Overheard. Good and funny stories

Priest Nikolai Agafonov

Uninvented stories. stories

Approved for distribution by the Publishing Council of the Russian Orthodox Church IS 12-218-1567

© Agafonov Nikolai, Priest, 2013

© Nikea Publishing House, 2013

All rights reserved. No part of the electronic version of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means, including posting on the Internet and corporate networks, for private and public use, without the written permission of the copyright owner.

©The electronic version of the book was prepared by LitRes

Foreword

The wonderful is always with us, but we do not notice it. It tries to speak to us, but we do not hear it, because we have become deaf from the roar of godless civilization. It walks beside us, breathes right into the back of our heads. But we do not feel it, for our senses have been dulled by the innumerable temptations of this age. It runs ahead and looks directly into the eyes, but we do not see it. We are blinded by our false greatness - the greatness of a man who can move mountains without any faith, only with the help of soulless technological progress. And if we suddenly see or hear, then we hasten to bypass, pretend that we did not notice, did not hear. Indeed, in the secret of our being, we guess that, having accepted the MIRACLE as the reality of our life, we will have to change our life. We must become restless in this world and holy fools for the reasonable of this world. And this is already scary or, on the contrary, so funny that you want to cry.

Archpriest Nikolai Agafonov

Died in the line of duty

Non-criminal history

There is no greater love than if a man lays down his life for his friends.

And when he has already finished over everyone, then he will also say to us: “Come out,” he will say, “and you too! Come out drunk, come out weak, come out scum!” And we will all go out without shame and stand. And he will say: “You pigs! The image of the animal and its seal; but come and you!” And the wise will say, the prudent will say: “Lord! Why do you accept these?" And he will say: “Therefore I will accept them, wise ones, therefore I will accept them, wise ones, because not a single one of these considered himself worthy of this ...”

F. M. Dostoevsky. Crime and punishment

It was already ten o'clock in the evening when a sharp bell rang in the diocesan administration. Stepan Semyonovich, the night watchman, who had just laid down to rest, grumbling with displeasure: "Who is this hard to wear?" Without even asking who was calling, he called out in annoyance as he stopped in front of the door:

“There’s no one here, come tomorrow morning!”

– Urgent telegram, accept and sign.

Having received the telegram, the watchman brought it to his closet, turned on the table lamp and, putting on his glasses, began to read: “On July 27, 1979, Archpriest Fyodor Mirolyubov died tragically in the line of duty, we are waiting for further instructions. Church Council of St. Nicholas Church in the village of Buzikhino.

- The Kingdom of Heaven to the servant of God's father Fyodor, - Stepan Semyonovich said sympathetically and once again read the telegram aloud. The wording was embarrassing: “He died in the line of duty ...” This did not fit at all with the priestly rank.

“Well, there is a policeman or a fireman, in extreme cases a watchman, don’t bring, of course, Lord, this is still understandable, but Father Fyodor?” Stepan Semyonovich shrugged his shoulders in bewilderment.

He knew Father Fyodor well when he was still serving in the cathedral. Batiushka differed from other clerics of the cathedral by his simplicity of communication and sympathetic heart, for which he was loved by the parishioners. Ten years ago, Father Fyodor had a great grief in the family - his only son Sergei was killed. It happened when Sergei hurried home to please his parents with a passed exam at the medical institute, although Father Fyodor dreamed that his son would study at the seminary.

“But since he chose the path not of a spiritual, but of a bodily doctor, it doesn’t matter - God grant him happiness ... He will treat me in my old age,” Father Fyodor said to Stepan Semenovich when they were sitting at tea in the gatehouse of the cathedral. It was then that they were caught by this terrible news.

On the way from the institute, Sergey saw how four guys were beating up the fifth right next to the bus stop. The women at the bus stop tried to reason with the hooligans with shouts, but they, not paying attention, thrashed the already lying man with their feet. The men standing at the bus stop looked away shyly. Sergei, without hesitation, rushed to the rescue. Who stabbed him with a knife, the investigation figured out only a month later. But what is the use of this, no one could return his son to his father Fedor.

Forty days after the death of his son, Father Fyodor served funeral masses and memorial services every day. And as forty days passed, they often began to notice Father Fyodor in a hop. Sometimes, he came to the service drunk. But they tried not to reproach, understanding his condition, they sympathized with him. However, it soon became increasingly difficult to do so. The bishop several times transferred Father Fyodor to the position of a psalmist, in order to correct himself from drinking wine. But one incident forced Vladyka to take extreme measures and fire Father Fyodor for the staff.

Once, having received a monthly salary, Father Fyodor went into a wine glass, which was not far from the cathedral. The regulars of this establishment treated the priest with respect, for out of his kindness he regaled them at his own expense. That day was the anniversary of his son's death, and Father Fyodor, throwing his entire salary on the counter, ordered to treat everyone who wished all evening. The storm of enthusiasm that arose in the tavern turned into a solemn procession at the end of the drinking. A stretcher was brought from a nearby construction site, Father Fyodor was hoisted on them and, declaring him the Great Pope of the Rumochnaya, they carried him home through the entire block. After this incident, Father Fyodor fell for the state. For two years he was without ministry before his appointment to the Buzikhinsky parish.

Stepan Semyonovich re-read the telegram for the third time and, sighing, began to dial the number of Vladyka's home telephone. Vladyka Slava's cell-attendant picked up the phone.

- His Eminence is busy, read the telegram to me, I will write it down, then I will pass it on.

The content of the telegram puzzled Slava no less than the watchman. He began to think: “To die tragically in our time is a couple of trifles, which very often happens. For example, last year a protodeacon and his wife died in a car accident. But what about the job duties? What can happen during worship? Probably, these Buzikhins got something wrong.”

Slava was from those places and knew the village of Buzikhino well. It was famous for the obstinate character of the villagers. The bishop also had to face the unbridled temper of the Buzikhins. The Buzikhinsky parish gave him more trouble than all the other parishes of the diocese put together. Whatever priest the bishop assigned to them, he did not stay there for a long time. It will last a year, well, another one at the most - and complaints, letters, threats begin. No one could please the Buzikhins. In one year, three abbots had to be replaced. The bishop became angry, for two months he did not appoint anyone to them at all. For these two months, the Buzikhins, like bespriests, themselves read and sang in church. Only from this there is little consolation, you can’t serve mass without a priest, they began to ask the priest. The bishop says to them:

– I don’t have a priest for you, no one wants to go to your parish!

But they do not back down, they ask, they beg:

- At least someone, at least for a while, otherwise Easter is approaching! How is it on such a great holiday without a father? Sin.

The bishop took pity on them, summoned Archpriest Fyodor Mirolyubov, who was then out of state, and said to him:

- I give you, father Fyodor, the last chance for correction, I appoint you as rector in Buzikhino, if you stay there for three years, I will forgive everything.

Father Fyodor bowed at the feet of the bishop for joy and, having sworn that for a month now he had not taken a single gram in his mouth, he went contentedly to his destination.

A month passes, another, a year. No one sends complaints to the bishop. This pleases His Eminence, but at the same time it worries: it is strange that there are no complaints. He sends the dean's father, Leonid Zvyakin, to find out how things are going. Father Leonid went, reports:

– Everything is in order, the parishioners are happy, the church council is happy, Father Fyodor is also happy.

The bishop marveled at such a miracle, and with him all the diocesan workers, but they began to wait: it cannot be that the second year would last.

But another year passed, the third went. The bishop could not bear it, he calls Father Fyodor and asks:

- Tell me, father Fyodor, how did you manage to find a common language with the Buzikhins?

“And it was not difficult,” Father Fyodor answers. - As soon as I came to them, I immediately realized their main weakness, and played on it.

- How is that? the bishop was surprised.

“But I understood, Vladyka, that the Buzikhins are an unreasonably proud people, they don’t like to be taught, so I told them at the first sermon: so, they say, and so, brothers and sisters, do you know for what purpose I did the bishop appoint you? They immediately became alert: “For what purpose?” “And for such a purpose, my beloved, that you guide me on the true path.” Here they were completely gaping in surprise, and I continued to go on: “I didn’t finish any seminaries, but from childhood I sang and read in the kliros, and therefore I went to the priesthood as if semi-literate. And due to lack of education, he began to drink excessively, for which he was dismissed from the service for the state. They nodded their heads in sympathy. “And, left,” I say, “without means of subsistence, I eked out a miserable existence outside the state. To top it all, my wife left me, not wanting to share my fate with me. When I said that, tears welled up in my eyes. I look, and the parishioners have wet eyes. “So it would be an abyss for me,” I continue, “yes, our lord, God bless him, realized with his bright mind that it was necessary for me to be appointed to your parish for my own salvation, and he says to me: “No one, Father Fyodor, you he cannot help in the whole diocese, except for the Buzikhins, for wise, kind and pious people live in this village. They will guide you on the right path." Therefore, I beg and pray, dear brothers and sisters, do not leave me with your wise advice, support me, and point out where I am wrong. For from now on I entrust my fate into your hands. Since then we have been living in peace and harmony.

Good true stories from the lives of ordinary people that inspire and make life happier and more fun!

90s. I will not write that they lived poorly (but that's how it was). I am a teenage girl. My elderly neighbor began to give me her clothes and jewelry from her youth when she wore the same size. They were surprisingly in perfect condition, did not look old-fashioned. After some time, I began to notice similar things on other girls. Only now I realized that a neighbor bought new things and gave them to me under the guise of old and unnecessary ones, because she understood how important it is to look beautiful at this age.

One summer I went home angry and tired, got caught in the rain and got soaked to the skin, so much so that the light dress began to shine through, and the cosmetics spread. I go, I catch the persistent glances of passers-by and get annoyed. What, you yourself have never been in such a situation ?! No, they are still looking at it, condemningly. In general, I reached the entrance and realized that I had been walking all the way, tightly clutching my purse and ... umbrella to my chest.

Standing with my daughter in the store. She was then three years old. She is wearing a white fur coat, a fluffy hat, high boots with beads. The eyes are big, big, the cheeks are burning from the cold. I turn around at the whimpering of a five-year-old boy: “Mom, I want such a girl! Such a beautiful one! I can't live without her!" We laughed with his mother, the kids met, grew up. They are getting married this year.

I'm on the bus. It got boring, I remembered the old joke. Staring at the girl, I look at her for a long time. Then I take the phone and say: "Chief, I found her." And this person, not at all lost, grabs her phone and says: “I slept, I demand an urgent evacuation.” I'm shocked. The whole bus was laughing.

After a car accident I can’t talk, literally, so I carry a notebook with a pen with me to somehow communicate with people. When I was in the hospital, my childhood friend came to me every day and discussed various topics with me. He began and patiently waited for an answer from me while I wrote it on paper, and then he began to challenge or support. I appreciate it, I appreciate this moment.

I like to sing in the bath, but only when my parents are not at home, since my singing is more like a howl of a sick dog. So, I stand once in the shower, I sing, I forgot that all my relatives are at home. When I left the bathroom, in front of me in the corridor I found my parents and sister sitting on chairs, clapping for me. Dad even dug up an artificial flower somewhere.

As children we lived in poverty, so my parents didn't have the money to take me to the hairdresser and cut the ends of my hair. This function was performed by my father. At school, I was terribly embarrassed about this, but now I understand how stupid I was, because not all daughters can boast that their father is good at sewing on a sewing machine, knows how to stitch shoes, cut, paint, build, change plumbing, cook food ... I'm proud of him .

In the 90s when I was five years old, and my brother is eight, my parents calmly left us alone at home and went to work. They didn’t give money, there were no sweets / chocolate / sweets. But we are children, we can’t live without sweets))) Then my brother took out my mother’s cookbook, we chose a simple recipe, went to the neighbors, collected the necessary ingredients and baked goodies ourselves!))) And then again we went to the neighbors and treated everyone, who shared. It was cool)))

I came up with the Five Minute Tenderness in my family. One has only to say: “And now the Five Minute of Tenderness,” as the husband and son drop their business and go to hug me, taking the cat along the way (he also participates in the Five Minute of Tenderness).

Priest Nikolai Agafonov

Uninvented stories. stories

Approved for distribution by the Publishing Council of the Russian Orthodox Church IS 12-218-1567

© Agafonov Nikolai, Priest, 2013

© Nikea Publishing House, 2013

All rights reserved. No part of the electronic version of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means, including posting on the Internet and corporate networks, for private and public use, without the written permission of the copyright owner.

©The electronic version of the book was prepared by Litres (www.litres.ru)

Foreword

The wonderful is always with us, but we do not notice it. It tries to speak to us, but we do not hear it, because we have become deaf from the roar of godless civilization. It walks beside us, breathes right into the back of our heads. But we do not feel it, for our senses have been dulled by the innumerable temptations of this age. It runs ahead and looks directly into the eyes, but we do not see it. We are blinded by our false greatness - the greatness of a man who can move mountains without any faith, only with the help of soulless technological progress. And if we suddenly see or hear, then we hasten to bypass, pretend that we did not notice, did not hear. Indeed, in the secret of our being, we guess that, having accepted the MIRACLE as the reality of our life, we will have to change our life. We must become restless in this world and holy fools for the reasonable of this world. And this is already scary or, on the contrary, so funny that you want to cry.

Archpriest Nikolai Agafonov

Died in the line of duty

Non-criminal history

There is no greater love than if a man lays down his life for his friends.

And when he has already finished over everyone, then he will also say to us: “Come out,” he will say, “and you too! Come out drunk, come out weak, come out scum!” And we will all go out without shame and stand. And he will say: “You pigs! The image of the animal and its seal; but come and you!” And the wise will say, the prudent will say: “Lord! Why do you accept these?" And he will say: “Therefore I will accept them, wise ones, therefore I will accept them, wise ones, because not a single one of these considered himself worthy of this ...”

F. M. Dostoevsky.

Crime and Punishment

It was already ten o'clock in the evening when a sharp bell rang in the diocesan administration. Stepan Semyonovich, the night watchman, who had just laid down to rest, grumbling with displeasure: "Who is this hard to wear?" Without even asking who was calling, he called out in annoyance as he stopped in front of the door:

“There’s no one here, come tomorrow morning!”

– Urgent telegram, accept and sign.

Having received the telegram, the watchman brought it to his closet, turned on the table lamp and, putting on his glasses, began to read: “On July 27, 1979, Archpriest Fyodor Mirolyubov died tragically in the line of duty, we are waiting for further instructions. Church Council of St. Nicholas Church in the village of Buzikhino.

- The Kingdom of Heaven to the servant of God's father Fyodor, - Stepan Semyonovich said sympathetically and once again read the telegram aloud. The wording was embarrassing: “He died in the line of duty ...” This did not fit at all with the priestly rank.

“Well, there is a policeman or a fireman, in extreme cases a watchman, don’t bring, of course, Lord, this is still understandable, but Father Fyodor?” Stepan Semyonovich shrugged his shoulders in bewilderment.

He knew Father Fyodor well when he was still serving in the cathedral. Batiushka differed from other clerics of the cathedral by his simplicity of communication and sympathetic heart, for which he was loved by the parishioners. Ten years ago, Father Fyodor had a great grief in the family - his only son Sergei was killed. It happened when Sergei hurried home to please his parents with a passed exam at the medical institute, although Father Fyodor dreamed that his son would study at the seminary.

“But since he chose the path not of a spiritual, but of a bodily doctor, it doesn’t matter - God grant him happiness ... He will treat me in my old age,” Father Fyodor said to Stepan Semenovich when they were sitting at tea in the gatehouse of the cathedral. It was then that they were caught by this terrible news.

On the way from the institute, Sergey saw how four guys were beating up the fifth right next to the bus stop. The women at the bus stop tried to reason with the hooligans with shouts, but they, not paying attention, thrashed the already lying man with their feet. The men standing at the bus stop looked away shyly. Sergei, without hesitation, rushed to the rescue. Who stabbed him with a knife, the investigation figured out only a month later. But what is the use of this, no one could return his son to his father Fedor.

Nikolai Agafonov.

Uninvented Stories (compilation)

Approved for distribution by the Publishing Council of the Russian Orthodox Church IS 12-218-1567

© Agafonov Nikolai, Priest, 2013

© Nikea Publishing House, 2013

All rights reserved. No part of the electronic version of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means, including posting on the Internet and corporate networks, for private and public use, without the written permission of the copyright owner.

©The electronic version of the book was prepared by Litres (www.litres.ru)

Foreword

The wonderful is always with us, but we do not notice it. It tries to speak to us, but we do not hear it, because we have become deaf from the roar of godless civilization. It walks beside us, breathes right into the back of our heads. But we do not feel it, for our senses have been dulled by the innumerable temptations of this age. It runs ahead and looks directly into the eyes, but we do not see it. We are blinded by our false greatness - the greatness of a man who can move mountains without any faith, only with the help of soulless technological progress. And if we suddenly see or hear, then we hasten to bypass, pretend that we did not notice, did not hear. Indeed, in the secret of our being, we guess that, having accepted the MIRACLE as the reality of our life, we will have to change our life. We must become restless in this world and holy fools for the reasonable of this world. And this is already scary or, on the contrary, so funny that you want to cry.

Archpriest Nikolai Agafonov

Died in the line of duty
Non-criminal history

There is no greater love than if a man lays down his life for his friends.

In. 15:13

And when he has already finished over everyone, then he will also say to us: “Come out,” he will say, “and you too! Come out drunk, come out weak, come out scum!” And we will all go out without shame and stand. And he will say: “You pigs! The image of the animal and its seal; but come and you!” And the wise will say, the prudent will say: “Lord! Why do you accept these?" And he will say: “Therefore I will accept them, wise ones, therefore I will accept them, wise ones, because not a single one of these considered himself worthy of this ...”

F. M. Dostoevsky.

Crime and Punishment

It was already ten o'clock in the evening when a sharp bell rang in the diocesan administration. Stepan Semyonovich, the night watchman, who had just laid down to rest, grumbling with displeasure: "Who is this hard to wear?" Without even asking who was calling, he called out in annoyance as he stopped in front of the door:

“There’s no one here, come tomorrow morning!”

– Urgent telegram, accept and sign.

Having received the telegram, the watchman brought it to his closet, turned on the table lamp and, putting on his glasses, began to read: “On July 27, 1979, Archpriest Fyodor Mirolyubov died tragically in the line of duty, we are waiting for further instructions.

Church Council of St. Nicholas Church in the village of Buzikhino.

- The Kingdom of Heaven to the servant of God's father Fyodor, - Stepan Semyonovich said sympathetically and once again read the telegram aloud. The wording was embarrassing: “He died in the line of duty ...” This did not fit at all with the priestly rank.

“Well, there is a policeman or a fireman, in extreme cases a watchman, don’t bring, of course, Lord, this is still understandable, but Father Fyodor?” Stepan Semyonovich shrugged his shoulders in bewilderment.

He knew Father Fyodor well when he was still serving in the cathedral. Batiushka differed from other clerics of the cathedral by his simplicity of communication and sympathetic heart, for which he was loved by the parishioners. Ten years ago, Father Fyodor had a great grief in the family - his only son Sergei was killed. It happened when Sergei hurried home to please his parents with a passed exam at the medical institute, although Father Fyodor dreamed that his son would study at the seminary.

“But since he chose the path not of a spiritual, but of a bodily doctor, it doesn’t matter - God grant him happiness ... He will treat me in my old age,” Father Fyodor said to Stepan Semenovich when they were sitting at tea in the gatehouse of the cathedral. It was then that they were caught by this terrible news.

On the way from the institute, Sergey saw how four guys were beating up the fifth right next to the bus stop. The women at the bus stop tried to reason with the hooligans with shouts, but they, not paying attention, thrashed the already lying man with their feet. The men standing at the bus stop looked away shyly. Sergei, without hesitation, rushed to the rescue. Who stabbed him with a knife, the investigation figured out only a month later. But what is the use of this, no one could return his son to his father Fedor.

Forty days after the death of his son, Father Fyodor served funeral masses and memorial services every day. And as forty days passed, they often began to notice Father Fyodor in a hop. Sometimes, he came to the service drunk. But they tried not to reproach, understanding his condition, they sympathized with him. However, it soon became increasingly difficult to do so. The bishop several times transferred Father Fyodor to the position of a psalmist, in order to correct himself from drinking wine. But one incident forced Vladyka to take extreme measures and fire Father Fyodor for the staff.

Once, having received a monthly salary, Father Fyodor went into a wine glass, which was not far from the cathedral. The regulars of this establishment treated the priest with respect, for out of his kindness he regaled them at his own expense. That day was the anniversary of his son's death, and Father Fyodor, throwing his entire salary on the counter, ordered to treat everyone who wished all evening. The storm of enthusiasm that arose in the tavern turned into a solemn procession at the end of the drinking. A stretcher was brought from a nearby construction site, Father Fyodor was hoisted on them and, declaring him the Great Pope of the Rumochnaya, they carried him home through the entire block. After this incident, Father Fyodor fell for the state. For two years he was without ministry before his appointment to the Buzikhinsky parish.

Stepan Semyonovich re-read the telegram for the third time and, sighing, began to dial the number of Vladyka's home telephone. Vladyka Slava's cell-attendant picked up the phone.

- His Eminence is busy, read the telegram to me, I will write it down, then I will pass it on.

The content of the telegram puzzled Slava no less than the watchman. He began to think: “To die tragically in our time is a couple of trifles, which very often happens. For example, last year a protodeacon and his wife died in a car accident. But what about the job duties? What can happen during worship? Probably, these Buzikhins got something wrong.”

Slava was from those places and knew the village of Buzikhino well. It was famous for the obstinate character of the villagers. The bishop also had to face the unbridled temper of the Buzikhins. The Buzikhinsky parish gave him more trouble than all the other parishes of the diocese put together. Whatever priest the bishop assigned to them, he did not stay there for a long time. It will last a year, well, another one at the most - and complaints, letters, threats begin. No one could please the Buzikhins. In one year, three abbots had to be replaced. The bishop became angry, for two months he did not appoint anyone to them at all. For these two months, the Buzikhins, like bespriests, themselves read and sang in church. Only from this there is little consolation, you can’t serve mass without a priest, they began to ask the priest. The bishop says to them:

– I don’t have a priest for you, no one wants to go to your parish!

But they do not back down, they ask, they beg:

- At least someone, at least for a while, otherwise Easter is approaching! How is it on such a great holiday without a father? Sin.

The bishop took pity on them, summoned Archpriest Fyodor Mirolyubov, who was then out of state, and said to him:

- I give you, father Fyodor, the last chance for correction, I appoint you as rector in Buzikhino, if you stay there for three years, I will forgive everything.

Father Fyodor bowed at the feet of the bishop for joy and, having sworn that for a month now he had not taken a single gram in his mouth, he went contentedly to his destination.

A month passes, another, a year. No one sends complaints to the bishop. This pleases His Eminence, but at the same time it worries: it is strange that there are no complaints. He sends the dean's father, Leonid Zvyakin, to find out how things are going. Father Leonid went, reports:

– Everything is in order, the parishioners are happy, the church council is happy, Father Fyodor is also happy.

The bishop marveled at such a miracle, and with him all the diocesan workers, but they began to wait: it cannot be that the second year would last.

But another year passed, the third went. The bishop could not bear it, he calls Father Fyodor and asks:

- Tell me, father Fyodor, how did you manage to find a common language with the Buzikhins?

“And it was not difficult,” Father Fyodor answers. - As soon as I came to them, I immediately realized their main weakness, and played on it.

- How is that? the bishop was surprised.

“But I understood, Vladyka, that the Buzikhins are an unreasonably proud people, they don’t like to be taught, so I told them at the first sermon: so, they say, and so, brothers and sisters, do you know for what purpose I did the bishop appoint you? They immediately became alert: “For what purpose?” “And for such a purpose, my beloved, that you guide me on the true path.” Here they were completely gaping in surprise, and I continued to go on: “I didn’t finish any seminaries, but from childhood I sang and read in the kliros, and therefore I went to the priesthood as if semi-literate. And due to lack of education, he began to drink excessively, for which he was dismissed from the service for the state. They nodded their heads in sympathy. “And, left,” I say, “without means of subsistence, I eked out a miserable existence outside the state. To top it all, my wife left me, not wanting to share my fate with me. When I said that, tears welled up in my eyes. I look, and the parishioners have wet eyes. “So it would be an abyss for me,” I continue, “yes, our lord, God bless him, realized with his bright mind that it was necessary for me to be appointed to your parish for my own salvation, and he says to me: “No one, Father Fyodor, you he cannot help in the whole diocese, except for the Buzikhins, for wise, kind and pious people live in this village. They will guide you on the right path." Therefore, I beg and pray, dear brothers and sisters, do not leave me with your wise advice, support me, and point out where I am wrong. For from now on I entrust my fate into your hands. Since then we have been living in peace and harmony.

This story, however, made a depressing impression on the bishop.

- What is it, Father Fyodor? How dare you attribute words to me that I don't utter? I sent you as a shepherd, but you came to the parish like a lost sheep. It turns out that you are not tending the flock, but she is tending you?

“But for me,” Father Fyodor answers, “it doesn’t matter who grazes whom, as long as there is peace and everyone is happy.”

This answer completely pissed off the bishop, and he sent Father Fyodor out of state.

The Buzikhins did not accept the newly sent priest at all and threatened that if Father Fyodor was not returned to them, they would reach the patriarch himself, but would not retreat from their own. The most zealous suggested luring the bishop to the parish and turning his car upside down, and not turning it back until Father Fyodor was returned. But the bishop had already cooled down and decided not to start a scandal far. And he returned Father Fyodor to the Buzikhins.

Five years have passed since that time. And now Slava was holding the telegram, wondering what could have happened in Buzikhino.

And this is what happened in Buzikhin. Father Fyodor always woke up early and never stayed in bed, after washing himself, he read the rule. This is how each day began. But this morning, opening his eyes, he spent almost half an hour lying in bed with a blissful smile: at night he saw his dead mother. Father Fyodor rarely saw dreams, but here he was so unusual, so light and bright.

Father Fyodor himself in a dream was just a boy, Fedya, riding a horse through their native village, and his mother came out of the house to meet him and shouted: “Fedya, give the horse a rest, tomorrow you will go to the fair with your father.” At these words, Father Fyodor woke up, but his heart continued to beat joyfully, and he smiled dreamily, remembering his childhood. He considered seeing his mother in a dream a good sign, which means that her soul is calm, because prayers for her repose are constantly offered in the church for her.

Glancing at the wall clocks, he groaned out of bed and wandered over to the washstand. After the prayer, as usual, he went to the kitchen to drink tea, and after drinking, he immediately settled down to read the newspapers he had just brought. The door opened slightly and the swirling head of Petka, the grandson of the church bell ringer Paramon, appeared.

- Father Fyodor, and I brought you crucians, fresh ones, I just caught them.

“Come on in, show me your catch,” Father Fyodor boomed good-naturedly.

The arrival of Petya was always a joyful event for Father Fyodor, he loved this little boy, who somehow reminded him of his late son. “Oh, if he had passed by, would not have orphaned his father, now I would probably have grandchildren. But that means it is pleasing to God,” Father Fyodor thought painfully.

He didn’t leave Petka without a gift, then he would stuff his pockets full of sweets, then gingerbread. But, of course, he understood that Petya did not come to him for this, and he was painfully curious, he asked Father Fyodor about everything, and sometimes he asked such tricky questions that you would not immediately answer.

“Little crucians,” Petya justified himself, embarrassedly holding out a plastic bag with a dozen small, palm-sized crucians.

“Every gift is good,” Father Fyodor boomed, putting crucian carp in the refrigerator. - And the most important thing is that from the labor of his hands he brought a gift. And this is what I have for you. - And with these words, he handed Petka a large chocolate bar.

Thanking him, Petya turned the chocolate over in his hand and tried to put it in his pocket, but the chocolate didn't come out, and then he deftly slipped it into his bosom.

- Uh, brother, it won’t work like that, your belly is hot, the chocolate will melt - and you won’t bring it home, it’s better to wrap it in a newspaper. And now, if you're not in a hurry, sit down and have some tea.

- Thank you, father, my mother milked the cow, so I already drank the milk.

“Sit down anyway, tell me something.

- Father Fyodor, my grandfather tells me that when I grow up, I will receive a recommendation from you and enter the seminary, and then I will be a priest like you.

- Yes, you will be even better than me. I'm illiterate, I didn't study in seminaries, I didn't have those years, and there weren't any seminaries back then.

- So you say "illiterate", but how do you know everything?

- I read the Bible, there are some other books. A little I know.

– And dad says that there is nothing to do in the seminary, since soon the Church will wither away, but it’s better to go to an agricultural institute and become an agronomist, like him.

“Well, your dad said,” Father Fyodor chuckled. “I will die, your father will die, you will someday die, but the Church will stand forever, until the end of time.”

“I think so too,” Petya agreed. - Here is our church for how many years it has been standing, and nothing can be done to it, but the club seems to have been recently built, and a crack has gone along the wall. Grandfather says that they used to build firmly, they kneaded the solution on the eggs.

“Here, brother, it’s not about the eggs. When I said that the Church will stand forever, I did not mean our temple, it is the work of human hands, and it can collapse. Yes, and how many churches and monasteries have been blown up and broken in my lifetime, but the Church lives on. The Church is all of us who believe in Christ, and He is the head of our Church. So, even though your father is reputed to be literate in the village, his speeches are unwise.

- How to become wise? How much do you need to study, more than a father, or what? Petya was puzzled.

- But how can I tell you ... I met people who were completely illiterate, but wise. “The beginning of wisdom is the fear of the Lord,” says the Holy Scriptures.

Petya narrowed his eyes slyly.

– Last time you said that you have to love God. How can you love and fear at the same time?

- Do you love your mother?

- Of course.

- Are you afraid of her?

No, she doesn't beat me like her father does.

“Are you afraid to do something that would make your mother very upset?”

"I'm afraid," Petya laughed.

- Well, then, then, I must understand what kind of "fear of the Lord" is.

Their conversation was interrupted by a knock on the door. The mother-in-law of the party organizer of the collective farm, Ksenia Stepanovna, entered. She crossed herself on the icon and approached Father Fyodor for a blessing.

- I have a conversation, father, alone with you. - And cast a sidelong glance at Petka.

He, realizing that his presence is undesirable, said goodbye, darted through the door.

“So, father,” Semyonovna began in a conspiratorial voice, “you know that my Klavka gave birth to a little boy, for two months now, as an unbaptized one. My heart ached all over: the unmarried themselves, one might say, live in fornication, so at least baptize the granddaughter, otherwise God forbid until trouble.

- Well, why don’t you bear to baptize? Father Fyodor asked, knowing full well why the son of the party organizer was not carried to church.

- What are you, father, God is with you, is it possible? What is his position! Yes, he doesn't mind. Just now, he says to me: "Baptize, mother, son so that no one sees."

- Well, what a good deed, if necessary - we will baptize secretly. When was the christening scheduled?

- Come on, father, now to us, everything is ready. The son-in-law left for work, and his brother, who arrived from the city, will be the godfather. And then he leaves - without a godfather, how?

“Yes, yes,” Father Fyodor drawled meaningfully, “there is no christening without godfathers.

- And there is a godfather, my niece, Froska's daughter. Well, I’ll go, father, I’ll prepare everything, and you follow along the backyards, through the gardens.

“Don’t study, I know…

Semyonovna went out, and Father Fyodor slowly began to get ready. First of all, I checked the accessories for baptism, looked at the light vial with holy myrrh, it was already almost at the bottom. "Enough for now, and share tomorrow." He put it all in a small suitcase, put the Gospel, and on top of everything was a vestment. He put on his old cassock and, going out, went through the vegetable gardens with potatoes along the path to the party organizer's house.

In the spacious bright room there was already a basin of water, and three candles were attached to it. The brother of the party organizer came in.

“Vasily,” he introduced himself, holding out his hand to Father Fyodor.

– Archpriest Fyodor Mirolyubov, rector of the St. Nicholas Church in the village of Buzikhino.

From such a long title, Vasily was embarrassed and, blinking in confusion, asked:

- And how to call by patronymic?

“But you don’t need a patronymic, call it simpler: father Fyodor or father,” Father Fyodor answered, satisfied with the effect produced.

- Father Fyodor, father, tell me what to do. I have never participated in this ceremony.

“Not a rite, but a Sacrament,” Father Fyodor impressively corrected the completely bewildered Vasily. “And you don’t have to do anything, stand here and hold your godson.

The godfather, fourteen-year-old Anyutka, with a baby in her arms, went into the room. The party organizer's wife peered into the room with restless curiosity.

“But mother is not supposed to be at the christening,” Father Fyodor said sternly.

“Go, go, daughter,” Semyonovna waved her hands at her. - We'll call you later.

Father Fyodor slowly performed the baptism, then called the boy's mother, and after a brief sermon on the benefits of raising children in the Christian faith, he blessed the mother by reading a prayer over her.

“And now, father, we ask you to come to the table, we must celebrate the christening and drink for the health of my grandson,” Semyonovna bustled.

In the kitchen, as spacious as the upper room, a table was set, on which one could not count the pickles: pickled cucumbers, tomatoes, sauerkraut, salted mushrooms with sour cream and fatty herring, cut into large slices, sprinkled with onion rings and poured with oil. In the middle of the table was hoisted a liter bottle with a glass-clear liquid. Nearby, in a large bowl, steamed boiled potatoes sprinkled with green onions. There was something to scatter the eyes. Father Fyodor looked respectfully at the bottle.

Semyonovna, catching Father Fyodor's glance, quickly explained:

- Pure pervak, she kicked out herself, transparent, like a teardrop. Well, what are you, Vasya, invite the priest to the table.

- Well, father, sit down, according to Russian custom - a small one for the godson, - Vasily said, rubbing his hands contentedly.

“According to the Russian custom, you must first pray and bless the meal, and only then sit down,” Fr. Lenin.

Semyonovna wailed, rushed behind the stove, brought out the icon and, having taken off the portrait, hung it on the freed nail.

“Forgive us, father, they are young, they are all party members.

Father Fyodor read "Our Father" and blessed the table with a wide cross:

- Christ God, bless the food and drink of Your servant, for you are holy always, now and forever and forever and ever, amen.

He singled out the word "drinking" in a special way, emphasizing it. Then they sat down, and Vasily immediately poured moonshine into glasses. The first toast was proclaimed for the newly baptized baby. Father Fyodor, having drunk, smoothed his mustache and prophesied:

- Good pervach, strong, - and began to eat sauerkraut.

- Yes, how can you compare it with vodka, such a disgusting thing, they are driven to chemistry, but here is your own pure, - Vasily agreed. - Only here, when you come home from the city, and you can normally relax and unwind. No wonder Vysotsky sings: “And if vodka was not driven from sawdust, then what would we have from three or four, from five bottles ?!” And he laughed. - And as you rightly noted, after vodka my head hurts, but after pervak ​​- at least henna, you will get drunk in the morning - and again you can drink all day.

Father Fyodor silently paid tribute to the appetizers, only occasionally nodding his head in agreement.

Strokes to the portrait of Archbishop Pimen

Having just been appointed by the Synod to the post of rector of the Saratov Theological Seminary, with all my zeal I began work on its revival. The fact is that there was no seminary yet, everything had to be started from scratch. Archbishop Pimen of Saratov, who had the idea of ​​reviving the seminary in his diocese, invited me from Volgograd to Saratov to head this work, he also recommended me to His Holiness the Patriarch for the post of rector. The case was very interesting for me, and in gratitude to Bishop Pimen for his trust, I tried my best. But, despite this, with the transfer of the building to the seminary, nothing worked. This is a separate topic, a whole epic, on which Vladyka, I think, undermined his health - he was so worried about this issue. By the beginning of the 1990 academic year, we had not been able to open a seminary. When His Holiness Patriarch Alexy II sent a telegram in which he congratulated the teachers and students on the beginning of the academic year, Vladyka sadly sent His Holiness an answer in which he said: “No, Your Holiness, neither the teachers nor the students. To our great regret, we don’t even have a building for a seminary yet.” Of course, Vladyka was not going to give up and did not give up. This was a strong man. And we continued to work on the revival of the seminary with a vengeance.

At that time I did not have an apartment in Saratov, my family remained in Volgograd, and Vladyka invited me to live in his bishop's house. For this, I was given a room on the second floor with a separate entrance. But I always dined with Archbishop Pimen.

Vladyka Pimen was an extraordinary person, so many bishops I have met in a quarter of a century of service in the Church, I cannot compare him with anyone. He surprisingly combined the intellectual of that era, when this concept was not vulgarized by the Soviet period, and at the same time he was a modern person, in the best sense of the word. He was a kind man and unusually attentive to everyone around him. Some traits of his character touched us and literally delighted us. Communication with him was a real pleasure. In addition to diocesan and liturgical affairs, he showed genuine interest only in two things: books and classical music. Otherwise, he was a complete disinterested man. (After his death, only the library remained, most of which he donated to the seminary, and three thousand of the rarest gramophone records of classical music.) He did not care at all what he was wearing, as long as it was clean and comfortable. He was not picky at all in food: what they cook, he ate. When he dressed in civilian clothes, regardless of the season, a gray beret adorned his head, under which he hid his long hair. And so his usual clothes were an old silk cassock, always girded with a wide belt, tied for some reason at the back with an absurd bow of silk ribbons, but this did not bother him at all. Vladyka could quickly move from one mood to another, all this was written on his face. If he was happy about something, then his face shone like that of a child. With close people, he could afford and be offended like a child. In dealing with outsiders, he behaved like a true diplomat, secular people, completely far from the Church, were simply delighted with communication with him and for a long time later remembered what a wonderful person Vladyka Pimen was. And the way he walked, you had to see it. Before meeting with Vladyka, I considered myself the fastest walker. But when I happened to go shopping with Vladyka (of course, only bookshops, he did not go to others), I, who was not yet forty, could not keep up with a man who was reaching his seventh decade. I literally had to keep up with him almost skipping. When he got into the car to go to some distant parish, he always took with him a pile of fresh newspapers. He quickly looked through them and threw them to us in the back seat with the words:

- Read, enlighten.

As soon as we had time to unfold one newspaper and delve into its study, a second newspaper flew at us, with the same words. When he threw back the last newspaper to us, he turned on some cassette with classical music in the tape recorder and then the exam began for me.

- Father Rector, please tell us what kind of work is being performed and who is its author?

The permanent driver of the bishop, who is also the senior subdeacon Ivan Pavlovich Babin, imperceptibly slipped me a box from the cassette, on which the titles of the works were written. I pretended to think, then, as if uncertainly, I said:

— I'm afraid to make a mistake, Vladyka, but I think it's Tchaikovsky, piano concerto number one, in B flat major.

Vladyka was surprised, praised and asked about the next work. I answered again. Vladyka was delighted and said to those sitting in the car:

“You see, it was not in vain that I interceded for the appointment of Father Nikolai as the rector of the seminary.

In addition to books and music, Vladyka Pimen had three sports hobbies: he was a passionate mushroom picker, and in his moments of rest he liked to play gorodki or billiards. No matter how hard we tried, no one was able to gather more mushrooms than Vladyka.

After harvesting, Vladyka made me count the mushrooms one by one, and then he said with joy:

- Last year at this time I had a record of three hundred and forty-two mushrooms, and this year - three hundred and fifty-eight.

With passion, he also played in the towns, usually in the forest, after picking mushrooms. In this, too, he was a master and it was difficult to beat him. But in billiards, although he played well, but sometimes I managed to beat him, then he was sincerely upset about this.

One of the characteristic features of Vladyka Pimen was his punctuality and accuracy. You could set your watch on it. If the service is scheduled for nine o'clock, then, be sure, at exactly nine zero-zero, his car rolled up to the threshold of the temple, not a minute earlier, not a minute later. If Ivan Pavlovich drove up about three minutes earlier, which was extremely rare, then Vladyka asked him to make an extra circle in order to drive up to the minute. In all the years of service under his bishop's omophorion, I have never managed to see Vladyka late for any event. If dinner is at twelve, then you can’t come even a minute later. Therefore, I came about five minutes before dinner and went into the hall, next to the dining room. Vladyka usually also sat in the hall and looked through some papers, making notes. I also sat in an armchair, took a magazine or newspaper and read. The bishop's cat Murzik usually kept us company. It was a fluffy gray cat, Vladyka's favorite, fat and impudent. As if he understood that he was under the special patronage of the bishop. Exactly at twelve, Vladyka would get up and invite me to the table. I went first, then Vladyka came in and I read a prayer, he blessed the table - and don’t yawn here: another feature of Vladyka Pimen was that he ate quickly, well, just like a meteor. And having finished everything, he began to tease:

- You eat, Father Nikolai, eat, take your time, I'll wait.

Of course, I was in a hurry, and the mischievous sparks in Vladyka's eyes showed that this amused him.

Once, during Great Lent, Archbishop Pimen fell ill. For the sake of illness, the Masters prepared fish cakes. A large oblong table was laid for us from its two opposite ends. I enter the dining room first, as usual, and see how an impudent, fat bishop's cat jumps on the table and pulls off Vladyka Pimen's fish cake from Vladyka Pimen's plate. The cook, who was standing right there, had rounded eyes in horror. But to her credit, it should be noted that she did not lose her head and instantly changed our plates literally a second before the arrival of the bishop. We prayed, Vladyka blessed the table, and then turned to the cook in bewilderment:

- Tell me, please, why do I have a cutlet, and Father Nikolai has only buckwheat? The cook answers:

— Excuse me, Vladyka, but your Murzik stole a cutlet.

Here Vladyka broke into a blissful smile and said to me:

- You see, Father Nikolai, in the bishop's house even a learned cat knows the church canons to the subtlety. After all, I am sick, for me the fast is weakened, and you are healthy, which means that you are not entitled to a cutlet, and he, so that you do not violate the charter, stole it from you. What are you, Murzik, I have smart. We need to reward the cat with fresh fish,” Vladyka turned to the cook.

“We will encourage you, Vladyka, we will definitely encourage you.”

There was a lot of noise and fuss around the arrival of members of the Imperial Royal House of the Romanovs. They sailed down the Volga on a ship, entering all the cities, where they were solemnly welcomed.

They arrived in Saratov on the feast of the Holy Trinity. Archbishop Pimen has already celebrated the Divine Liturgy in the cathedral, which stands not far from the river station. After the service, he, along with a host of clergy, went to the pier to meet the Grand Duchess and her son, Grand Duke George. When the ship moored and the orchestra played, Vladyka (himself a hereditary nobleman) delivered a welcoming speech in which he addressed His Highness Grand Duke George as the heir to the imperial throne. Then they all went on foot to the cathedral to serve a prayer of thanksgiving for the health of the Romanov Imperial House. Vladyka, talking with the Grand Duchess along the way, walked ahead of us. Behind them I walked next to the Grand Duke George, on the other side of the Grand Duke walked the rector of the cathedral, mitered archpriest Yevgeny Zubovich. He turned to the Grand Duke with a question:

- And how old are you?

He replied:

- Twelve.

One of the features of Archbishop Pimen was that he addressed everyone, without exception, from the mitered archpriest to the cleaning lady, only as “you”. I don’t know how he heard Father Evgeny’s question, because there was a large noisy crowd of people around, especially since Vladyka himself was talking to the Grand Duchess at that time, but he heard anyway.

We escorted the Grand Dukes on their further journey, and the next day served with the bishop at the Spiritual Descent Cathedral on the patronal feast. Here we are sitting after the service at a festive dinner, suddenly Vladyka says:

- How dare you, Father Eugene, turn to the Grand Duke on "you"? What will they think of us in Europe: if here the mitered archpriests are so uncultured, then there is no need to talk about other citizens at all?!

Father Evgeny was all mixed up.

“Yes, Vladyka, yes, I…

- What are you, Father Eugene? Just imagine this picture: in ten years, Emperor of Russia George I will come to Saratov and ask us: where is the priest who poked me? And we, in order to divert anger from ourselves, say: Your Imperial Majesty, do not deign to be angry, here is his grave.

Here everyone burst out laughing and could not calm down for a long time. Vladyka himself laughed to tears. Father Eugene at first shook his head in confusion, and then he began to laugh, yes, in my opinion, the loudest.

How I entered the Theological Seminary

The idea to enter the seminary came to me in the army. I served in the strategic missile forces in Belarus. Wherever you look, beyond the territory of the military camp there is only forest and swamps. Since I arrived at the unit from the “training school” already with the rank of sergeant, I was appointed squad leader. And the rocket men have more than enough time. For me it was just a find. I dug into the army library and read, read, read. I read mostly Russian classics. I decided to read everything that the school curriculum did not cover. Most of all I was struck by Dostoevsky. His novels, especially The Brothers Karamazov and The Possessed, became my first theology textbooks. Dostoevsky really awakened in me an interest in religion. This is where my god-seeking began. I longed to learn as much as possible about the Orthodox faith. But where in the army, and even in Soviet times, could one learn about religion? I learned about the life of Christ by reading Hegel. But most of all I learned about Christian dogmas and the Church by reading atheistic literature. There was plenty of it in the army library. The librarian once told me:

— Comrade sergeant, why do you read so much atheistic literature? Look, no matter how you become a believer.

He looked straight into the water. The Dictionary of an Atheist was my first textbook on Christian dogma. We open the letter "B" - "Ascension", then it is told what it is. I carefully wrote out in a notebook a description of this event and what significance it had for Christians, and I discarded all the ridiculous atheistic criticism as unnecessary rubbish. Thus, I learned practically all the main dogmas of the Church. In the same dictionary, I came across the word “seminary”, which explained that in Greek it means “nursery”, that this is an educational institution of the Moscow Patriarchate, where priests and teachers of theology are trained. Here, in the dictionary, it was said that at present there are three seminaries in the territory of the Soviet Union: Moscow, Leningrad and Odessa. For me, this discovery was just a joyful shock. I sawed out a pectoral cross from a copper plate and carried it in my breast pocket. There was a need to pray to God, but since I did not know any prayers, then, going behind the barbed wire fence into the forest, I prayed to God something like this: “Lord, help me, guide me on the right path,” and something like that. . I had a dream to study at the Theological Seminary in order to later devote my life to the fight against godlessness and atheism. But when I was demobilized from the ranks of the Soviet Army in 1975, I was carried away by another path. The fact is that before the army I dreamed of being a sailor, and when I returned from the army in November, an additional admission to the Kuibyshev River College for the navigation department was just announced. My relative Uncle Misha advised me to enter the third year at once, and this tempted me. I consoled myself with the thought that being a navigator or even a captain, I could remain a believer. But after studying at the river technical school for three months, I realized that I had made a mistake. I had absolutely no soul for the study of navigation and higher mathematics, I was drawn to philosophy, history and theology. I decided to drop out of college in order to prepare to enter the seminary. I consulted with my grandmother, Chashchina Muza Nikolaevna, what to do. My grandmother was a wise person, she told me: “Don’t rush, granddaughter, I’ll find out everything,” and wrote about my desire to her cousin, grandmother Nina, who served as a psalmist in one of the villages of the Rostov region. From there, I soon received a parcel with the magazine of the Moscow Patriarchate, where the rules for entering the Theological Seminary and all the prayers that had to be learned for the exams were printed. I was very happy and decided to go to Moscow: get a job there, go to church and prepare for exams. The decision to go specifically to Moscow has matured for this reason. As soon as I returned home from the army, I immediately went to the Kazan Church in Togliatti to confess and take communion. In my vainglorious naivety, I thought that as soon as I came, the priests would pay special attention to me, because it is not so often that young people come to the temple. Indeed, the temple was filled mainly by elderly women and a few old men. The confession was conducted by an elderly priest. At first, he said something to the people, urging them to repent of their sins. Then people began to approach him, he covered everyone's head with an stole and read a permissive prayer over it. When I approached him, I wanted to confess my sins for my whole life, but the priest, without listening to me, immediately threw an epitrachel over my head and said: “I forgive and allow ...”

I walked away dissatisfied and shared my doubts with a nearby woman. She approached the priest and asked him to confess to me. He waved his hand, saying, what does he need, I already confessed it. But the woman turned out to be stubborn, and they let me in a second time. This time the priest listened to my confession in full. After communion, I left the church joyful, but some dissatisfaction remained in my soul. “Probably, in the Togliatti church all the priests are so inattentive,” I thought, “they won’t help me in any way.” That is why I had a desire to move to Moscow.

When my mother found out about my decision to leave the technical school and go to Moscow, she was so upset that she even burst into tears. I asked her why she was so upset and why she didn't want me to go to seminary. She answered: “But am I, Kolenka, against your admission to the seminary? I just want you to get a secular education first, and only then do whatever you want. I began to explain that I did not want to waste precious time and deceive the state by studying at its expense if I was going to serve in the Church. And my mother says: “I’m afraid, son, that you will follow this path, you will definitely meet with some kind of injustice, you will be disappointed and leave the Church, but you have no profession.” I replied that I perfectly understand that people are imperfect, including me. Therefore, I go to the Church in order to become better myself and help others as much as possible, and I am not going to be disappointed in anything. My grandmother stood up for me: “Let him go, daughter, the guy will not disappear. Maybe this is his path.

In April 1976, I left for Moscow, having enlisted in the construction of the Olympic complex in my specialty - a finisher. I had thirty rubles in my pocket, and the brightest hopes were spinning in my head.

Moscow met us, limiters, not very hospitably. Settled in a hostel, temporarily, in a room for visitors. They took away the passports, promising to arrange everything soon. Our device was delayed. The guest room is drafty. In short, I caught a cold and fell ill completely. As I remember, I woke up on Saturday morning, barely lifting my head from the pillow. The chill beats, the temperature is thirty-nine. Alone in a huge city of millions. No relatives or friends. Besides, only fifteen rubles were left to live on. Anguish attacked me. Then I say to myself: “Stop, I'm turning sour. I am not alone, God is with me, Who brought me here. I remembered how in atheistic literature they mocked believers for believing in the possibility of healing from the relics of saints. So, I think, they are really healed, since the atheists are so spiteful. Where, I think, can I find the relics of the saints? I remembered here about St. Sergius of Radonezh, about whom I read in the historical novel by Borodinsky "Dmitry Donskoy". I decided to go to Zagorsk, to the Trinity-Sergius Lavra, to be healed from the relics of the righteous. He learned how to get to Zagorsk and, despite his ill condition, set off. When I arrived at the station in Zagorsk, I think I should ask someone how to get to the Lavra. But then youthful shyness overcame me, it seemed to me that if I asked about the monastery, they would laugh at me: “So young, and believes in God.” He went at random, went to the Lavra, was delighted. I went to the Lavra and was puzzled: where is the tomb with the relics of St. Sergius of Radonezh? I hesitate to ask again. I decided to look for myself. I went into one large temple, and there people approached the monks, kissed the cross, and I came up. After I venerated the cross, I felt much better. Went on to search. I went into a small white church, an inner voice says to me: “Here lie the relics of St. Sergius of Radonezh". I buy a large candle and go further into the twilight of the cathedral. I see a tomb under a silver canopy, and next to it a monk is reading something. And people all in turn come up to the tomb, cross themselves, bow and venerate. At first I stood, looking at how they do it, and then I went myself. I knelt before the shrine of the Reverend and forgot why I came here. I began to ask the Reverend not for healing, but for him to accept me as a seminary student. Having kissed the holy shrine, he went to the exit. When I passed through the doors of the temple, it was as if a wet heavy coat fell off me. It became so easy, joyful. The disease instantly disappeared somewhere. I even forgot to thank the Reverend for the healing, but for some reason I rushed headlong from the Lavra and went to Moscow.

Since Monday, all my affairs have gone smoothly, like clockwork. We were settled in a hostel, while I got a separate room, they gave me money and assigned me to work in a team of tilers.

Now another problem has come up for me: how to choose a temple where I will constantly go and where I will have to get a recommendation for entering the seminary. It should be noted that even in Soviet times there were more than forty functioning churches in Moscow. I began to look at the temples. I’ll note some temple, it seems not far from the metro stop, but for some reason I can’t cross its threshold. It still seems to me that the old women will meet me unfriendly: you got up in the wrong place, you’re doing something wrong. In general, the feeling that this is not my temple. So I went through several temples, but did not stop at any. Then I began to pray to God: "Lord, show me my temple."

Once I was driving from work in a trolleybus and, having fallen asleep, overslept my stop. I jumped out on the next one, and in front of me was a small cozy temple. The bells are ringing, calling for service, and the people are coming. I went with them too. As I entered, I understood: here it is, my temple.

So I became a parishioner of the Church of John the Baptist, where the rector was Archpriest Nikolai Vedernikov.

I was lucky, Father Nikolai was an excellent preacher. Many of his sermons have stuck in my memory for the rest of my life. In the same church, I met the wonderful intelligent family of the Volgins, who contributed so much to my spiritual development. Anatoly Volgin, a wonderful icon painter, worked as a reader in this church, and his charming, intelligent wife Nina Alexandrovna Volgina, an art critic, also took an active part in the church life of the capital. This was my main luck, for the sake of which, I think, the Lord blessed this temple for me. Baba Valya was the first to notice me in the temple. She began to invite me to her home and teach me to read in Church Slavonic, Anatoly Volgin (now archpriest) completed my training. These were wonderful, unforgettable times, which the Lord will grant to all who come to Him again. When my mother arrived in Moscow, I already felt very confident in the church environment and was preparing to enter the seminary the next year, 1977. But the Lord in a providential way, through the arrival of my mother, changed my plans. I took my mother to the most wonderful places in Moscow and took her to the Trinity-Sergius Lavra. Having venerated the Reverend, I began to wait for my mother near the exit.

Coming from the holy shrine, she said:

“Kolya, I thought, why don’t you go to seminary this year?”

I laughed.

- What are you, mom? That was against, and now you say - to act, and even this year. After all, I learned the prayer “Our Father” for the first time this year, where can I go. May God at least be ready for next year.

“You know,” my mother said thoughtfully, “when I was standing near the holy relics of St. Sergius, someone told me that you should act this year. Here is my motherly blessing for you - do it this year.

- Well, mom, since you bless me like that, then I will do it, - I agreed.

Mom flew away, and I, having handed over the documents to the office of the seminary, began to intensively prepare for the entrance exams.

When I approached Father Nikolai for a recommendation to enter the seminary, then, having gone to the altar, after a few minutes he brought me a piece of paper on which it was written: “Agafonov N.V. regularly attended services on holidays and Sundays throughout the year . Archpriest N. Vedernikov.”

I think: what a recommendation! And when he came to the exams at the seminary, he completely lost heart. So many applicants from all over the Soviet Union came in large numbers! All the guys are prepared, they have been serving in the church for several years. The subdeacons of the bishops walk apart, so important. “God, where did I get, a simple working boy?” And then I thought: “Why am I getting upset in advance, I won’t enroll this year, I’ll enroll next year. I won’t enter next year, I’ll try again.” From this decision, I immediately felt light and cheerful in my soul. I go every day to St. Sergius and pray. At an interview with the rector, Archbishop Vladimir (Sabodan, now Metropolitan of Kyiv), when he asked me what I like to read, I called Dostoevsky my favorite writer. The Vladyka Rector liked this very much, and he talked to me about Dostoevsky for another ten minutes.

Guys ask:

- What did you do with the rector for so long?

I say:

— Discussed theological aspects in the works of Dostoevsky.

They are laughing:

- Well, you, Agafonov, pour the master!

After passing the exams, we sit in the seminary canteen, and we ourselves lost our appetite from excitement, we know that after dinner the lists of applicants will be posted. The guys show me two fingers.

I think what could this mean? Did you get a double? It seems that it should not, nevertheless, I passed the exams well.

We run up the lists to look. I read the whole list, but I did not find my last name. Then I looked through another list, where candidates are noted, who can be called to the place of expelled seminarians during the year, and I am not there. He left upset. My friends shout to me: “Agafonov, where are you looking? Here is your last name. You were immediately enrolled in the second grade.

Exactly, I come up and see a small list of those enrolled in the second grade. My last name is there.

Wonderful are Your works, Lord.

Historical event

The year 1988 has come, the millennium anniversary of the baptism of Russia. There was a feeling in the air of a change in attitude towards the Church in our godless state. In any case, the press began to actively exaggerate the topic: to celebrate or not to celebrate this date? Most of the speeches were in favor of not celebrating: they say, this is the business of the churchmen, and the state does not care about such events as the baptism of Russia.

Suddenly, like a bolt from the blue for our authorities, the international organization UNESCO decides to celebrate the baptism of Russia as an event of global significance in one hundred countries of the world. Immediately, the Kremlin began to itch, and the scales began to tilt in favor of the participation of the state in the celebration of the anniversary.

Either in February, or at another time - I don’t remember exactly now - I go out in the evening from the register of the Kazan Cathedral into the courtyard, three young people come up to me and ask: where can I see the rector’s father? At this time, the rector, Archpriest Alexei Mashentsev, came out, and I led him to them.

— What problems, young people? he asks.

“We would like to invite you to the Research Institute of Agriculture,” they answer, “so that you speak at our youth discussion club.

But it must be noted that the public performance of the priest outside the walls of the temple was prohibited by law. For this, one could lose the registration of a representative, then one would not get settled in any diocese of the Soviet Union. Father Alexy knew this very well, so he, diplomatically citing lack of time, refused the young people. Those departed, clearly distressed. I was no less upset than they were - such an opportunity that we could not even dream of. And I decided - was not. After waiting for Father Alexy to leave, I caught up with the young people and said:

“I am also a priest and I can speak with you.

They rejoiced and surrounded me. I'm asking:

What topic should I speak on?

- On the theme of the millennium of the baptism of Russia, - they answer.

I also asked them one question, which still worried me:

- Has this issue been agreed with the leadership of your institute? They waved their hand nonchalantly.

- What for? Now glasnost and perestroika.

- Well, - I say, - these are your problems, just keep in mind that I will coordinate this issue with my superiors.

“Agree with whoever you want,” they answer. On this we parted, having previously agreed on the time of my arrival.

I really decided to play it safe and went to the regional administration to the Commissioner for Religious Affairs for permission. We must pay tribute to the fact that Volgograd was lucky with the commissioners. The Volgograd region was probably the only one where three churches were built at once: in the village of Akhtuba, in the city of Frolovo and in the city of Mikhailovka. Naturally, this simply could not be without the participation of authorized representatives. So, for example, in the Saratov region, where there was the main chair of the Archbishop, they could not achieve the construction of at least one church, because the commissioner there was, in the words of many, "a real beast." If he sees a priest walking towards him in the city, he will certainly cross to the other side of the street, so as not to say hello: he hated the priests so much. In Volgograd at that time, Yury Fedorovich Buneev, a former submariner, was authorized. Despite the fact that he was recently appointed to this position, he had already managed to win deep respect from the clergy. There was no arrogance or arrogance in him. In communication, he was simple, sincere and accessible, he liked to joke, sang beautifully and was a well-read person. We immediately agreed on the basis of love for books. He helped me buy a then terribly scarce two-volume encyclopedia "Myths of the peoples of the world." I met Yury Fedorovich in the corridor of the administration, he was in a hurry somewhere, and I began to explain the situation to him on the go. I don’t know how much he entered into her essence, only he waved his hand: go, they say, if you are called.

I carefully prepared for the speech and arrived at the institute at the appointed time. At the entrance, I was met by the Komsomol organizer of the institute, some kind of bewildered.

Hello, he says:

- Oh, father, what happened here! As we learned about your upcoming speech, all the bosses are on their ears all day long. They constantly call, sometimes from the KGB, sometimes from the district committee, sometimes from the city committee of the party with one question: who allowed you to invite a living priest to a state institution?

Here I could not resist and inserted a remark, paraphrasing a well-known American proverb about the Indians: they say, a good priest is a dead priest. Komorg says:

- You're joking, but I'm not in the mood for jokes, they've already slapped a reprimand, I think I won't get off with it. But it’s too late to cancel, the announcements are hanging, everyone at the institute knows that people have gathered in the assembly hall - do not push through, and the authorities ask you to go into their office first.

We go up in the elevator, go into a spacious office, I see: respectable uncles are walking around the office, buzzing like disturbed bumblebees, but when they saw me, they stopped buzzing, they began to come up to say hello. The Komsomol organizer represents them all in turn: this is our director, this is his deputy, this is the party organizer of the institute, this is the trade union committee. I shake their hands, but I myself am already confused: who is who. Suddenly everyone parted, a nice-looking uncle with a tie comes up and he is solemnly introduced to me:

- And this is our chief religious scholar of the region: Nikolai Nikolaevich (I don’t remember his last name, unfortunately).

He shakes my hand: hello, they say, your namesake and almost a colleague. The director invited everyone to sit down at the table, and the party organizer opened the meeting: how, they say, are we going to hold a meeting, because it’s an unusual business, it’s not every day that a priest comes to the institute, what will be the rules of this meeting? Here everyone immediately buzzed: yes, that's it, what is the regulation? Each of those seated said this question, without giving an answer to it. I was sitting alone and silent, and then everyone looked at me inquiringly.

- What kind of regulation is needed - I don’t know, I don’t care, let me speak - I will speak.

Here the party organizer took the initiative into his own hands. He stood up and said decisively:

“So, comrades, first Nikolai Nikolayevich will speak, then the father, and Nikolai Nikolayevich will close his speech again,” while he clearly demonstrated how it would be, closing the fingers of both hands with a crunch in the lock.

I imagined myself between two claws of a huge crab, which closes them on me so that my bones break with a crunch, and I shuddered. But, looking at the good-naturedly smiling Nikolai Nikolaevich, who was assigned the role of this terrible crab, I immediately calmed down. Everyone liked the decision of the party organizer, they echoed him like an echo: yes, yes, father, and Nikolai Nikolaevich will close it.

When we went down to the assembly hall, there really was nowhere for an apple to fall, all the seats were filled and people crowded in the aisles and at the doors. The correspondent of "Volgogradskaya Pravda" took refuge with a notebook on the windowsill. The authorities and I sat down at the presidium table on the stage, and the Komsomol organizer, having opened the meeting, gave the floor to Nikolai Nikolayevich. He stood up and began to scold the youth, which shows complete indifference to the history of the Fatherland.

- Just think, - he was indignant, - the date of the 600th anniversary of the heroic defense of the city of Kozelsk passed unnoticed, the 300th anniversary of the birth of Peter I - the great reformer of Russia - also passed without proper attention.

At the end of his speech, he unexpectedly took out a church calendar for 1988 from his briefcase (it should be noted that at that time it was a terrible shortage: we priests were given only one copy each.) Shaking this calendar, he sternly asked the audience:

“Lord,” I thought, “what can be there on January 1, according to the new style? If it were the old way, everything is clear there: the feast of the Circumcision of the Lord and the memory of St. Basil the Great. Even if you don’t ask me, I’ll be disgraced.”

- New Year.

“No, it’s not the new year, according to the church calendar, the new year is September 1,” he looked around the hushed hall with a triumphant look and proclaimed: “On January 1, the Church celebrates the memory of Ilya Muromets, the one who, according to Russian epics, chopped off the head of the Serpent Gorynych .

After these words, he sat down, looked at me: they say, know ours, and, bending down, asked:

- You can, Father Nikolai, I will record your performance on a tape recorder, I need it for the regional radio.

I nodded my head in agreement. Indeed, on January 1, the memory of the Monk Elijah Muromets, a monk of the Kiev-Pechersk Lavra, who was, in all likelihood, from the city of Murom and could be a warrior of the princely squad, the defender of the Russian land, is celebrated, but what does the Serpent Gorynych have to do with it, I still don’t understood, but did not ask.

I spoke for about an hour, outlining the main historical milestones of the Russian Orthodox Church and their significance in the life of our Fatherland. I started from afar, with the baptism of Grand Duchess Olga, and ended with the current state of the Church. Attention to my story was the utmost - in the literal sense, a flying fly would have been heard. Having finished my speech, I sat down and waited with curiosity to see how Nikolai Nikolaevich would close me in pincers, so if one claw was the Serpent Gorynych, then the other should be, according to the logic of Baba Yaga. But Nikolai Nikolaevich did not introduce the characters of Russian fairy tales, but simply said that I, they say, stated everything well, but they have a slightly different view of the history of the baptism of Russia. Russia became acquainted with Christianity long before the baptism under Prince Vladimir, and Byzantium and I looked at each other for a long time (I agree with him on this), but he did not explain what this different view consists of, ending his speech on this. .

After our speeches, it was proposed to ask us questions. There were a lot of questions from the audience, but all of them were addressed exclusively to me, so that I even felt uncomfortable in front of the main religious scholar, and if I came across a question that, in my opinion, could fall within his competence, I gladly forwarded it to him.

Finally, Nikolai Nikolaevich himself decided to ask me a question.

- And how do you, father, feel about the fight against drunkenness, which our party is uncompromisingly and consistently waging?

I spoke positively in favor of the fight against drunkenness, referring to the Holy Scripture, which says: "Do not get drunk with wine, there is fornication in it," but at the same time expressed doubts about the methods of this struggle, again referring to the authority of the Holy Scripture, where It is said, “Good wine gladdens the heart of a man,” especially since Christ Himself performed His first miracle, turning water into wine at the wedding in Cana of Galilee, and not vice versa.

“And now what happens,” I continue, “I want to buy myself a bottle of cognac to break the fast at Easter, but I can’t stand in line for half a day. During Great Lent, you do not have to stand in line, but in the temple for prayer.

At this the whole room applauded. Seeing such a tilt on the ideological front, the party organizer literally rose from his seat:

- Do you believe in communism?

“Here you are, as they say, they sailed,” I think. - If you say frankly that I do not believe, then - remember your name, they will sew on anti-Soviet agitation and propaganda, the Criminal Code of the RSFSR, Art. 70, up to three years in prison." I decided to answer in a streamlined, evasive way: they say, I can assume that in the future there will be a society that will achieve such results in agriculture and industry that there will be an abundance of the fruits of the earth, so to each according to his needs and, naturally, from each according to his abilities . But the fact that someday there will be a society in which there is no Church, I cannot admit even in my thoughts.

You are contradicting yourself! - exclaimed the party organizer. I did not enter into a discussion with him, and our meeting ended there.

The next day, Yuri Fedorovich called the cathedral and asked me to come to him. I came and he laughs:

“What have you done, father Nikolay, ruined the whole institute with your agitation, now people are demanding that they be given the Bible to read. Calls do not give me peace here, they are indignant at the top, they demand to find out why the priests are walking around state institutions, as they are in their church. But I told them that I gave you permission, so to speak, took the hit myself.

- Thank you, Yuri Fedorovich, for interceding, because you could refuse, we talked with you in an informal setting.

- What do you think, some priests have a conscience? We, sailors, honor above all. I'll tell you a secret: a meeting of the country's leadership with the leadership of the Church is being prepared in Moscow, so soon such speeches by priests will not be uncommon. But your first, so let's drink to this historical event, - and he took a bottle of cognac from the table.

Indeed, a truly historic event soon took place: Mikhail Sergeevich Gorbachev met with His Holiness, Patriarch Pimen of Moscow and All Russia, at a round table in the Kremlin, and relations between the state and the Church changed dramatically.

But the most interesting thing is that two years later this story received a very unusual conclusion. After studying for two years at the Leningrad Theological Academy, I switched to external studies and returned at the request of Vladyka Pimen to serve in our diocese, since it was planned to open a Theological Seminary in Saratov, and Vladyka intended to entrust me with this work. I began to serve again in the Kazan Cathedral. Once, when it was my turn to perform the sacrament of Baptism, our loud-mouthed registrar Nina shouted:

- Father Nikolai, go to baptize, a man is waiting for you.

I enter the baptismal and I can’t believe my eyes: Nikolai Nikolaevich, the chief religious scholar of the region, is standing, holding a receipt for baptism, candles and a cross in his hands. I was glad to him, as to an old acquaintance. He tells me:

- I, Father Nikolai, prepared as expected, learned the Our Father and the Creed by heart.

These incredible stories happen in ordinary life.

Miracle in the steppe

One, second, third push - our "Zhiguli" literally shook from unexpected gusts of wind. We were driving along the steppe road from the city of Kamyshin to Saratov. The wind blew from the Volga to the right side of the car. It seemed as if the huge palms of some invisible giant were gently but strongly pushing us, playing with the car like a toy. The owner of the Zhiguli, Sergey Bulkhov, was driving. Being next to him, I felt calm, because I knew that the car was in the safe hands of an experienced professional. Sergey worked as a taxi driver in Volgograd. The old twenty-fourth "Volga" with checkers, on which he worked, could often be seen near the Kazan Cathedral, where he came to serve. There we met him. Often conversing on theological topics, I watched him grow spiritually from strength to strength, and rejoiced for him.

He was an extremely smart and smart guy. True, he felt the influence of Indian theosophy with its yoga, which, apparently, he was fond of before coming to the Church, but many neophytes went through this. I gave him a book on hesychasm and the Noetic Jesus Prayer: it became his reference book. I decided to take him to Saratov in order to introduce him to Archbishop Pimen as a possible candidate for ordination to the priesthood. We went to Saratov by car. If we knew what could happen to us, we would certainly take the train. Now we are rushing along the snowy steppes of the Volga region, and a feeling of unrest involuntarily seizes our souls. We got to Kamyshin safely, hoping that our further path would run just as smoothly. But in this we were gravely mistaken. Snow followed the gusts of wind. Sergey was worried:

How would we, Father Nikolai, not have to spend the night in the steppe. Can we turn back?

It's a shame, - I say, - we drove more than half of the road, maybe the weather will clear up, and God willing - we'll get there.

Twilight descended quickly. The road then dived down a long descent, then rose up. When we climbed the next hill, a picture opened up before us: a lot of lights in the distance went beyond the horizon in a string. When we got closer, we saw that they were heavy-duty KAMAZ vehicles with trailers. We got out of the car and asked why everyone was standing. The driver of the last truck, swearing through every word, explained to us that there was no further road, everything was covered and they would wait until tomorrow for the arrival of tractors. About us, he said that we were not normal at all, that when we returned home, we should go to a psychiatrist for a check-up. We turned around and drove back to Kamyshin. The snow kept getting stronger. The wind was making such flakes that the windshield wipers could barely keep up. Visibility deteriorated to the point that they were driving, as they say, to the touch. In many places the road was crossed by snowdrifts, Sergey rammed them, breaking through at speed. After one of these rams, the car turned across the road, so that its nose rested on one snowdrift, and another propped it up from behind.

That's it, Father Nikolai, it seems that you and I, as you say, have sailed: neither back nor forward, ”Sergey said doomedly.

They got out of the car. A strong gust of wind tore off my fur hat and, whistling ominously, carried it away into the snowy distance. Sergei was wearing a woolen ski cap, which he pulled up to his eyes. I climbed into the car, pulled out the skuffy from the briefcase and hoisted it deeper on my head. Expecting to go from home to the diocesan administration in warm Zhiguli, I did not bother to put on winter boots, dressing up in demi-season shoes.

In two hours our car will be covered with snow completely, if we do not get out somewhere on a hillock, where the open space is blown and the snow does not linger. To go somewhere in the steppe, to look for a village is also certain death, - Sergey summed up, looking skeptically at my shoes.

We began to shovel snow from the car with our feet and with a jerk, raising the back, tried to throw it to the left. Despite incredible efforts, at one time we managed to advance the car by one or two centimeters. Finally exhausted and zadubev, we got into it, turned on the engine and warmed up. Then they continued their work again. With great effort, we managed to turn the car so that we could go forward. After driving a little, we saw a clean, flat area of ​​the road and stopped on it. There was a GAZik abandoned by someone with a booth closed with a padlock.

We will stand until the morning, - said Sergey, - and then we will see. But we, father, have another problem, and a very serious one. We're running out of gas, when it runs out, we'll be out of the cold. Help, apparently, is nowhere to be expected, tractors will come here only during the day. So you can write a will to relatives and friends.

At these words, for some reason, I remembered a song about a coachman who, freezing in the steppe, gives the last order to his comrade. My friends and I really liked to sing this song during the festive feasts. Singing it slowly, slowly, they enjoyed the harmonious consonance of different voice parts. When we sang it in a warm cozy house, the driver's death seemed so romantic, touchingly sad. But now, when a solid white haze raged over us and around us, obscuring the whole of God's world so that only this blizzard and snow seemed real, I did not want to sing at all. And I didn't want to die when you were soon to be only thirty-three.

You know, Sergei, you and I need to pray to St. Nicholas the Pleasant, for a miracle can save us, and he is the Great Wonderworker.

And for persuasiveness, I told about the miracle of St. Nicholas, which he performed in 1978. At that time I was still serving as a deacon in Togliatti and once, going to Moscow for an examination session, I hopelessly missed the train. When I got into a taxi, there were five minutes left before the train left, and at least twenty to go to the station. Then I prayed to my heavenly patron to perform a miracle. A miracle happened: when we arrived at the station, it turned out that the train had jammed brake pads and it stood for an extra twenty minutes.

For not attending the session, I was threatened with the biggest - expulsion from the seminary, and now our lives were at stake. After my story, Sergei and I began to earnestly pray to Nicholas the Wonderworker. A huge car suddenly emerged from the snowy veil - a three-axle Ural - and stopped. We explained our problem to the driver. He silently held out a twenty-liter can of gasoline. Handing the empty canister back, I asked:

Tell me, good man, what is your name, so that we can remember you in prayers?

As he drove off, he shouted through the open door:

The name is Nicholas.

The Ural melted away behind a curtain of snow, and I stood still for a long time, unable to recover from what had happened.

In the morning the blizzard calmed down, Sergey put chains on the rear wheels and we, having made our way to Kamyshin, safely returned to Volgograd.

Volgograd, January 2002

I release him in peace

The celebration of the Millennium of the Baptism of Russia in 1988 is one of the most exciting events of the last quarter of the 20th century. Something extraordinary happened before our very eyes. In other words, we felt that a new era was dawning for the entirety of the Russian Orthodox Church. We have seen how rapidly the attitude towards the Church on the part of the authorities and society is changing. It became clear that new churches and monasteries, theological seminaries and schools would open. But where can one find such a number of teachers to train new pastors and clergymen?

Reflecting on this problem, I decided to enter the Theological Academy to study. Seminar education was clearly not enough for the beginning era. I tried to enter the Moscow Theological Academy before, however, the triple in the seminary diploma in liturgy spoiled the whole thing: they didn’t accept me into the academy, and that’s it. But in 1988, I had a firm conviction that I would enter the academy. I began to ask my heavenly patron, St. Nicholas the Wonderworker, to help in this matter.

I decided to spend my summer vacation in 1988 in Leningrad, where I met my classmate at the Moscow Theological Seminary, Yura Epifanov. By this time, he had already become Archpriest George and secretary of Metropolitan Alexy of Leningrad and Novgorod (the future Patriarch Alexy II). I’m sitting visiting Father Georgy, drinking tea, remembering my seminary years, suddenly he says:

- Can you imagine, Father Nikolai, the authorities began to hand over churches to us, naturally, in a ruined state, and there was no one to appoint rectors for them. There are many good priests, but, figuratively speaking, they cannot distinguish cement from sand.

Here I startled, I say:

- Put me in, I am a former builder, I will restore.

- You don't have a Leningrad residence permit, you can't.

“Accept me to the Theological Academy,” I say, “they will give me a temporary residence permit for four years of study and, as a student, send me as acting rector of the temple. I will restore the temple and study.

“Very well,” Father George says, “I will talk to the Metropolitan.

Father George (now Archbishop Arseniy) kept his word.

In early September, a telegram arrived from Leningrad stating that I was being accepted into the Theological Academy. I told my wife, mother John, about this, she was against it, but I persuaded her. Now I’m thinking: how can I persuade Bishop Pimen to let me go to study? No bishop would do such a thing. In absentia - please, but here full-time education, this is a person lost for the diocese. But something must be done. I'm going to Saratov, to the Diocesan Administration. I approached the secretary-clerk Evgeny Stepanovich and shared my problem with him. He advised me:

“You, Father Nikolai, do not immediately come up with this request, but stay in the Diocesan Administration, watch Vladyka. If you see that he is in a good mood, then approach him. And then you will fall under a hot hand - it will refuse on the move, you will not come up a second time.

That's exactly what I did. I go around the office, then I’ll go to the typists, then I’ll go out into the yard and look into the garage to the drivers, then I’ll sit in the warehouse, but I myself don’t take my eyes off Vladyka. The bishop did not sit still, from the office of the office he went several times to his house. I see that Vladyka once again goes from home to the office and smiles. Well, I guess that means he's in a good mood. He enters his office and I follow him.

- May I come in?

As soon as he entered the office, he immediately fell on his knees in front of the bishop.

- What's the matter, Father Nikolai? In my opinion, today is not Forgiveness Sunday at your feet to fall, stand up and speak.

I got up and laid everything clean. Vladyka thought for a moment, then he went to the door of his office, flung it open and shouted:

“Come here, everyone!”

Yes, he shouted so loudly that all the diocesan workers, from the secretary to the cleaning lady, ran in an instant, as if they were just waiting for this moment. I think: well, that’s it, now, in front of everyone, he will shame me like a deserter. In short, prepare for the worst. The Lord says:

“Today is the saddest day of my life. Father Nikolai Agafonov asks me to let him go to study at the Theological Academy. But I need him here, so much work begins in the diocese, and he is a literate, capable priest. And he wants to study. What should I do?

All employees of the department look at me with condemnation, shake their heads: here, they say, what a bad father Nikolai is - Vladyka did so much good for him, and he, ungrateful ...

- I can not let him go, I have every right to do so. If it was only for him, I would have done so. But since it is necessary for the Church, I let him go in peace.

What started here! Everyone began to hug and congratulate me, champagne appeared from somewhere. Vladyka proclaimed a toast:

- To the future success of the new student!

Then, in 1988, no one knew yet that in three years Vladyka Pimen would revive the Theological Seminary in Saratov and bless me as a graduate of the St. Petersburg Theological Academy to be its rector.

Meeting

It was 1989. I studied at the Leningrad Theological Academy and at the same time, without interrupting my studies, I restored the dilapidated Cathedral of the Archangel Michael in the city of Lomonosov near Leningrad, transferred by the Soviet authorities. Somehow, after the end of the Divine Liturgy, a woman of 40-45 years old, decently dressed, approached me and asked me to take part in the upcoming meeting of city school teachers.

I have already had occasion to visit various groups with lectures and discussions on spiritual topics. I have always done this with joy, and this time I gratefully accepted the invitation. But when I found out that I was talking to the party organizer and I was invited to a party meeting, I was quite puzzled.

“Excuse me,” I exclaimed, “but in what capacity can I be a participant in your meeting if I am not only non-party, but have never shared communist views?”

The woman party organizer became agitated, afraid that I would refuse, and, in a hurry, began to explain:

- You see, father, we have on the agenda of the meeting the topic: "Atheistic education at the present stage." Our town is small, so our party organization consists of city teachers and retired officers. The people are all smart. As soon as they learned about the agenda, they said that since there is glasnost and perestroika, then for an alternative opinion we want to hear what the priest has to say on this issue.

“Well, if that’s the case, then I’ll definitely come,” I assured the woman. Having agreed on the time and place of the meeting, we parted.

The next day I came to the school for a meeting. The auditorium was full of people. I took a seat in the front row. Some peasant with a briefcase sat down next to me, as it turned out later, an expert on atheism, sent by the district committee of the party. The meeting began with the necessary formalities and the announcement of the agenda. Then the floor was given to the representative of the district committee. He spoke for half an hour. His speech seemed empty to me, I can't even remember what he was talking about. But the central idea of ​​his speech was the thesis: "Atheistic education must be carried out on the basis of scientific knowledge." Then he sat down and the floor was given to me. The hall somehow perked up, even the retirees, who had previously been dozing peacefully in their chairs, started up. Everyone looked at me with curiosity, expecting me to oppose scientific knowledge. But I did not intend to oppose anything to scientific knowledge. I have come up with another plan. Coming to the podium, I warned that my speech would be very short.

“Mostly literate people sit here,” I began my speech, “and many even teach scientific knowledge, on the basis of which the previous speaker urged you to conduct atheistic education. Maybe I'm misunderstanding something, so I'm asking one of those sitting in the hall to answer one question: what science has proved that there is no God? If someone brings me such scientific proof, then here, in your presence, I take off my cross and cassock and write an application for admission to the party.

The hall was excited. Teachers and military retirees began to whisper among themselves. And then they all burst into applause as one. Of course, after that they didn’t let me leave the podium, but began to bombard me with questions on various spiritual topics. So the meeting dragged on until late in the evening.

The next day, one of our regular parishioners came up to me in the cathedral and said with tears in her eyes:

— Father Nikolai, how can I thank you?!

- What happened? I ask.

- Yes, my husband, he is a retired lieutenant colonel, he scolded me all the time that I go to church. And yesterday he came from the meeting and said: “Your priest spoke, he put all our atheists in a puddle. So, wife, go to church and pray to God for me there.”

floating temple

On Sunday, June 7, 1998, the inhabitants of the village of Nariman, which stands on the banks of the Volga-Don Canal, seemed to hear a bell ringing.

- Did you hear the bell ringing? one woman asked her neighbor.

- I think I heard it. Probably someone's radio is turned on loudly, because today is the feast of the Holy Trinity.

Indeed, where else could the bell ringing be heard in the village, where there had never been a temple, and the village of Nariman itself arose in the 50s, during the construction of the Volga-Don Canal?

The end of May and the beginning of June this year turned out to be unusually hot even for these places. Five residents of the village agreed to go swimming in the morning. We walked along the usual path to the beach of the former pioneer camp. The camp itself had not been there for a long time, only paved paths and foundations from summer buildings reminded of it. The path led them to high reeds, and behind the reeds a narrow strip of sand framed the bank of the canal with a comfortable place for swimming. The women already wanted to go around the reeds along the path, but what they saw was so incredible that they, confused, stopped in surprise, looking at the silver dome with a gilded eight-pointed cross that towered over the reeds. Church singing reached their ears. The consciousness of women refused to perceive reality. Only yesterday there was only water behind the reeds. How can there be a temple there now? Who can build it overnight, and even on the water? Surprised and frightened women made the sign of the cross: "Keep away from me." They wanted to quickly escape from this, as they thought, demonic obsession. But curiosity still overcame fear, and they went to the beach. Then a marvelous picture opened up to them: near the shore, swaying on the water, there was a barge, and a temple towered on it. Through the open doors of this floating temple, the lights of candles flickered, gleaming in the gilded carved columns of the iconostasis. A priest in a green brocade robe stood in the royal doors, the fragrant smoke from his censer flowed from the doors of the temple and, picked up by a light morning breeze, spread over the unsteady ripples of the canal. The women, enchanted by what they saw, listened to the solemn singing that was heard: “Blessed be Christ our God, even wise are the fishermen of the manifestations, sending down the Holy Spirit to them and by those catching the universe, Glory to You, humane.”

Stepping carefully along the rickety footbridge, the women boarded the barge and entered the church. These were the first parishioners of the floating church "St. Innocent", making its first missionary journey along the great Russian river Don.

... The idea to build a floating church was born after Archbishop German of Volgograd and Kamyshinsky (now Metropolitan) appointed me in 1997 to head the missionary department of the diocese. I began to consider how to organize the missionary work and where to direct my efforts first of all. One thing was undoubted for me: the main direction of missionary work should be the churching of people who for many years have been artificially cut off from the Mother Church. Our people have not yet lost God in their souls, but the Church, for the most part, has lost: “To whom the Church is not the Mother, God is not the Father,” says a Russian folk proverb, correctly reflecting the dogmatic truth: there is no salvation without the Church. The brutal policy of decossackization hit the Church first. Temples were destroyed in almost all the villages of the Don land.

Churching without churches is an unthinkable thing, and the construction of new churches in view of the impoverishment of people is just as unlikely even in the future of the next decade. “Now if the temple itself could come to the people,” I thought. Most of the rural settlements of the Volgograd region are located near the banks of the Volga and the Don, and this is how the idea of ​​building a floating temple arose.

The inspiration for this idea was the Dutch Orthodox priest, Archpriest Fyodor Van Der Voord. At that time, he was an employee of the charitable church organization "Kirhe in Not", which means "The Church is in trouble." This amazing foreigner in a Russian cassock, which he never took off, traveled all over Russia far and wide, implementing a program of assistance to Orthodox dioceses in Russia through "Kirhe in Not". Father Fyodor was a cheerful and charming man, an indefatigable worker in the Tserkovnaya field. We became friends with him when I was still the rector of the Saratov Theological Seminary.

It must be honestly admitted that the funding for the seminary was so meager that if it were not for the help from Kirhe in Not, the seminary would have had to be closed already in the second year of its existence. I remember how in 1993 one of the leaders of Kirhe in Not Father Florian came to our seminary under the patronage of my classmate Archbishop Arseniy. He saw our poverty and wept bitterly, and then said: "Father Nikolai, we will help you." Indeed, he kept his word. With the money donated to Kirhe in Not, we bought tables for classrooms, office equipment, made some repairs, fed the seminarians and paid for the work of teachers, and bought books for the seminary library. “The Kingdom of Heaven is yours, dear Father Florian! A grateful and prayerful memory of you will remain in my heart until the end of days.

For some time, Andrey Redlikh, an employee of Kirhe in Not, an intelligent, gentle and tactful person, maintained contact with us. Andrei was born in Germany into a family of emigrants from Russia and, thanks to his parents, absorbed the best qualities of a Russian intellectual. I have the kindest memories of this person from communication, which brought many benefits to my mind and heart.

But on a truly large-scale scale in the charitable support of Russian Orthodoxy on the part of Western Christians, Archpriest Fyodor Van Der Voort, who replaced him, carried out. Numerous educational and missionary programs conceived and implemented with his help are already a fait accompli: not only floating churches, but also railway churches on trains and in cars, help to dozens of seminaries, and you can’t list everything. I have never met such a tireless worker with indomitable energy of the soul in my life. We often asked Father Fyodor, who does he feel like more: a Dutchman or a Russian? To which he replied, laughing: “Most of all, I feel Orthodox, and therefore I love Russia.”

When I transferred to the ministry from Saratov to Volgograd, Father Fyodor came to visit me. Here I introduced him to my friend, the director of the railway enterprise Vladimir Ivanovich Koretsky. This amazing and fearless man, who at one time crossed the Atlantic Ocean on a small seven-meter yacht, became a true gift of fate for me when I arrived in Volgograd. His irrepressible energy kindled the hearts of many around him, and the indestructible thirst for novelty in his soul was constantly looking for an outlet in some of the most incredible enterprises. He immediately began to persuade me to go with him on a yacht across the Pacific Ocean to the natives of Australia in order to enlighten them with the Christian faith. An entire adventure novel could be written about this man. And so, when all three of us met, we had dozens of projects and plans. Father Fyodor told how a missionary trip along the Yenisei was organized in Novosibirsk on a passenger ship. I said that before the revolution, a ship was sailing along the Volga with the temple “St. Nicholas” equipped on it. This floating temple served fishermen in the Caspian Sea. “Why are we worse?” said Vladimir Ivanovich and offered to build a floating temple now. Father Fyodor and I immediately seized on this idea, and I began to develop it theoretically. Koretsky helped to purchase a tug boat, which we named after Prince Vladimir, and a landing stage, which they began to rebuild into a temple.

In May, the construction of a floating church was completed, and we towed it to the central embankment of Volgograd, where Vladyka Herman, with a large gathering of people, solemnly consecrated it in honor of the memory of the great missionary of the 19th century, Metropolitan Innokenty of Moscow. To the sounds of a military brass band, the floating church unmoored from the central embankment of Volgograd and headed towards the Volga-Don Canal on its first missionary journey.

In addition to me, our first missionary team included priest Sergiy Tyupin, deacon Gennady Khanykin (now a priest), captain of the Prince Vladimir tugboat Ivan Tinin, two young sailors, a cook, also known as a bell ringer, Anatoly.

We went down the Volga to the Volga-Don Canal and spent the night at the 3rd lock. The beginning of the canal from the Volga passes through the city blocks, and when we sailed past the townspeople strolling along the embankment in the evening, they gazed at this unusual phenomenon with surprise and delight. Some made the sign of the cross, some simply waved their hands happily.

At dawn on May 6, we weighed anchor and moved on. At the 8th lock, Deacon Gennady and I went ashore and drove to the city in a church car that approached us in order to stock up on prosphora and Cahors for the service. Previously, we agreed that we would meet in the village of Nariman, where the floating temple should arrive in the evening. Already in the evening twilight, my father Gennady and I arrived in the village of Nariman and began to look for the temple. But behind the high reeds, and even in the dark, nothing was visible, besides, we landed in some kind of swamp and wandered knee-deep in stinking slush. After walking for an hour and a half and not finding anything, we already despaired of getting on the ship, and then, placing our hope in God, we began to pray to St. Innocent, hoping that he would help us get to his church. And then we heard a bell ringing not far from us. Rejoicing, we went to the ringing and went to the floating temple. It turns out that this is my daughter Xenia, worried about our absence, began to ring all the bells.

And in the morning what happened was what I described at the beginning of the story. We traveled for several days along the canal, stopping at each settlement. Everywhere we were joyfully greeted by people and crowds went to worship. Many confessed and received communion, the unbaptized were baptized right in the waters of the canal.

Finally we arrived in the city of Kalach-on-Don. Here, the local rector, Father Nikolai, brought us fresh prosphora, which we were very pleased with.

From Kalach-on-Don we went to the wide and full-flowing Don. The first village on our way is Golubinskaya. We decided not to enter it, since there is an active parish and its own priest, and our task is to visit settlements in which there are no churches. But unexpectedly, a propeller broke on the tug "Prince Vladimir", and we had to moor at Golubinskaya, and send the boat to the shipyard in Kalach-on-Don.

When we were moored to the shore near the village of Golubinskaya, the first person who met us was a Muslim woman with her two girls. It was a family of refugees who settled in a Cossack village. They began to help us build bridges from the shore to the floating temple. A Muslim woman, waist-deep in water, worked selflessly with her daughters. When everything was in order, she asked to be baptized along with her children. “Since we live among the Orthodox, we ourselves want to be Orthodox,” she explained. Father Sergiy Tyupin baptized them.

The rector of Golubinskaya greeted us with joy. The temple in the village was dilapidated, and there was nothing to restore it, temporarily services were performed in the church, arranged in the former club. Residents of Golubinskaya began to come to our floating temple with a request to baptize their children. When we asked them why they do not baptize in the house church with their priest, they answered that they consider this church not real, since it is in the club and there is no dome on it, and they really like our church.

A funny story also happened in Golubinskaya. June turned out to be very hot, and the water level began to fall. A catastrophic situation has arisen. One side of the floating church rested against the shore, and when the water level began to fall, the entire barge lurched menacingly on one side so that it seemed that the temple was about to capsize into the water. We did not have a tug that could pull the church from the shore. We no longer knew what to do, but then one case unexpectedly helped.

Two farmers came to the floating church and began to ask for a prayer service for sending down rain, as their crops could die from drought. Father Sergius and Deacon Gennady served a prayer service, and in the afternoon there was a heavy summer downpour with a thunderstorm. The level in the river immediately rose and the floating temple leveled off. So, the missionaries helped the farmers, but it turned out that they helped themselves. Then Father Sergius and Father Gennady were surprised: why did they panic, and did not guess to pray for rain themselves?

Soon the "Prince Vladimir" was repaired, and we moved on, up the Don.

Somehow, on the way, we came across a camp site of reinforced concrete plant No. 6. Seeing us, the vacationers jumped ashore and began to wave their hands at us, asking us to land on the shore. But we had no plans to stop near the camp site, since it is mainly urban residents who have the opportunity to visit temples, and we considered it our duty to sail to the destitute rural residents. Vacationers joyfully jumped on the shore, like children, and waved their hands at us, asking us to stick to the camp site. But we sailed past them with a bell ringing, and without thinking to land on the shore. Realizing that we intend to pass them without stopping, one young man in shorts and with a video camera in his hands fell on his knees right on the shore into the water in desperation and raised his hands to the sky with a prayer. I could not stand such a touching scene and ordered the captain to moor to the shore. All vacationers happily rushed to our temple. But we stopped them, saying that we would not let them into the temple in shorts and swimsuits. Then they all ran to get dressed.

We served them a prayer service. The man who fell to his knees also came. He excitedly told us that he heard our bell ringing and, grabbing a video camera, ran out to meet us, because he guessed that this was a floating temple: he had seen us on TV. He asked to baptize his wife and daughter, as he sees in our arrival a special sign of God. We baptized them right in the river, taking a promise that now they will go to the temple of God and raise a child in the Orthodox faith.

We walked up the Don, stopping at farms and villages. Our missionary floating church went as far as the farms located on the Upper Don, at the very border with the Voronezh diocese, and then went down the Don, entering the same villages. The originality of missionary work consisted in the fact that the church itself preached, arranged according to Orthodox canons, with a dome, a gilded cross, the splendor of the interior decoration: a carved gilded iconostasis, beautiful church utensils. Having moored to the shore, the temple called the people under its roof with the ringing of seven bells. The priest went to the village to meet people, talk with them, invite them to worship. People at the sight of the temple wept, knelt down, making the sign of the cross, and at home they prepared for confession for the first time in many years of godless power. And almost everywhere people asked to leave the temple forever in their village. What is this if not living evidence of the need to have a church in every settlement?!

During the 120 days of the first missionary voyage, the floating church visited 28 settlements. During this time, 450 people were baptized, about one and a half thousand participated in the sacraments of confession and communion of the Holy sacraments of Christ. The services were attended by more than three thousand people.

The floating church returned to Kalach-on-Don in the fall, with the onset of cold weather. The following year, in the spring, Vladyka again served a prayer service for a journey on the waters and blessed us for the second missionary voyage. For the winter, we began to stop in the village of Pyatimorsk, near Kalach-on-Don. In a small bay, bound by ice, our church has become, as it were, the parish church of this village. Priest Gennady Khanykin, an employee of the missionary department, constantly served on the floating church. And I was already engaged in the construction of the second floating church in honor of St. Nicholas. The temple came out very beautiful, with three gilded domes. We towed it to the military town of Oktyabrsky, which stands near the Volga-Don Canal, and there the floating church "St. Nicholas" became, as it were, a parish church; it could not move along the Don due to the lack of a tugboat.

When we began preparations for the fourth missionary journey, for some reason I felt that this was my last journey, and, having let Father Gennady go on vacation, I myself went on the "St. Innokenty" to the Upper Don.

While I was sailing to the Upper Don, according to the established tradition, I kept a ship's journal, which, rather, resembled diary entries that a missionary priest keeps during the voyage, writing down in it all the events that occurred during the day, as well as my thoughts.

The ship's log of the missionary floating church "St. Innocent"

05.05.01. Saturday.

settlement Pyatimorsk

At 9.20 Metropolitan German of Volgograd and Kamyshinsky arrived. His Eminence served a prayer service for "Water Travelers" and blessed the 4th missionary journey. Vladyka was assisted by:

- Archpriest Nikolai Agafonov, Head. missionary department of the diocese;

- priest Gennady Khanykin, worker of the missionary department;

- Priest Nikolai Picheikin, dean of the Kazan Cathedral.

The prayer service was held solemnly and ended with a procession to the place where the stone was laid for the construction of a church in Pyatimorsk in honor of Equal-to-the-Apostles Princess Olga. Then the procession went to the kindergarten, where, through the efforts of father Gennady Khanykin and his wife, mother Maria, a Sunday school was organized for fifty children of the village. The children showed us a wonderful concert. I happily thought that all this was the result of more than three years of activity of the floating church. It was noticeable that the bishop was also pleased with such a good arrangement of spiritual life in Pyatimorsk.

06.05.01. Sunday

At 9.30 a.m., the following arrived at the St. Innokenty in Pyatimorsk:

— Head of the Department of Charitable Programs for Russia of the Kirhe in Not organization, Archpriest Fyodor Van Der Voord (Holland);

— photojournalist of “Kirhe in Not” Andrey (Poland);

- Correspondents of the French magazine "Paris - Match" Claudine and Thomas (photographer).

The Divine Liturgy was served. Before leaving on a missionary journey, a festive farewell dinner was given in the wardroom, which, in addition to the above persons, was attended by:

- prot. Nikolai Agafonov, head. missionary department;

- holy. Gennady Khanykin, an employee of the missionary department;

- holy. Sergey Tyupin;

- Popov Ivan Mikhailovich, Chairman of the District Duma;

- Lieutenant Colonel Sergei Vladimirovich, head of the district police, with his wife.

After lunch, we unmoored from the parking lot in Pyatimorsk and moved up the Don. The floating church is towed by the Ermine, it was given by Popov I.M. Our tug "Prince Vladimir" is under repair. Mission ship crew:

1. prot. N. Agafonov;

2. prot. Fedor Van Der Word;

3. missionary Dionysius (psalm reader);

4. Correspondent Claudine;

5. photojournalist Thomas;

6. photojournalist Andrei (“Kirhe in Not”);

7. Inna, translator;

8. Elena Vladimirovna, Deputy Director of the school "Sunday".

We spent the night near the shore opposite the town of Kalach-on-Don. Dionysius and I were in the temple for evening prayers, then we made a procession.

Thank God for everything!

07.05.01. Monday

Woke up early. We went with Dionysius to the temple for morning prayers, Father Fyodor joined us.

At 12.00 moored to the shore near the village of Golubinskaya. This is a rather large village, in which there is a beautiful stone church (Russian-Byzantine eclecticism), but it is impossible to serve there. It was closed in the early 60s of the XX century, chemical fertilizers were stored in it. Now it stands without a roof and is slowly collapsing. The local priest Father Sergiy serves in the premises of the former club. We went on foot along the village with foreigners to see the temple, on the way we met the rector of the priest Sergius and the dean of Surovikinsky father Gennady, as well as the rector of the city of Kalach, father Nikolai. The Rector shouted from afar (half jokingly, half seriously): “What are you doing on my land without my knowledge?” I introduced the journalists to him, he began to puff up and put on airs, and when they asked what a Rector was, he explained to the foreigners that a Reverend was a small bishop!!! (Miracles, it's good that not a small Pope!)

From Golubinskaya we went up the Don and at 18.00 stopped near the Malaya Golubinka farm (9 km from the village of Golubinskaya). There are only 80 households in the farm. They don’t have a church, and they never have, they went to the church of the village of Golubinskaya. Residents asked to serve a memorial service. They brought us dried fish, potatoes, greens. They expressed a great desire that we would visit them on the way back and serve the Liturgy so that they could partake of the Holy Mysteries. We served a memorial service and moved on.

On the way to our floating church, two fishermen moored in a motorboat, presented us with a huge silver carp and asked us to pray for them. Foreigners were surprised by the size of the fish and took a picture of it. (Lord, send these good people health and a rich catch!!!)

After the evening prayer and the procession, he sat for a long time with foreigners in the wardroom and had conversations on spiritual topics.

Thank God for everything!

08.05.01. Tuesday

I woke up early, at 5.30 I gave the order to the captain to unmoor from the shore, where we spent the night, and go further.

By ringing the bells, he began to call everyone to the morning prayer. Only Father Fyodor and Dionysius came. After the prayer, they drank coffee with Dutch cheese, which Father Fyodor brought from Holland. Very tasty, not like the cheeses that we cook under the name "Dutch". When they passed by some camp site, Father Fyodor asked to moor. Two guys from the Vertyachiy farm came up - just out of curiosity, they saw the temple on the water for the first time. After standing at the camp site for 10-15 minutes, we again set off up the Don.

8.15. Everyone went to sleep for an hour or two, and I sat down to fill out a journal.

At 14.00 we arrived at the village of Trekhostrovskaya. An unforeseen incident occurred here, which almost led to an accident and the flooding of a floating temple. The Ermine towed us on a long line. When they approached the village, he unhooked the cable to maneuver to the side of the floating church and tow it to the shore on a rigid side hitch. But a strong current turned the floating temple around and carried it down, right to the water intake station, in the event of a collision with which the metal case would inevitably break and the church could sink. Foreigners, not realizing all the danger, rejoiced like children, clicking the shutters of their cameras. I saw that a collision was inevitable, and I literally prayed to God for the preservation of the floating church. The Lord has mercy on us. Not far from the station, the floating church stumbled upon flooded trees, which softened the blow. We began to turn around again and carried again downstream, already to a new danger. The floating church, uncontrolled by anyone, rushed downstream towards a huge barge loaded with rubble. The catastrophe seemed inevitable, but at the last moment the captain of the Ermine, contrived, approached the side of the church, the crew tied it to a rigid hitch. And then we safely moored to the village of Trekhostrovskaya. Immediately people began to come and learn about the service. Foreigners went for a walk in the village. After dinner, Father Fyodor Van Der Word left us. He was followed by a motorist-helmsman from our tug "Prince Vladimir" in a car to take Father Fyodor to Volgograd. The foreigners went on the ferry to see Father Fyodor off, and at the same time to take photographs of the floating church from the water side. Father Fyodor was sad, he did not want to leave, but what can you do. I saw off the ferry by ringing all the bells. A huge ferry loaded with cars pulled a small boat, well, just like an ant. This little one was panting and leaning to one side from the effort, but still pulling a huge ferry. From the outside it looked strange and funny. I was told that even during the Great Patriotic War, these boats made pontoon crossings.

At 6:00 p.m., the evening service began. There were 5 elderly women and 7 children. All women and children confessed. I let the children ring the bells. In the evening my stomach ached, Elena Vladimirovna gave me two tablets, and I went to bed.

Thank God for everything.

09.05.01. Wednesday, Victory Day

At 6.30 Denis knocked on my cabin. I went to church to read the rules for the Liturgy.

7:30 a.m. — Liturgy at 8:00 a.m. Parishioners - 9 women and 7 children. Everyone took communion. After the Liturgy, there is a procession of the cross and a water-blessed prayer service for the Mid-Pentecost. After the prayer service - a memorial service for all those who died in the Second World War. Then he baptized a 9-year-old boy. Then they brought the young man to be baptized. He gladly plunged into the cold waters of the Don. Then he married elderly people who had been married for 45 years.

12.00. Set sail from Trekhostrovskaya. Together with foreigners, I went to the Gornostai to congratulate the captain and crew on Victory Day. After dinner he went to his cabin to sleep. At 17.30 I woke up and saw that we were mooring at the camp site. Foreign journalists decided to return to Volgograd to see the city. The translator Inna left with them. The three of us stayed with Elena Vladimirovna and Dionisiy. We dined by candlelight. After dinner, they moored to the shore, where they tied the church to a large tree. Evening prayer, procession and rest.

Thank God for everything.

10.05.01. Thursday

7.00. We unmoored and headed up the Don. I got up, washed my face and started ringing the bells, calling everyone to morning prayers. Morning prayers began at 7:20.

We usually perform morning prayers in the following order: the exclamation of the priest and the usual beginning. After singing the prayer “Our Mother of God, Rejoice…” and “Save Thy people, Lord…”, if the Liturgy is not performed on this day, then the Royal Doors open and the priest in the altar reads the beginning of the day from the Gospel, then the Gates are closed, and a special litany is pronounced on the pulpit for health and peace, then released.

Our next stop is scheduled in the Beluga-Koldairov farm, which stands on the left bank of the Don, almost opposite the village of Sirotinskaya. There my car will come to us, and I want to send Elena Vladimirovna home, and follow on myself as long as time permits. If there was such an opportunity, I would stay here forever. Studying the map and thinking about the plans for missionary work, I think that after the floating temple rises to the extreme point, which is the Krutovskaya farm, then when descending down the Don, it is necessary to visit the following settlements, standing idle in each of them for at least 10 days :

1. Krutovskoy farm;

2. Zimova farm;

3. Farm Bobrovsky I;

4. the village of Ust-Khoperskaya;

5. farm Rybny;

6. farm Yarskoy II;

7. Ust-Medveditsky Monastery, Serafimovich;

8. Farm Bobrovsky II;

9. the village of Kremenskaya;

10. farm Buluzhno-Koldairov;

11. the village of Sirotinskaya;

12. stanitsa Trekhostrovskaya;

13. farm Malogolubinsky.

At 14.30 moored to the shore near Beluzhno-Koldairovo. The coast is picturesque, green with small trees, a very convenient place. Elena Vladimirovna said goodbye to us and left for Volgograd. The captain went to the farm to buy engine oil. I asked him, upon arrival, to immediately give up the ends and move on. During the movement, two motor boats approached us, the people sitting in them asked permission to inspect the temple. I allowed. Four men from Moscow and one young woman, an artist, came up to our deck. Every year they rest here on the Don in tents - they go fishing. Our floating church was seen in Moscow on TV. When they went up on deck, they immediately came under the blessing. After touring the temple, I invited them to the wardroom. We sat at the table with them, drank tea and talked on spiritual topics. Two men asked to be confessed. But since there were a few drunks, I suggested that they arrive early tomorrow morning for prayer, and then it would be possible to confess. We have already approached the camp site of the meat-packing plant for the night. I invited the guests to ring the bells with me. Then he invited them to the evening prayer. At the end of the prayers, they made a procession with them, they carried the altarpieces and tried to sing along with us, but they did not know the words of the prayer.

At the camp site I was joyfully greeted by my good friends who work here. In 1999, they helped me to host journalists from 10 countries from Kirhe in Not here at the hostel. I talked to them, drank tea and went to bed.

Thank God for everything.

11.05.01. Friday

We woke up at 6.00, I washed my face and went to call for morning prayers. The captain of the "Ermine" Nikolai Ivanovich approached, I blessed him to set sail immediately after the morning prayers. The guards I knew from the hostel came to the prayer, two Alexanders. After the prayer, they wrote memorial notes and lit candles.

6.30 - unmoored from the shore and headed up the Don.

7.50 - approached Novogrigorievskaya station. I went to the store to buy bread, since all the old stocks of bread were gone. The captain went to the administration of the village to get oil for the engine (his sister is married to the head of the Novogrigorievsk administration). The shop was next to the temple. The temple is active, recently renovated (except for the village of Perekopskaya, this is the only temple from Kalach to Serafimovich).

11.50 - having bought oil for the engine, we unmoored and headed for the village of Kremenskaya. God forbid to reach it before dark.

14.00 - we moored at the Kamensky farm (several houses), there is a control connection with Kalach-on-Don - right on the shore in some kind of metal booth there is a telephone. The captain went to call the dispatcher. After 5 minutes we continued our way up the Don. When we landed on the shore, several snakes jumped into the river, and when we were leaving, the branches of the trees touched the bells, and they rang melodiously, saying goodbye to the Kamensky farm.

16.00 - we met a barge loaded with rubble, our captain agreed on the radio that they would give two buckets of oil for the engine. He left our floating church near the shore in the bushes, and he himself went to them in tow. He returned with three men who asked to be christened one of them. I had a short categorical conversation, took the word from the person being baptized that he would study the "Law of God", which I promised to give him after baptism. Baptism, as usual, performed in the river.

18.25 - went up the Don.

20.50 - dusk has come, I am writing by the light of two candles. We are mooring near the village of Kremenskaya, it is raining lightly. There is no certainty that we will have time to arrive at the Ust-Medvedetsky Monastery by lunchtime on Sunday. God forbid, at least in the evening.

While we were walking along the Don, we were accompanied by a beautiful symphony, consisting of the voices of various birds and a nightingale trill, performed to the accompaniment of frog croaking. If I were a musician, then surely, inspired by these sounds, I would write some kind of overture on the theme of this natural symphony. God! Why am I not a musician?

A joyful feeling of freedom does not leave me, this feeling is generated by the awareness of remoteness from a vain civilization. All this brings down a certain peace in the soul and a sense of peace. Here one sleeps well and prays easily. It is akin to the feelings of early childhood carefree years. I always find myself thinking that the concept of time is very relative. There, in the civilized bustle, time runs very fast, one might say that it flies. You won't have time to look back, but days, weeks, months have already passed. Why are there months, years, you don’t notice how they pass. Here, time moves slowly, you can even say that time floats smoothly, like these clear waters of the Don. And sometimes time stops altogether, like a traveler on the road, stopping to admire the beauties of nature. Sometimes it seemed to me that a whole day had passed, and if you look at the clock, it is not yet eleven o'clock.

The tug does not pull the floating church, but pushes it from behind. I put a chair on the very edge of the board, under the belfry, the water is half a meter away from me, and in front of my eyes is the whole panorama of the river with its both banks. I read a book. Above me is a bottomless blue sky, water is splashing right below me, on the left is the steep bank of the Don, and on the right is a gently sloping bank overgrown with shrubs, in which nightingales invisible to the eye are filled with spring trills. No, it is impossible to describe all this with a pen, especially one as inept as mine.

22.00 - made with Dionysius the evening prayers and the procession. 22.30 - lights out.

Thank God for everything.

12.05.01. Saturday

6.20 - rise.

6:30 a.m. Morning prayer. It rained all night, and it still does. The captain said he would wait until 8:00 a.m. for a scooter with engine oil. At 8.45 the rain almost stopped, but we are still standing, the captain went to the village for bread, the weather is cloudy. I sit in the wardroom, I read.

At 9.15 the captain came, finally we set off, hurray!

At 14.15 we passed by the village of Perekopskaya. It has an active church. I saw the dome and the pointed roof of the bell tower from afar, as it stands on the right steep bank. The left bank is gently sloping, wooded, and the right bank is steep, covered with green grass, and on this steepness stands a white five-domed temple with a hipped bell tower near the water near the bay. Very beautiful. How I would like such temples to stand in every village and farm. It started raining again, I think it will be for a long time. We continue to move up the Don. The next on our route is the Melokletsky farm.

16.30 - right during the movement of the ship, an all-night vigil began. On the kliros is Dionysius, in the church the only parishioner is the cook of the tugboat Nadezhda. The rain ended before the beginning of the Great Doxology. When I proclaimed "Glory to Thee who showed us the light," the light of the setting sun suddenly splashed into the windows of the temple and illuminated the entire temple. Before that there were clouds. This light was so bright that it became possible to read prayers without candles. After the vigil, we drank tea in the wardroom and went to church to read the rule for Holy Communion. After the end of the evening prayers, they made a procession, and at 22.10 they went to their cells to sleep.

Thank God for everything.

13.05.01. Sunday

Woke up at 6.45, our floating church was already on the way. Dionysius told me that they moored from the Melokletsky farm at 5.15 in the morning. I washed my face and went to church to perform morning prayers and Divine Liturgy. The Divine Liturgy was served prayerfully, to the sound of the splashing of the waves, during the course of the ship. The missionary Dionysius sang in the kliros. She and the cook Nadezhda took communion, having previously passed the sacrament of confession. After the Liturgy, Dionysius and I had breakfast, and at 10:00 a.m. we approached the floating crane that was loading gravel onto the barge. The captain went to the floating crane, hoping to get engine oil from them. Vladimir Ivanovich, our former captain of the Prince Vladimir, who had worked in the missionary team for a long time, turned out to be on the ship, which was towing a barge with gravel. He is covered in fuel oil, but we are very happy to meet, we hugged like brothers, he folded his hands black from fuel oil and asked for blessings. We took the oil and an hour later - at 11.00 - we went on. Is there something ahead of us? God alone knows. It's been exactly a week since we left Pyatimorsk, no connection with the outside world, no telephone, no TV - beauty.

I began to reflect on the results of the three missionary journeys. There is no doubt that the floating church is very necessary for the churching of the Cossack settlements located along the Upper Don. But the main difficulty for missionary work rests on the lack of finances. For all three years, the diocese has not allocated a penny for this work, which is so necessary for educating people. The biggest costs are for diesel fuel for the tugboat. In order, for example, for a floating temple to ascend along the Don from the village of Pyatimorsk to the Krutovskaya farm (the highest point in the missionary route), you need at least about three tons of diesel fuel, which is already 21 thousand rubles, and even go down the Don - about 1 .5 tons of diesel fuel (10.5 thousand rubles), engine oil is also expensive. Total comes out at least 35 thousand rubles. Such huge money, of course, does not exist. What is collected from the donations of the parishioners of the floating church is barely enough to pay the captain and sailors of the tug, the salary of the priest (after all, he has a family) and the psalmist is also needed.

On our fourth missionary journey, we were lucky: Father Fyodor brought 28,000 rubles to pay for fuel for the tugboat. Last year, due to lack of finances, the floating church was only able to climb to the village of Trekhostrovskaya, and this is only half of the route. Taking into account the experience of previous years, I developed the following plan for the fourth missionary trip, which assumed that the missionary trip should begin in the first half of May and follow, while the Don is full of water, to the highest point, that is, to the Krutovsky farm, without making long stops, and from there, slowly, go down the Don to the winter camp in the village of Pyatimorsk, standing idle in each settlement for 10-12 days. There are twelve such settlements, which means that the entire route will take about 120-140 days, that is, by the end of September you can return to Pyatimorsk and still walk around the villages of the Tsymlyansk reservoir.

13.15 - nature itself is on our side. Probably, God heard our prayers to have time to arrive at the Ust-Medveditsky Monastery today. The sun came out, but a strong wind was blowing, fortunately, fair. Don, which until then smoothly carried its waters downstream, having met with a contrary wind, bristled with crests of waves. But this is good for us, since the floating church has a large windage, and the speed of this has increased significantly, and this pleases. Thanks be to God, if we do not arrive at the monastery today, we will still spend the night somewhere not far from it.

I sit in the wardroom at the dining table and make these entries in the ship's log, and our mischievous ship kitten climbed on my shoulder and purrs right under my ear, carefully watching how quickly the fountain pen moves, leaving these lines on paper.

2:30 p.m. We are going well. The sun shines brightly through white fluffy clouds that merrily rush in the azure sky. The play of sun glare on the crests of the waves of the generously saturated spring waters of the Don creates an extraordinary picture of the harmony of colors: white, blue, yellow and green. Now I regret that I am not an artist, because, except in my soul, I cannot capture this wondrous beauty created by God anywhere. Lines from the immortal poem by Alexei Konstantinovich Tolstoy "John of Damascus" constantly sound in my heart:

Not the one he used to think to go the way,

He would be happy and miserable,

When he could in the silence of the forest,

In the wilderness, in solitude,

Yard excitement forget

And humbly dedicate life

Work, prayer, song.

Probably some monk who hastily chose the monastic path for himself, regretting it, envies the white clergy and thinks: "They are fine, they have wives, children - a family." On the contrary, I began to wonder if I had done the right thing then, twenty-four years ago, not choosing the monastic path, but plunging headlong into this vain world, a world in which a person lives in an eternal striving to achieve the goal of earthly, temporary content. Having reached it, he is immediately disappointed and again rushes towards a new, temporary, vain goal, in order to make sure later that it does not bring complete happiness to a person. It's time to draw a conclusion for yourself that happiness on earth is illusory and unattainable. Sitting on deck, I involuntarily daydreamed about the time when my children would decide on their own in this life, and I would be able to leave with a clear conscience to a distant, deaf, rural parish. And there, finally, to find oneself and peace with God, in the simplicity of heart, fulfilling one's pastoral duties and atoning for one's sins from God, which are countless.

So, indulging in empty dreams, I was walking along the deck of the floating temple, when suddenly, to my chagrin, I noticed that the wind had changed and was now blowing in the opposite direction, slowing down our progress. My thoughts also changed direction. Now I already thought that I was in vain complaining about my position, since the salvation of the soul does not depend on external circumstances, which are only the essence of those trials that are sent by God for our own good. A person must work where the Lord has assigned him at the moment. And if it pleases God, then He Himself will change the circumstances and our very life, but not in the way we wanted it, but in the way that is really necessary for our own salvation.

Thinking in this way, I remembered my favorite work of A.P. Chekhov "Steppe". One of the brightest heroes of this story, Father Christopher, says: “There is no one happier than me in the whole city ... There are only many sins, but only God is without sin. If, say, the king asked: “What do you need? What do you want?" - I don't need anything! I have everything, and everything is the glory of God.

The wind changed again and was already blowing from the starboard side. Then I realized why the wind changes all the time. It turns out that this is not the wind, but the river bed changes direction, and the wind blows in the north direction, and blows. Well, let it blow, anyway, we are moving forward, and for this, thank God.

22.00 - in almost complete darkness we approached the Bobrovsky II farm. With the help of crowbars stuck deep into the sand, we secured the floating church, and, taking a flashlight, I went ashore to go to the farm, look for a telephone there and get through to the monastery. Climbing the hillside, I met a tipsy local resident Pavel in a UAZ car. For some reason, he was without trousers, in only a jersey and shorts, but he turned out to be a kind, cheerful and talkative person.

Pavel told me that he lives near the river, he does not have a telephone, but he agrees to give me a ride to the farm to the house where there is a telephone. In the car on the way, I talked to him and found out that Bobrovsky II is called so because there is also a Bobrovsky I farm. “A lot of beavers live here,” Pavel explained to me, “that’s why Bobrovsky Farm.” He also told me that they never had a church, and believers used to go to the Baski farm, seven kilometers away, there was a church there, before the revolution. There were no more than six hundred inhabitants in both farms. What was the name of the church in the Basques, he does not know, but it has long been broken. Paul also said: “Although we were brought up without God, I do not deny God, but live according to the concepts.” “What is it like to live by the rules?” I asked. Paul immediately explained to me what it means to do good. And when I asked what he meant by good, he told me: “Good is when a person creates, not destroys.” Then he asked God to pray for him so that everything would be fine with him. He briefly described his drunken state with the following words: “I, father, have sinned today.” Marveling at this peasant philosopher, I thought that since there are people like Pavel, then all is not lost.

I never got through to the monastery, no one picked up the phone there. Returning to the floating church, I went to the temple for evening prayers. Then we made the traditional procession on the deck around the church, to the singing of the Paschal troparion. This procession of the cross was put into practice by our psalmist from the church of St. Great Martyr Paraskeva - Valery. I sent him on a temporary assignment to the floating church. Several times the floating church was attacked by tipsy hooligans, from whom our small missionary team had to fight back. Valery, a man of deep religiosity, suggested that they did not just attack, but act, instigated by demons, that is, the demons themselves attack the floating church, and you can protect yourself from them only by prayer, and suggested every evening to go around with icons around the church in a procession . Since then, such religious processions, performed after evening prayers, have become a strict tradition for us. By the way, the attacks stopped after that.

23.15 - dispersed to the cabins for lights out.

14.05.01. Monday

6.20 - moored from the shore of the Bobrovsky II farm and went up the Don to the Ust-Medveditsky monastery.

6:40 a.m. Morning prayers begin. The weather is cloudy and cool. The deck is wet from last night's light rain.

12.00 - passed under the bridge of the city of Serafimovich. Previously, this city was the Ust-Medveditskaya village, because the river Medveditsa flows into the Don nearby. They should soon arrive at the monastery, and I am very sorry that I will have to leave the monastery for Volgograd, but nothing can be done, there are urgent matters there. These eight days of travel were among the best in the last years of my life. I console myself with the thought that as soon as I am free from work, I will immediately arrive at the floating church, but for now, the priest of the missionary department, Gennady Khanykin, should arrive here, God help him in the difficult missionary work.

13.15 - the dome of the monastery cathedral appeared from behind the trees, and then the whole monastery opened up to our gaze. I began to ring first the big bell, and then I rang all the bells. When our bells stopped, I heard the monastery bells ringing and realized that we were noticed and welcomed joyfully.

13.40 - moored to the shore near the monastery. Hieromonk Chrysagon (Shlyapin), monk Ananiy (Sirozh) and the holy fool Georgy with a Soviet-era deputy badge on the lapel of his jacket were already hurrying to meet us. The viceroy, hieromonk Savin, was not in the monastery; he left on urgent business in Volgograd on May 10th.

We touchingly said goodbye to the captain of the tug "Gornostai" Nikolai Ivanovich and sailors Igor and Alexander, as well as to the cook Nadezhda. Who knows if we'll see you again? Tomorrow the tugboat will return to Kalach-on-Don, and our tugboat "Prince Vladimir" will soon arrive at the floating church, which all this time has been standing at the shipyard, where the propeller shaft was being repaired.

Thank God for everything! From May 5 to May 14, 2001, the head of the missionary department of the Volgograd diocese, Archpriest Nikolai Agafonov, made an entry in the ship's log of the missionary floating church "Saint Innokenty".

Prayer

Christmas story

On Christmas Eve, after reading the Royal Hours, the protodeacon complained:

- What's the catch this year? Not snowflakes. As I think, tomorrow is Christmas, but there is no snow - no festive mood.

“Your truth,” the rector of the cathedral agreed to him, “they fly into space, so they made holes in the sky, all the weather was mixed up. Whether winter, or something else, you will not understand.

The altar boy Valerka, who had been attentively listening to this conversation, interjected timidly:

- And you, honest fathers, would pray that the Lord would give us a little snowball.

The rector and the protodeacon looked in bewilderment at the always quiet and silent Valery: why did he grow bolder? He immediately earned:

“Forgive me, fathers, I just thought it so,” and quickly darted into the lamp.

The abbot pointed a finger at his temple after him. And the protodeacon chuckled:

- Well, Valerka, an eccentric, thinks that in heaven it’s like a home of life: he came, ordered and received what you need.

After the rector and Protodeacon left home, Valerka, leaving the altar, went to the icon of the Mother of God "Quick to Hear". From early childhood, as long as he can remember, his grandmother always stood here and looked after this icon during the service. She was wiping it, cleaning the candlestick in front of her. Valery was always with her grandmother: she did not leave her grandson alone at home, she goes to work - and drags him along with her. Valerka lost his parents early, and therefore he was raised by his grandmother. Valerka's father was a complete alcoholic, he often beat his wife. He beat her even when she was pregnant with Valerka. So he was born prematurely, with obvious signs of a mental disorder. In another drunken stupor, Valerkin's dad hit his mother on the radiator with his head so hard that she gave her soul to God. My father never returned from prison. So Valerka remained in the arms of her grandmother.

Somehow he finished eight classes at a special school for the mentally retarded, but the main school for him was his grandmother's prayers and cathedral services. Grandmother died when he was nineteen years old. The abbot took pity on him - why is he so miserable? - and allowed to live at the temple in the gatehouse, and so that he would not eat bread for nothing, he brought a censer into the altar. For his quiet and timid disposition, the protodeacon gave him the nickname Trembling Doe. So they called him, often laughing at naive eccentricities and stupidity. True, with regard to worship, it could not be called stupid. What and what follows, he knew by heart better than some clerics. The protodeacon was surprised more than once: “Our Valerka is blessed, he doesn’t understand anything in life, but in the charter, what a document!”

Approaching the icon of the Quick Listener, Valery lit a candle and placed it on a candlestick. The service had already ended, and the huge cathedral was empty, only two cleaners were washing the floors for the evening service. Valerka, kneeling before the icon, glanced apprehensively at them.

One of the cleaners, seeing how he puts the candle, said with irritation to the other:

- Nyurka, just look, again this abnormal candlestick will fill us with wax, and I just polished it for the evening service! No matter how much you tell him not to light candles between services, he is back to his own! And the headman will scold me that the candlestick is uncleaned. I'm going to scare this Trembling Doe.

- Yes, leave the guy, let him pray.

- And what is he here, one of these? We also pray when we have to. Here the priest begins the service, and we will pray, but now it’s not allowed! - And she, without letting go of the mop, went towards the kneeling altar boy. The second, blocking her way, whispered:

- Don’t offend the guy, he’s already offended by God, I’ll clean the candlestick myself later.

“Well, as you know,” the cleaning lady muttered, wringing out a rag, still glancing angrily in the direction of the altar boy.

Valery, on his knees, anxiously listened to the squabble of the cleaners, and when he realized that the trouble was over, he took out two more candles, placed them next to the first one, and knelt down again:

And, getting up from his knees, cheered up, he went to the altar. Sitting in a ponomark and polishing the censer, Valery dreamed of buying himself ice cream after the service, which he loved very much. “It’s actually big, it’s ice cream,” the guy thought, “you can divide it into two parts, eat one after the liturgy, and the other after the evening.”

That thought made him even happier. But remembering something, he frowned and, resolutely getting up, went back to the icon of the Quick Listener. Approaching, he said in all seriousness:

– Here’s what I thought about, Holy Mother of God, Father Protodeacon is a kind man, he gave me a ruble, but he himself could buy candles or something else with this ruble. You see, Holy Mother of God, he is now very upset that there is no snow for Christmas. The janitor Nikifor, for some reason, on the contrary, rejoices, but the archdeacon is upset. I would like to help him. Everyone asks you for something, but I always have nothing to ask, I just want to talk to you. And today I want to ask for the protodeacon, I know that You yourself love him. After all, he sings so beautifully for You “My Queen Preblagaya…”.

Valerka closed his eyes and began to sway in front of the icon to the beat of the motif he remembered. Then, opening his eyes, he whispered:

– Yes, he would have come to you to ask, but he has no time. You know he has a family, children. And I have no one but You, of course, and Your Son, our Lord Jesus Christ. You yourself ask God to send us a snowball. We don’t need much, so that by the holiday it becomes white, like in a temple. I think that God will not refuse You, because He is Your Son. If my mother asked me anything, I would gladly do it for her. True, I don’t have it, everyone says that I am an orphan. But I don't think I'm an orphan. After all, I have You, and You are the Mother of all people, as Vladyka said during his sermon. And he always speaks the truth. Yes, I figured that out myself. Here, ask me for something, and I will definitely do it for you. If you want, I will not buy such expensive ice cream, but I will buy cheap ice cream, for nine kopecks - milk.

He turned pale, lowered his eyes, and then, raising his eyes to the icon, said resolutely:

– Mother of God, tell Your Son, I won’t buy ice cream at all, if only it would snow. Oh please. You do not believe me? Then I’ll go right now for candles, and You, Most Holy Theotokos, go to Your Son, ask us for a little snowball.

Valery got up and went to the candle box, full of determination. However, the closer he got, the less resolve he had left. Before reaching the counter, he stopped and, turning, walked back, clutching the remaining change in his sweaty palm. But after taking a few steps, he turned back to the candle-box. Approaching the counter, he walked nervously around it, making senseless circles. His breathing became quickened, perspiration appeared on his forehead. Seeing him, the candle-maker shouted:

- Valery, what happened?

“I want to buy candles,” he said, stopping in a low voice.

- Lord, come and buy it, otherwise you walk like a pendulum.

Valerka glanced wistfully at the icon-case with the "Skoroshlushnitsa" standing in the distance. Approaching, he poured out a change on the counter and in a voice hoarse with excitement said:

Everything, ten kopecks.

When he received seven candles, his soul became lighter.

Before the evening Christmas service, snow suddenly fell in fluffy white flakes. Everywhere you look, white light snowflakes swirled in the air. The children poured out of the houses, joyfully dragging the sled behind them. The protodeacon, stalwartly striding towards the service, smiled from the top of his head, bowing as he walked with the parishioners going to the church. Seeing the abbot, he shouted:

- For a long time, father, I have not seen such fluffy snow, for a long time. You can immediately feel the approach of the holiday.

“Snowball is good,” the abbot replied. “So how do you tell the forecasters to believe after that?” This morning, I listened to the weather forecast, they assured me that there would be no precipitation. Nobody can be trusted.

Valerka, having prepared the censer for the service, managed to approach the icon:

- Thank you, Blessed Virgin Mary, what a good Son you have, the ice cream is a little, and how much snow has piled up.

“In the Kingdom of God, there is probably a lot of everything,” thought Valerka, moving away from the icon. “I wonder if there is an ice cream that tastes better than creme brulee?” Probably, there is,” he concluded his thoughts and, joyful, went to the altar.

January 2003. Samara