young couple took place in the university house church. As expected, after the wedding a meal was organized, where the rector, parishioners of the temple and friends and classmates of the newlyweds were invited.

The bride was very worried and, blushing, warned all her friends in advance: under no circumstances should they shout “Bitter!” during the festive dinner. She persuaded, exhorted, conjured - they say, it is indecent to kiss in a temple. The friends laughed and teased in response, but in the end they agreed.

And now the moment has come when the festive feast began. The abbot raised the first toast. Wishing the happy couple a long and prosperous summer, he loudly shouted: “Ho-o-orko!” An explosion of laughter followed; the crimson bride had no choice but to kiss her husband, who could barely contain his laughter. They laughed at this story for a long time.

At the reception with the Archangel

From the priest’s story: There was such a case in my church life. Once, when I was a deacon, a man in a formal suit with a leather folder in his hands came to the icon shop of our monastery, which was located not far from the diocese. The saleswoman, seeing me, pointed to a respectable gentleman who, apparently, had come on an important mission.

Excuse me, how can I get an appointment with Archangel Gabriel? - asked the visitor without blinking an eye.

Just imagine my condition! Barely holding back my laughter, I thought about how to more delicately answer a high-ranking person that during his lifetime the archangel appeared to few people, so a mere mortal, in order to get an appointment with him, needs to at least die. But, having overcome the temptation, he led him to the door of the administrator of the Annunciation diocese, Archbishop Gabriel.

It immediately became clear to me that the poor official, apparently, mixed the regalia and the name of the ruler with the inscription on the church “Temple in honor of the Holy Archangel Gabriel and other Heavenly Powers.”

Blessing of the Bear

One day, in the winter, young novices from one of the Annunciation parishes flocked to the refectory for dinner. It was getting dark. Suddenly one of them heard a suspicious creak of snow under the fence. The heavy steps of someone very large were slowly approaching.

The novice was wary, since his obediences also included security functions. He looked, and a large shaggy hat appeared over the upper edge of the blank fence and came up to the gate, locked with a padlock. Someone from the other side pulled the gate with force, but it did not give way.

What kind of bear is that breaking in there?! - the frightened novice shouted for warning. In response, from under a large shaggy hat, someone grunted strainedly and went home, his huge feet creaking in the freshly fallen snow.

A short time later, a bishop's service took place in the parish church. At the All-Night Vigil, at the appointed time, all the priests and altar servers moved in a line to receive the blessing of the ruling bishop. He approached him, not forgetting to cup his hands, and the novice squeezed out: “Bless, Vladyka.”

Archbishop Gavril looked at him sternly from under furrowed eyebrows and through his waterfall-shaped mustache said: “The bear will bless you!”

Many years

Many years, beginning with the words “Many years,” is a solemn chant in the Orthodox Church, a form of wish for long life and prosperity, very often sung during a meal in order to congratulate someone on a festive event. One foreigner, present at such a congratulation, asked the priest:

“Tell me the secret of why when you pour a glass, you stand up and sing “Is this too much?”

A short confession

From the story of one parishioner: Before confession, the grandmother squeezes through: “Let me skip the line, I only have 2 sins.”

Orthodox atheists

From the priest's story: The car skidded. Winter. I look: the men are standing nearby. I'm going out and asking for help. They: “No, father, we won’t help. We are atheists." “What kind,” I say, “are atheists?” After all, atheists are different. There are Buddhist atheists, and there are Muslim atheists.” They responded: “No, what are you talking about, father, we are Orthodox atheists!” As a result, they helped, of course.

Pop star

One priest I know said: “Do you know what we call priests who actively give interviews, write blogs, and appear on TV? Pop star!"

Monastery Hound of the Baskervilles

Father Andrei once went to Optina Pustyn. First time. I got to Kaluga, from there to Kozelsk, crossed the bridge over the Zhizdra River and walked on foot through the forest to the monastery. It suddenly got dark quickly. The road went uphill, along the sides there was a tall pine forest, with a starry sky above. He walks through the twilight tunnel, marveling at the beauty of God.

The darkness gradually thickened, and fear began to attack him. And suddenly he sees: either a small horse or a huge dog with burning eyes is flying towards him. From horror, Father Andrei was dumbfounded and speechless! Should I throw myself into a ditch? But he’ll bite him anyway, look what! Climb a tree? I won’t have time (Father Andrei is very tall and heavy).

The distance was shrinking catastrophically, and there was no more time to think. Obeying some kind of animal instinct of self-preservation, Father Andrei spread his arms to the sides and with a wild cry of “Ah-ah!” in a huge flowing black robe, he himself rushed at the approaching monster...

A cyclist rushed past him at great speed, his eyes bulging in horror.

“Dad, pray!”

When Father Nikifor was still a novice priest, he was assigned to the sorokoust ("young fighter course" for newly minted shepherds - 40 services daily). Father Veniamin (let's call him that) was appointed head of the “practice”. A gray-haired shepherd who accepted the grace of the priesthood back in those days when, if they did not kill for it, then they created many problems - from scrip to prison.

The parishioners called the priest with the noble church neologism “severely kind.” Irreconcilably harsh towards sin and infinitely kind to the sinner. And even when, during confession, Father Benjamin, shaking his head, tapped the neck or forehead of his lost child, his eyes shone with genuine love and kindness.

God's providence directed it in such a way that as soon as Father Nikifor took up his “pastoral watch,” his mother went to the maternity hospital to replenish her already large family.

Father Veniamin slowly, with a feeling of complete reverence, conducted the service. Father Nikifor, a fellow worker, was extremely absent-minded. Thoughts flew one after another: “How is the birth there? Like a child? How’s mother?”

At the end of the Liturgy of the Catechumens (one of the components of the Divine Liturgy), an SMS came from my wife: “The baby is very bad, they were taken to intensive care. May not survive. Pray!

In a panic, Priest Nikifor grabbed Father Benjamin’s cassock and began to shake: “Father, pray, the child is dying! Dad!!!" The miter on the head of the respected shepherd began to stagger. Father Veniamin, without batting an eyelid, got out of the bear’s clutches of Father Nicephorus, straightened his miter and calmly said: “Nicephorus, don’t panic! Now let’s pray.”

And in violation of all church canons, he stopped the Liturgy, flipped through the missal and cried out a prayer for every request, remembering his ward, his mother and the born child. At the last words of the prayer, Father Nikifor’s mobile phone vibrated again: “The baby was brought back. Completely healthy. The doctors don’t know what happened to him.”

Father Benjamin looked at his stunned brother with a smile and went around the second circle to finish the Liturgy of the Catechumens. I must say that I do not know a stricter guardian of the Charter in the diocese than Father Veniamin. You ask: how can it be that someone so strict violates the canons so easily? In response, I will only recall the words of the Lord: “The Sabbath is made for man, and not man for the Sabbath” (Mark 2:27).

Are you sure you won't drink?

One priest started renovations in his church, which had survived many harsh times. They placed scaffolding right up to the ceiling. Left alone in the temple, the priest climbed to the very top to examine the miracles of local restorers. Suddenly he sees: the door opened, and a fairly drunk man climbed into the church, almost on his knees. Wringing his hands, he began to lament loudly:

“Lord, if You exist, save me from this infection, I can’t drink anymore. Well, do something, Lord! »

The little man fell to his knees: “I won’t, Lord, I won’t!!!”

“Well then go in peace,” came the answer.

It is unknown how this story ended, but the priest, telling it to me, concluded that the Providence of God, which took such a strong hold of the peasant, was unlikely to abandon him.

Eastern guru and sausage

Russian people love anything exotic. Whether this is a sign of the universal breadth of our soul, which Fyodor Mikhalych wrote about, or our utter stupidity, which all the great writers wrote about, I don’t know. I know that it constantly pulls us to no one knows where and no one knows why, but certainly to our own head. So I always wonder why Russian people go somewhere to India, pay thousands of dollars to fall at the feet of some dubious guru in some dubious ashram for an hour and a half.

The residents of Arkhangelsk are no exception, and we have been toiling with sects of all stripes for almost three decades now. And it seemed that nothing could be simpler: if you want severe asceticism, spiritual wisdom and states of grace, get in a car or take a train ticket and you will soon have the first, and the second, and the third. 8 hours of chopping wood in the cold and 10 hours of washing dishes in the monastery refectory - and with your own body you will feel the feats of the great fathers of antiquity. You’ll gain a couple of years’ worth of wisdom, if not from the monastery’s thousand-volume library, then from conversations with experienced brethren.

Having stood for 6 hours at the statutory service, confessed and received the Mysteries of Christ, you will find grace such as humanity had never known before the Coming of the Lord into the world.

But this is all a saying, and now it’s a story itself.

My old friend N. once studied at one of the prestigious universities in the capital. And, as is typical of a young, talented and restless nature, he was in a constant spiritual search. On these turns he was carried nowhere, but into one of the many pseudo-Hindu sects. Well, since my friend hated hypocrisy more than anything in the world, he threw himself into his new hobby with all his might. He became a strict vegetarian, gave up all types of psychoactive substances (including harmless tea and coffee), forgot even about friendship with girls and read 2.5 thousand mantras on his rosary every day, reverently looking at the portrait of his beloved guru above his bed in the university dorm.

My fellow students, who had chosen the triad “beer, ladies, rock and roll” as their life credo, looked at my friend’s hobby with a dose of good irony: they say, everyone goes crazy in their own way.

How a Hindu ashram and the Temple of Bacchus and Venus were combined in one tiny room can only be known by students of the legendary 90s - a generation that is basically impossible to surprise with anything.

The stipend for the granite-eaters was even more tiny than a dorm room. It was enough for exactly two days of revelry, and then the harsh everyday life of searching for “food and drink” began. My friend, due to his absolute sobriety and meager diet, managed to stretch out the scholarship for a week, but the inevitable question: “how can I continue to live now?” - soon rose with all his frightening directness.

One day the limit came. There was nothing to eat, there was no one to borrow from, and the Hindu god ignored both the reading of mantras and intense meditation, leaving his faithful follower to the mercy of fate. My friend was wandering around Moscow in a darkened state of consciousness and suddenly, raising his eyes to the sky, he screamed inwardly:

“Lord, if You exist, reveal Yourself. Well, it’s impossible to do this anymore, how much can you suffer!? I now need to leave the university where I entered with such difficulty!! And in general, I might die of hunger if I don’t find the money now!!!” Tears flowed, and my soul immediately felt lighter.

In the distance, the Cathedral of Christ the Savior shone with its domes. Little realizing what was happening, N. headed there. There was surprisingly no one on the street in front of the temple itself. Surprise gave way to shock when, on the sidewalk under his feet, my friend discovered two neatly folded 500-ruble bills (the average two-month salary at that time). The shock turned into joy when N. remembered the words of his first desperate prayer to the Christian God. Having picked up the money, the friend ran into the temple and lit a candle; then I went to the store and bought wine, sausage, and cheese.

When he laid out his purchases on the table in the dorm, his hungry and stunned fellow students asked only one question: “What happened to you?!” N. replied: “My friends, today I finally found true faith, let’s celebrate it!” Then he went to his bed and took down the portrait of the great guru from the wall. It seemed to those present that the gaze of the eastern teacher at that moment became especially menacing.

Prayer for suitors

Many young unmarried girls went to one priest’s church. The priest successfully redirected almost everyone to the choir, because there was no one to sing in the church, and serving the Lord with their talents was not only a gracious, but also a soul-saving work. The choir, they say, then thundered throughout the entire diocese. The abbot had nothing to pay for this wonderful choir. The temple was considered so poor that none of the Arkhangelsk bishops dared to impose a diocesan tax on it. Not knowing how to thank his workers, the priest promised to marry them all off.

For some clergy members, the statement of their spiritual father aroused hope, for some - irony, for the majority - a firm conviction: “father just wants to console us.” They say that young people never came to our church, but in a world seething with passions, go and find a worthy candidate for a wife. But the priest, having a stubborn character (according to rumors, the most stubborn in the diocese), began to read a prayer for the sending of suitors after each liturgy (they say there is one in the breviary).

Other fathers chuckled: look, our father is busy with love spells, begging suitors. But the priest stubbornly continued his work.

Three years passed, young people flocked to the temple. They performed one wedding, then three, then seven, then within a year it was either 12 or 15. The choir was empty. The father lamented: now, we’ve finished praying, and now there’s no one to sing! More young men began to go to church than girls.

Other priests changed their minds and already instructed their altar boys: come on, don’t be foolish, don’t go around with Gogol, but run to your father, who organized a “bride fair” in his church. I heard that five matushkas (priests’ wives) have already left that church.

Father Pushkin scholar

One priest never had a car. And when our other fathers switched from domestic cars to foreign cars and exchanged them, the priest continued to walk the mortal earth on foot and ride in public transport, throwing seasoned conductors into a stupor: “wow, priest, he got on the bus.”

The priest’s pedestrianism brought constant headaches to his faithful wife. Father, not only did he walk from 2 to 10 kilometers a day, but he did it in extremely impractical shoes. Not to say that my father, for some patriotic reason, did not recognize Ralph Ringers or Rakers, he simply believed that it was unbecoming for the rector of a poor church to show off in expensive shoes. And cheap shoes quickly became unusable...

I remember once a priest came to me: “Misha, can I warm myself?” And then my feet were frozen. We looked at the shoes - and there was a hole the size of a nickel. - Father, how long have you been walking like this? - Yes, the second week. I think it’s gotten old: there’s no frost, but my feet are cold.

It happened that compassionate members of the community, knowing that the priest did not like expensive gifts, simply bought him new high-quality shoes, without, of course, naming the price. Once again, mother’s heart could not stand it: “Father, finally go to the market and buy yourself normal leather shoes with a fur base. You'll die soon! I know you can’t take it from a church circle, so here’s one from my pension!” Nothing to do. Hanging his head, the priest went to the Arkhangelsk market (the priest, it must be said, did not fully digest markets, apparently due to his aspiration for heavenly things).

He met a tipsy middle-aged man who looked like an intelligent, well-dressed anti-clerical. Looking at the hunched figure of the priest, he smiled smugly and loudly, so that all the sellers and buyers in the area could hear, barked:

- The priest went to the bazaar to look at some goods!

Question: Did you meet Father Tavrion when he served here?

The first time I came to him was in 1973. Then I lived in Chelyabinsk, where there was one church for a city of a million. It was crowded, and we tried to get permission to build a new temple or to give it a museum. We even went to Moscow with this question, but never received a positive answer. These were the 70s, when, on the contrary, churches were closed, it was a difficult time. And we suddenly decided to ask for a temple... When we arrived here, to Father Tavrion, and came to see him, I began to tell how we were in all these authorities that were against us, and he sat and smiled. Apparently, he was so pleased that there were people who still raised their heads. As our late Archbishop of Sverdlovsk and Chelyabinsk Clement said: “One good thing is that you don’t lay your head down and don’t wait for the ax to fall.” And Father Tavrion was happy for us that we were acting. Then he told me: “Don’t do anything yourself, the Lord will show you the way.” Well, I went home, went to work, and then I thought: “How long will I work? I’ll come to work.” And she left for Tobolsk. And here, in Jelgava, my sister was and wrote to Father Tavrion that I had left work for the church. To which he wrote me a note: “And we have it.” I received this letter from the elder and came here. Father accepted me, but did not immediately take me into his house. Then he gave me obedience - to give answers to letters, translations, telegrams. That's why I was his clerk.

Question: What do you remember from those early times?

Father read thoughts like the leaves of a book. Here’s an example: he accepts, and I’m sitting in another room and hear that, apparently, a woman is complaining that a woman is cheating on her son. Father Tavrion says: “Oh, these women, oh these women...”. And I sit and think: “Well, this happens, and men cheat.” And he answers me: “Yes, it happens” (general laughter). Father, forgive me, but it was the same, I didn’t know that the time would come, I would talk about your holiness, father, you are a holy man. Or such a small example: he loved those who worked around him with something, and to console them. One year there were a lot of watermelons. They brought a big car of watermelons and in the evening everyone comes home from work and says who did what, and I sit there, writing. He gave everyone a piece of watermelon, but not me. Well, I’m sitting there, offended, that is. Then I reassure myself that you’ve never eaten watermelon, or what? After a while he brings a piece and says: “Here, don’t cry.” (general laughter). He was also humorous.

Question: Yes, they are such saints, with humor.

So he read our thoughts like the leaves of a book.

Question: Mother, don’t you remember the Muscovites who came?

A lot of people came, you can’t remember them all, I kept sitting there, writing what they would order. I remember those who worked here, but they have already gone to the Lord...

Question: Did young people come from Moscow?

From Moscow? Yes, a lot of people came, a lot. I once told my father: “Father, we have an academy, a seminary, and regency courses. (laughs). We had a composition - both illiterate, and secondary education, and higher education. I say, “our parish, father, is the entire Soviet Union. Whole country". I think there are parcels coming from everywhere, but probably not from Central Asia. Before I had time to think, I came from Ashgabat (laughs). Parcels were received from all over the country, even from Kamchatka, from everywhere. And then I wrote to them that we received it in good condition and we are praying.

Question: How did the priest serve the liturgy?

He served the liturgy very lively. So we, the sisters, sang, only there were only a few of us - two or three, and on this side all the pilgrims sang in two choirs. Well, sometimes, when people gather who can sing, we eat nothing, but other times nothing happens.

Question: Pilgrims...

Yes, pilgrims (laughs). I had to kind of lead, but I myself don’t understand anything. I didn't learn much. Father served very highly, he has a high voice, and they told me: “You, sing as he gives an exclamation.” He is high - I am high too. Well, the service will turn out okay, that is, our singing - I run ahead of the priest, open the door for him and think: “Father will praise him now.” He comes in and says: “Hmm, we were admiring...”. That's all. And when the singing doesn’t go well, I think now the priest will come and say: “Well, how they sang.” He comes in and says: “Beauty”! Why beauty? Because it didn’t work, and we prayed “Lord, help us!” And when things got going, we didn’t pray, but admired ourselves (laughs). That means I open the doors and tremble when things go wrong, and he: “Beauty, beauty.” I dont know what to say (laughs).

Question: When did you have time? Liturgy every day and evening service...

Father got up at four in the morning, sometimes he told me to knock on his window and wake him up when he didn’t get up. He came, immediately performed the proskomedia, and then they came up for confession, and I wrote down the names, and they came up to the priest for a prayer of permission. During the litany, he prayed only for those who were registered for communion. But he didn’t read...

Question: So they signed up for communion?

They wrote down the names of those who were going to communion, and he prayed at the litany at the liturgy. He said this: “The priest reads, reads, reads prayers, and those praying stand from foot to foot, shifting from foot to foot.” And then he said, don’t come early, spare your legs, the priest will come early, and the service will begin at six.

Question: How long did the service last?

By eight they already had time to leave for work in Jelgava. Fast. Father conducted the service this way, we, the whole people, sang more. “Come, let us worship” - that’s all, “Holy God, Holy Mighty...” – that’s all. Both during the liturgy and, in general, “The Grace of the World” was sung. And then one day they came out, I already said while remembering, and something sang well in my soul. And he came out and said: “The Olympics are an ulcer of the choir.” I opened my mouth (laughs). I’m going home, thinking, what did Father say? But it turns out that when the priest died, persecution began against us, who honored the priest. And first of all, for the Olympics... He foresaw, father, he foresaw everything, he foresaw my life. When I came for the first time, I went into the wooden church here, and there was such beauty there compared to our small church, where you stood, and you couldn’t even raise your hand to make the banner of the cross. And here there are flowers, candles burning, carpets and paths on the floor. I admire how he loves God. He came out and said: “How can you not love Him?” And he gave an example from his difficult life. Did you think, father, that now I would be talking here...

Question: Many people went to him for healing?

He healed, of course, a lot. He had this order - after the service no one approached him for a blessing. He received at the house. People have already had breakfast and are waiting for the reception. And I was very happy, he told me to knock when it was time for the appointment. As soon as I knock, he comes out and says so kindly that I can’t say it like that: “We will accept.” He spoke with such affection that I really loved listening to it. I looked - there were people standing there, and my soul felt so light, warm and joyful that I was ready to hug everyone.

And people came up one by one, and he was already talking calmly, they could ask everything. But this was already a time when other monasteries did not accept priests anywhere - the 70s... Here (shows) There was a bathhouse, pilgrims came and could wash themselves in the bathhouse. They fed us three times a day - after the liturgy, lunch and in the evening after the evening service. When he came here to the desert, there was only a temple, and in the temple there was an iron stove in the middle and that’s all. And he raised everything here himself. And then it was still difficult to get materials, in order to build you needed some documents, etc., etc. And the priest managed to do all this through his prayers, and he himself worked a lot here, he traveled with taxi drivers, bought these beds, bed linen - everything that we have now. He worked a lot to restore this hermitage, and I say to Father Evgeniy (Rumyantsev): “Father, I will again express my grievance, there was a hundred years of this hermitage and even a word would be said that this hermitage was revived by Father Tavrion.” Yes, if it weren’t for Father Tavrion, none of this would have happened! He did it all.

Question: Lord knows...

He knows, yes, He knows it all, but I am still a sinner... Dear father, how much you have done, how much you have suffered. He himself told me the last time I came to him for a blessing. He lies there, I got down on my knees, and he says: “Do you know the prophecy about the desert”? I say "No". “There will be a manger, there will be sheep, but there will be nothing to eat.” Well, now a lot has been built and there are many sisters, but there is no word of God. But then I didn’t understand how there was nothing to eat... Nowadays people don’t even come, but then they came from all over the country, he really regretted that people were traveling so far. From the Far East, from everywhere. Popular rumor is like a wave of the sea - one will go and tell another, and everyone went, because they could solve all the issues, and even such a reception. Then he said, some will go to one monastery, there, to the Kiev Pechersk Lavra, and then they will come here. He said that all the money would be spent there, and then...

Question:...here for prayer.

Yes (laughs). And they will come here and it will be paradise.

Question: Mother Olympias, why do you think it’s so difficult for people to come to church now?

Even during the time of terrible persecution, the elder said , that the time will come, churches will be opened, domes will be gilded, there will be free worship, all so that when the Lord comes to judge, there will be no excuse that it was not possible to go. I remember, I worked and taught part-time, and they reproached me so much that I communicate with the younger generation, and this is incompatible... And I only answered that this is love. This was the only way to defend myself.

Now there are churches, but where are the people? There are no people. We have two churches in Jelgava, but we also don’t have services every day. But all the same, thank God that the churches are open, and there is somewhere to come... I was recently in Petrograd in Victory Park, and there once was a brick factory where they burned all those who died during the siege. And now the Church of All Saints was built there, I was in this temple, I prayed, and it seemed to me that my dead were praying with me. There is a service there every day in the morning and evening, but there are still no people.

Question: Father Tavrion knew how to inspire people for worship.

After all, how much he called on people to actively participate... It happened that a person would come, never read anything, and the priest would give the Six Psalms and say: “Go, read.” But he doesn’t understand anything from the page, he’s confused as to how he reads it... The sisters, of course, were angry with the priest that he was giving like this, and then this man writes a letter, he’s already arrived home and is almost a psalm-reader. Like this. Or one woman came with a boy and said that he stuttered a little. And the priest gave him the Six Psalms to read. He read, stuttered, quit, I even cried for him, I felt sorry. After a while I come to church - he serves as a deacon, such a voice! This is how the priest glorified people... In general, he tried to have the people participate in the service, and he really did participate in it.

Question: Did he have any favorite chant?

My favorite hymns were during the liturgy; they always sang before communion (sings) " I always and always crucify You...”, “Having seen the Resurrection of Christ,” “Open the doors of Mercy for us,” and at that time the priest opened the Royal Doors and came out with the Chalice. And in the evening, instead of kathismas, they chanted akathists either to the Mother of God, or to the Savior, or to St. Nicholas. He really loved the akathist “Thank God for everything”, he read it himself... He said: “Why are you going? We don’t have any such architectural buildings here or anything like that, but are you coming?” And the people go, they themselves participate and leave the temple joyful that they themselves are singing, and now they will ride and ride as long as they can.

Question: Many went year after year.

One day I close the door, and one old woman leaves and says, “I probably won’t have to come again,” and I consoled her, saying, come back again. A year has passed... (laughs)... comes and says: “Here I am!” (laughs)... And one psalm-reader wrote a letter to the priest from Kazakhstan, where she was on a settlement in the village of Fedorovka, that they were already taking her to church on a sled in winter, because she couldn’t walk on her own and all that. Well, okay, I read this letter and that’s it. And in the summer she comes. This one can't walk!

Father, apparently, gave me, as I now understand, many letters to read, he knew, of course, what I would tell... (laughs)… I once read a letter, it’s scary how a woman writes that she’s suffering from cancer. Father says to me: “Get something for her as a gift.” I collect it, give it to the woman, she takes it to her, and I think to myself: “What kind of package is there, a person is waiting for death, and the priest collected this and that for her.” And she was healed. Father died, but she lives.

Everyone we had came to their home and then sent parcels of food here. The money could not be transferred, so they would hide it in the parcel. Yes, and there were translations. Even if you have received the translation, you need to copy down the names and pray for them. Even my whole body ached to write down these names. We got up, I said, at four o’clock, then went to the service, stood there, read the synodics, and sometimes I felt so bad that I thought I could at least live to see communion. And when I take communion, I forget about everything. I’ll come to the house, the priest will go to rest, and I need to light the lamps there, get ready for the reception, and I’ll forget that it was bad. And, of course, Father’s grace gave me strength; he was so agile that I couldn’t keep up with him...

Question: Did he walk fast?

Quickly, everything was in motion, somehow in the kitchen I hung up white towels - one thing, another. He came out and said: “Hmm, there’s nothing to wipe your hands with,” brought some kind of rag and hung it up (laughs). He was very neat, loved everything beautiful, especially vestments... But the year he died, there were heavy rains. He was sick, and they kept pouring and pouring... And when he died, everything stopped, and during the funeral service the sun sparkled so much...

Question: Did he die at the Transfiguration? It turns out that he served for the last time on Trinity Sunday and then never left his cell?

Well, yes, Father Evgeny (Rumyantsev) was already serving at that time, gave him communion, and came. The priest also told his sister how to dress him, otherwise he says: “I’ll die, there won’t be any of the clergy who know how to dress me.” And she thought: “Well, how can it be, so many people come to see him, they venerate him and there will be no one”... But indeed there is only one Fr. Evgeny was there. In the morning we came to the service, I remember, at fifteen minutes to seven he died, we came to the service, and Fr. Evgeniy announces to us that now Fr. Tavrion walked away.

Question: Was he with him when the priest left?

No, there was no one. Even this young man who just wrote the book, Father Vladimir Vilgert, he was even in the hermitage at that time, but they didn’t tell him. That’s how he’s been put in isolation lately. No one was allowed in. There had already been persecution back then; it was carried out by those who had previously surrounded him.

Question: A Now you have a connection with those who are about. Did Tavrion come from Jelgava?

Yes, when August 13th is Memorial Day, they will come from Tallinn. They came last year and promised to come this year.

Hermitage near Jelgava, on the way to the grave of Fr. Tavriona, July 2010.

– Electricity bills have jumped again. There has been no hot water for three weeks now. The radiators in all the rooms have been barely warm for four years.
- Dear, this is all clear, but please explain to me, what is your fault?
- Stop, I’m not saying that I’m to blame for anything!
“Then why on earth did you, precious one, come to me?” I deal only with those people who do not deny their guilt. After all, I am not a Soviet-era house manager, I am an archpriest.

Have you ever encountered the sacrament called confession? The above is a true story that was told to me by an Orthodox priest. This plump man, every centimeter of whose cassock literally radiates complacency, serves the cause of God in my native Dnieper region.

I can assure you, I would not write what you are reading now - no. The reason for this is an involuntary curiosity. Misunderstandings in confession are such because they never happen again.

Cases when people visit the temple, as if to the Strasbourg court, have turned into a certain pattern and resemble not jokes, but a thorough sociological study.

What is confession?

This is hard labor. One of the recognized figures in this field once said: “Looking at myself in the mirror, I see in front of me the girl whom Chekhov described in his story “I want to sleep!” Year after year, decade after decade, I try to lull a naughty and capricious baby who, tossing and turning in bed, still does not fall asleep. And he will never sleep. You’re sure of it, but you still sing him a lullaby.”

- Listen, father, our village has lost its last school, for me, this is a great sin!
– Of course, but this sin is not on you, but on the state.
– And you know something else. Since January of this year they took it and cut the subsidy. And the children's therapist, such a bastard, transferred to the regional center, and now I take my granddaughter eighty kilometers away. Electric trains are idle because of the “fucking” Korean trains - you have to get there on an old Ikarus, and it’s a ten-hour journey. In addition, firewood has become more expensive.
“Well, I’m very sorry, but are we going to repent of our sins or not?”

I have been observing Ukraine for quite some time, and the further I go, the more whimsical the lines of human claims look. To some extent, I was lucky to find a time when a person could directly contact the local administration and hope, if not for a quick resolution of his difficulties, then at least for sympathy.

Believe it or not, even those in power in the regional centers did not hide behind the turnstiles and the security service - whoever needs it, come in, cry, complain, threaten. Naturally, the secretary would block the way to the main one with her size four breasts, but he could have been caught at least in the corridor.

Is something bothering you?

Great, write an official statement, receive a response, no less official, notification. I don’t like the answer - yes, for God’s sake, there are a lot of ways to “sprinkle” an official message. Anywhere – to the regional administration, to Kyiv, to the Verkhovna Rada, to Mr. Poroshenko’s administration, to the “native” prosecutor’s office, to the regional prosecutor’s office, to the Prosecutor General’s Office.

Only the Lord is not satisfied with officialdom; a sincere request is enough for Him. Write anywhere, the result is always the same: your appeal will be sent down to the local administration with the obligatory instruction to sort everything out. But from now on, even in some urban settlement Dorofeevka there is a “duty guard” at the entrance, as if in a district police department, as well as a turnstile that has set teeth on edge.

And the head does not even appear on the porch: a “back door”, an alley and his own car with a pot-bellied driver are prepared for him.

By the way, about Dorofeevka. One day, an official of the Investigative Committee, Vladimir Zubkov, and his investigators came there. The doors to the reception room opened. You should have seen the people who came there with their complaints. A whole crowd had gathered in front of the duty room and the turnstile.

I became an involuntary witness to what they were saying, and I felt sorry not so much for the so-called walkers, but for Zubkov’s “sledaks”. Do you know why? There were about five to ten locals, that is, “Dorofeevskys,” there.

But five hundred people from Western, Eastern and Central Ukraine came to this outback. There was even some “packed” guy from the suburbs of Kyiv who arrived in a “trump” BMW. Some people missed out on their pensions, some had their blood business “chopped off”, and some were imprisoned for no reason.

These people gathered here for one reason - where they came from, there were no resources left, and there was no faith even in Kyiv, which was littered with papers. Here are normal and lively guys from the investigative committee. What if they take it and help out? Even if they fail, you can at least see something of people in their eyes.

In short, the young investigators got the role of clergy, forced to bear the sins of their native state. Wiping beads of sweat from their foreheads, they stoically listened to the visitors, even the frankly crazy ones, offered them to leave all the necessary papers, and said something like a prayerful parting word: “Don’t worry so much, we will certainly sort everything out.”

Of course, most of these cases “safely” returned to where they “started” from, that is, local authorities “had the good fortune” to limit themselves to another unsubscribe. Tell me, what would you do if you were these investigators? Would you feel like human rights defenders?

Destroying hopes

I have been watching this ceremony of destruction of hopes for twenty years now. And I happened to see this ritual so often that everything that happens resembles a banal plot when an electrician rapes a housewife.

After some time, such “electricians” appear in Ukraine, and their names are those who stand up for human rights, regional representatives of the president, all these people in two thousand dollar suits organize receptions for ordinary people.

And these mere mortals are raped by men and women who come with their troubles and problems, and the boys and girls whom God put to work as investigators try to at least change something, but to no avail, and they become one of those who have once again failed hopes of the population.

Now clergymen act as “electricians”. Only today they receive their assignment not from Heaven, but from the very bottom. Loaders, security guards, managers come to them and their entire appearance says: “Who, if not you?”

However, God is not the regional administration. He lowers our complaints and prayers below the local white houses - to where the current government lives, that is, you and me. “What about our sins, will we repent, or will we wait a little longer?” I am sure that this is where the supply of hot water, a normal therapist in the local clinic, and a truly railway for electric trains begins.

God bless you!

2016, . All rights reserved.

Nikolai Pavlovich Zadornov

Cupid-father

BOOK ONE

CHAPTER FIRST

Egor Kuznetsov had long heard a lot about free Siberian life from Siberian migrants. Always, as long as he could remember, tramps went through the Urals to the Kama. These were a people exhausted by long wanderings, ragged and brutal in appearance, but with the peasants they were quiet and even submissive.

In the old days, when tramps were rare, Yegor’s father would sometimes let them into the hut on stormy nights.

“Oh, Kondrat, Kondrat,” the neighbors marveled at him, “how are you not afraid?” They are unknown people, how far from sin...

“God is merciful,” Kondrat always answered, “bread and salt will not allow you to sin.”

The tramps told their hospitable hosts how peasants lived in Siberia, what kind of land there was, rivers rich in fish, how many animals there were in the dense Siberian forests. Among the tramps there were lively storytellers who spoke as if from books. They told stories and fables, good and bad. Nevertheless, from their stories it turned out that even though they themselves had for some reason left Siberia, the country there was rich, there was a lot of land, but there was no one to live on it.

And it wasn’t just the vagabonds who talked about Mother Siberia. The village where the Kuznetsovs lived was located on the very bank of the Kama, and along it in those days there was a route to Siberia. Since his childhood, Yegor was accustomed to living with news about Siberia, he loved to listen to passing Siberians and was always curious about what was being transported there on barges or across the ice, what came from there, what life was like there, what the people were like. The idea that it would be nice to someday escape to Siberia took root in Yegor’s head from a young age. He also had different reasons for leaving his homeland. But for the time being, this desire was, as it were, hidden somewhere in a secret pantry in reserve; and only when Yegor had failures or disagreements with his fellow villagers, he took it out of its hiding place and consoled himself with the fact that someday he would leave his unlucky life here, gather his courage, cross to Siberia and begin to live there in his own way, and not as people would indicate .

And Yegor married a free Siberian woman. There were factories not far from the village. Peasants went there to work. Yegor also had the opportunity to live in smoking areas, on coal heaps and work on alloys. He had to live one winter at a nearby factory. There he met a nice, beautiful girl, the daughter of an Izvezheg sent to the plant from the Asian side of the Urals. Egor and Natalya fell in love with each other. The next year, Yegor persuaded his father to send matchmakers, and in the interim, before Lent, the wedding took place.

Meanwhile, in recent years, traffic to Siberia has intensified. This began even before the “manifesto”, after a rumor spread among the people that they had discovered the Amur River, which flows through a rich region, that there was good land there, a great abundance of animals and fish, but no population, and that people would soon be called to live there .

“First they will call the hunters, but if hunters are not found, they will send slaves,” grandfather Kondrat said about this.

Over the years, the old man began to give up, although he could still grind all day in the cold without a hat, but Yegor became the head of the house.

After the “manifesto” a lot of people flocked to Siberia, guns, goods and cars were brought there, soldiers and prisoners were driven there, merchants, priests, officials were traveling, free migrants and migrants by lot were migrating out, couriers were galloping.

Soon, as the grandfather predicted, the people began to call out for hunters to populate new lands on the Amur. Officials traveled to the villages and explained to the peasants that those who go there, the displaced, are provided with benefits. All old arrears were removed from them, and in new places they were allocated land, as much as they could cultivate, they promised not to take taxes, and they were all exempted, together with their children, from conscription duty.

It became cramped and difficult for Yegor to live in his old place. Life was changing, the village grew, there were more people, but there was not enough land. Trade was eating away at the men. Taverns grew throughout the Kama villages like mushrooms after rain. In winter, the rich had barns full of grain, while the poor trampled black paths in the snow, running around their neighbors with baskets.

Yegor did not get along with the village bigwigs, who little by little took the entire village into their hands. The rich had long been planning to flog him for his transverse character. One Sunday, a “training” was going on at the secular hut: the peasants were beaten with peace for various offenses. In those days, it happened that an innocent person was flogged from time to time with vines in front of the whole people, solely so that he too would be disgraced, so that he too would be equalized with all the tattered and torn village people. This custom was not translated into Rus' for a long time.

Yegor walked past a worldly hut. He was a strong and tough guy, but the men, at the instigation of the rich old men, still approached him: it was not unusual for them that guys even healthier than him would lie down on their bellies and lift up their shirts. As soon as one of the men, without looking Yegor in the eyes, said what the old men ordered, Kuznetsov shook all over, his face became distorted. Clenching his fists, he rushed at the men and shouted at them so that they retreated, and no one touched him again since then.

The Kuznetsovs, like all residents of the village, were state peasants before the “manifesto”. They did not know the landowner before and lived more freely than serfs. Yegor always distinguished himself from the forced landowner peasants and was proud of it. Moreover, he was still young, bold-tongued and strong-armed, and could stand up for himself on occasion.

If the village bigwigs had managed to humiliate him and flog him in public, they would probably have stopped being angry with him and would have given him some concessions from society. But Yegor did not allow himself to be offended, and they kept him strict. He suffered a lot for his disobedience.

Yegor did not live well. And he couldn’t get rich in his old place. He worked diligently on his farm, but did not feel any particular interest or passion for this work. He was not distinguished by greed and self-interest. Life constrained him all around, and his strength had nowhere to roam.

“You, Yegor Kondratyich, live with coolness,” a village teacher once said to him.

- What a life this is! - Egor answered. “She’s going sideways, I just can’t get along with fists, damn them!”

– You need to move to Siberia!

- Why can’t I live here? – Yegor was wary, not knowing how to understand such speech.

“You could move mountains there, but here they won’t give you a way.” All your strength will go sour here. And there life is freer.

Yegor didn’t answer, but he remembered these words. He himself believed that not the whole world was inhabited by harmful people and that there were good people living somewhere. Siberia seemed to him like such a country.

When they began to call out to the hunters on the Amur, the matter was decided by itself, as if the Kuznetsovs were just waiting for this. In addition, the time was not far off when Yegor’s younger brother, Fedyushka, was to become a soldier. There was no recruitment on the Amur.