Priest Alexander DyachenkoOvercoming (collection). The stories rhyme with amazing precision

The word "scholia" translated from Greek means "comments, notes in the margins." And with the help of scholia in the literature of antiquity and the Middle Ages, commentators reflected on works of art- for example, the scholia to Homer’s Illiad have reached us. In the hands of a priest and famous writer Alexandra Dyachenko once also found a text that gave the priest the idea of reviving a forgotten ancient genre. This is how the book “Scholia” appeared. Simple and complex stories about people."

Two plump, handwritten notebooks were brought to the priest by his parishioner Gleb - he found them on the mezzanine of the apartment, which he bought after the death of the previous owner, an old woman named Nadezhda Ivanovna. They contained her autobiographical notes. The long, difficult life, filled with joyful and sad events, of a woman who survived the war and the death of her daughter, became the thread of the narrative, on which, like beads, the author’s reflections were strung, sounding like a peculiar echo of what was written in the notebooks.

For example, Nadezhda Ivanovna recalls how, unexpectedly for everyone, and even for herself, she married not the handsome man with whom she went to the movies and dances, but the guy with whom she was friends, but neither he nor she ever spoke about love and didn't speak. And the marriage turned out to be strong and happy, as if God himself had prompted right decision. Priest Alexander Dyachenko in the book “Scholia. Simple and complex stories about people" responds to this with a lyrical episode from own life, recalling a somewhat elusively similar acquaintance with his wife.

Nadezhda Ivanovna writes about student years which she spent in Moscow away from her family, and is amazed at how much good people she was surrounded. Once, for example, she went to Leningrad for the holidays, planning to stay with unknown relatives of a classmate. And they accepted the girl as if they were their own, although they saw her for the first time in her life. Father Alexander tells similar story- being a student in Voronezh, not knowing where to spend the night, he knocked on the door of an acquaintance’s house - and they let him in, warmed him up and fed him. Despite the fact that for a long time they could not really understand from whom the unexpected guest came to them.

Priest Alexander Dyachenko managed to create an extraordinary plot outline. These stories about human kindness, warmth and perseverance in life's trials, which at first seem disparate, ultimately form a completely clear pattern that unites several human destinies at once. “Scholia. Simple and complex stories about people" make you think with joy that in huge world We are not strangers to each other - which means we are not alone.

This year, the Nikeya publishing house published the book “Scholia” by Archpriest Alexander Dyachenko. The word “scholia” means the same as “marginal notes” - in antiquity and the Middle Ages this was the name given to short comments on a manuscript. Father Alexander’s book really consists of two works: the memoirs of a simple Russian woman Nadezhda Ivanovna Shishova, which accidentally fell into the hands of the narrator, and the author’s “scholia” - reflections on what he read. Each scholia is short story from modern life, which continues the theme set in the memoirs.

At the beginning of the book, the narrator explains how Nadezhda Ivanovna’s diaries came into his possession. One day he, a priest, asked his parishioner Gleb how he came to God? It turned out that it all started when Gleb and his family bought an apartment in a town near Moscow. While sorting out the things of his previous owner, he left himself a Bible and icons, and two more general notebooks with her memories. Deciding to read the manuscript someday, he threw the notebooks on the mezzanine and forgot about them. Gleb remembered both the Bible and the notebooks at an extremely difficult moment: his daughter, who had been on a spree, got into a car accident, was crippled and bedridden. He began to read the memoirs from the end, and the first episode he read turned out to be surprisingly consonant with his own situation: Nadezhda Ivanovna described the illness and death of her nineteen-year-old daughter...

Living through the most painful period of his life, Gleb continued to read the memoirs - and he gained the strength to fight for his daughter’s life and live himself. After all, the memoirs were written by a deeply religious man: Orthodox faith Nadezhda Ivanovna inherited it from her ascetic grandfather and grandmother, from her father and mother, for whom remembering God was as natural as breathing. By the day when Gleb’s daughter recovered, the whole family was a believer: he himself, his wife, and the girl who had gotten back on her feet.

Following his parishioner, Father Alexander begins to read the memoirs. “Such a story cannot remain the private matter of one person,” he reflects. - Humanity is one and how single organism consists of those who are, who were and those who will yet come to replace us. And if some of us are in desperate pain now, then why shouldn’t this pain affect those who will live here, say, a century later? Will they be significantly different from us? A priest, like a doctor, accompanies a person from the moment of birth until the last day. But unlike doctors, we are also concerned about his posthumous existence. After all, the fact that one of those who were nearby has already left the earthly world, in fact, does not change anything. His immortal soul continues to be my responsibility."

Father Alexander's "Scholia" prove that pain, joy and hope in God are indeed the same at all times. People come and go, but the same stories happen to them, sometimes they even rhyme with amazing accuracy. But it’s difficult to predict what kind of ending they will have, happy or sad.

For example, Nadezhda Ivanovna recalls how, as a five-year-old girl, she lay on the stove on Christmas night and waited for Christ to come to her. In the evening, she took the holiday treat to a husbandless woman with three children and heard from her mother: “The Lord will give you five times more.” But Christ does not come, and the girl is already beginning to fall asleep - when suddenly the inexplicable happens. “The door opens and He comes in... He is tall and thin. He took off his hat as soon as he entered the house, and kept it in his hand the whole time. Light brown wavy hair scattered over his shoulders. Without saying a word, He walked up to the stove on which I was lying and looked at me with gentle, light-emitting eyes. Then he patted me on the head and handed me a bag... The next morning in the village they said that many people had visited Him, but no one knew who He was, where He came from, or what His name was. It remained a secret." It is interesting that Nadezhda Ivanovna does not say anything about what was in the bag: the very fact of the Stranger’s appearance is much more significant than the gifts received. To this story, Father Alexander adds his own Christmas story: about how they had a Christmas tree for children in their parish - and one girl who wanted to tell him a poem did not have enough gift. “I don’t need anything, father,” she said. “I’ll tell you for free.” “We talked with her for a long time,” Father Alexander concludes the story. “Truly: there is no sweeter communication than the communication of friends.”

But Nadezhda Ivanovna talks about her brothers and sisters and remembers how one day her sister fell into a well, and her brother followed her down the chain and put her in a tub. People ran up and pulled them both out. Father Alexander attributes his scholia to this story - perhaps the most tragic in the book. The sons of his parishioner, ten and twelve years old, die under the ice: one falls through, and the other, trying to save him, also dies. When they are found, the elder’s fingers turn out to be folded for sign of the cross. Probably, Father Alexander should even be reproached for this story: a naturalistic story about the death of children is always a blow below the belt, it inevitably knocks the reader off his feet. And, although the author further comprehends this story from a spiritual point of view, talks about the real Easter joy that the father of the dead children later experienced, the horror does not leave the reader for a long time.

In general, in the “Scholia” there are a lot of stories about death, about old people and about children, and this is not surprising: birth and the first years of life, old age and death are the times when a person seems to be covered with the breath of Eternity. The child has just been born, he is pure and God’s creation can be seen so clearly in him. old man prepares to cross the mysterious threshold, and, in the end, takes this step, but, as Father Alexander writes, “continues to be in the sphere of responsibility of the priest.” The author shows his heroes in these borderline moments - because it is then that their souls are extremely open, and he tries to show us their depth, to convey his pain and love.

“Once upon a time, as a young priest, I took confession from one person,” writes Father Alexander. - And the more I listened to him, the more the desire grew to take a stick and beat him well. But the time of life passes, you grow old and understand that people should not be scolded or punished, they should be pitied. Today I would just hug him and feel sorry for him. This is the purpose of a priest - to have pity on people.”

Reading the book of Father Alexander, you begin to feel sorry with him... not only and not so much for his heroes, but for your elderly and children - all your loved ones who so lack pity and love. And since the soul comes to life, it means the book is real, and the inscription “spiritual prose” on title page- Not empty words. Is it true.

Archpriest Alexander Dyachenko - rector of the Church of the Tikhvin Icon Mother of God village of Ivanovo, Alexander diocese. Born in Moscow in the family of a military man. He spent his childhood and youth in Belarus, graduated from the Grodno Agricultural Institute. He was in the army twice - he served as both a private and an officer. For almost ten years he worked as a train compiler at railway. He became a priest at the age of forty after graduating from PSTGU. Today, Father Alexander is actively involved in missionary and educational activities. He maintains his own blog on LiveJournal, where he posts his stories, written in the style of life sketches. Collections of these stories have been compiled - “The Weeping Angel”, “Overcoming”, “In the Circle of Light” and now - new book"Scholia".

"Scholia" is an unusual story where stand-alone stories, the priest’s stories about himself, his parishioners, friends and relatives are a kind of comprehension, an expanded commentary on another line of the narrative - the real diary of a religious woman with a very difficult fate. This book is for those who appreciate the author’s sincere intonation, who expect genuine human stories, warmth, consolation and, most importantly, love for people from prose.

Presentation of the book “Scholia. Simple and complex stories about people” by Archpriest Alexander Dyachenko will take place in St. Petersburg:
February 16 at 19:00 - Spassky Center (Moskovsky Ave., 5);
February 17 at 19:00 - Bukvoed store on Vladimirsky (23 Vladimirsky Ave.).

“Scholia” is the ancient word Archpriest Alexander Dyachenko used to call his first novel, which he presented to St. Petersburg readers on February 18 in the Bookvoed store. "Scholia" translated from Greek means "a small commentary in the margins or between the lines of an ancient or medieval manuscript."

The literary work of Father Alexander Dyachenko is familiar to readers from books published by the Nikeya publishing house; the priest’s stories are known to users social networks on the Internet, but few people know that Dyachenko is the literary pseudonym of Archpriest Alexander Bragar, rector of the Church of the Tikhvin Icon of the Mother of God in the village of Ivanovo, Alexander Diocese. At a meeting in Bukvoed, Father Alexander said that in fact, Dyachenko is the old surname of his family on the male line, and Bragar is a kind of pseudonym. Once upon a time, his ancestors, who lived in Western Ukraine, fled from persecution of the Orthodox Christians, and they were sheltered by the landowner Bragar, who endowed the family with his surname. When Father Alexander began to publish his stories, he used his family name to, in his words, “disguise” himself in the everyday parish environment, thus sharing his priestly ministry and his passion for writing.

Previously, Nikea published three collections of stories by Archpriest Alexander Dyachenko. According to the father, “ The short story format is good because it attracts those who don’t like “a lot of beeches.” When I wrote them down, I simply recorded real events, meetings with people - everything that captured the heart».

Father Alexander admitted that "Scholia" is his first, and perhaps only novel.. When asked why, he answered: “ Because I am not a writer, I am a priest, writing a large and truly literary work requires special knowledge, skills that I do not possess. My stories are sketches real events, there is nothing fictitious in them, and in a novel you cannot do without a certain amount of fantasy. Scholium is a rich, beautiful, ancient word. I write my notes and impressions on the margins of people's lives. Everyone who reads with me leaves their scholia in the margins of the book».

The novel was written in a collaboration of five authors, not all of whom knew each other personally. It began with the manuscript of a woman, an altar attendant in the church where the author of the book serves. " I could not even imagine that a man lives so close to me, whose grandfather is a real asceticXX century!“- noted the priest. This woman is very wise and strong. She survived the tragedy that played out in the family, and being on the verge of life and death, she found the strength to write about her grandfather in order to leave a mark in the history of the family, in the memory of her grandson.

Her grandfather, a simple peasant, endowed with a fiery love for God, had a tremendous influence on the spiritual appearance of not only the family, but the entire region. When the Bolsheviks destroyed churches, God-loving simpletons came to him for consolation and strengthening. " “I kept thinking,” Father Alexander said at a meeting in Bukvoed, “how different we are from them - pure, deep, sincere, people of the Russian hinterland of the middle of the last century - our grandfathers and fathers. I think their sincerity is what we miss!»

On the memories of the 20th century ascetic, the priest superimposed the story of his friends, whose daughter had an accident, and through this ordeal the whole family came to God. As Father Alexander said, from the reviews of readers it is clear that the roll call of the destinies of people who walked different paths, but found one priceless treasure - faith, is perceived organically, like a roll call of generations, reminding that everyone is alive with God. In this sense, he really likes the tradition of Orthodox Serbs to write single memorial notes “dead and alive.”

At the presentation, Father Alexander was asked questions about how did he become a clergyman, what did he like to read?

« In life, it is very important not to take someone else’s place. Having read the books of the marine painter V.V. Konetsky, since childhood I wanted to be a military sailor, but did not pass medical commission at school. I decided, in order not to waste time, to study at some university, but one where there is less competition - after all, I just have to hold out until spring, and then enroll in the navy again. I entered the Agricultural Institute (due to minimal competition), and when I started studying, I became seriously interested in applied biology. It was so interesting to study it that I forgot about the officer’s dream. On March 8, I defended my diploma and went on assignment. On the day of my arrival, a young conscript soldier brought from Afghan war"load-200". He was wounded in the stomach just on March 8, and at one time he entered the same faculty where, out of nothing to do, I entered. That is, everything should have been the other way around, and I took the place of that soldier.

The memory of this remained for life. I’ve been a priest for 16 years now, and I still feel uneasy, am I taking someone else’s place? Do I have the right to the priesthood? The older you get, the more you understand what shrine you come into contact with when serving the Liturgy. This, in my opinion, is a good feeling - testing your conscience gives rise to reverence for the holy».

One of the readers asked me to answer, How to relate to aggression, anger, which is becoming more and more around?

« Irritation is the background of human existence. Moreover, we live normally, there are no starving people, but we are so envious and insatiable, and they also encourage us from the screen: “Live to the fullest! Demand it! You deserve it!” Our life is a boomerang: what we launch will come back. An example of selfless love for neighbors is Dr. Fyodor Petrovich Gaaz, a Catholic, for whose funeral all the St. Petersburg Orthodox clergy gathered! On his grave there is a monument - shackles, designed by him to minimize the pain caused to the prisoners. To love the image of God in every shackle like he does is an example for any Christian. Hatred corrodes, in spite of it we must do good».

« Father Alexander Dyachenko is a wonderful priest because a real priest always preaches, and he answered every question from the audience with a full-fledged sermon. Today we heard about a dozen short sermons - balanced, edifying and very interesting. May God grant that the people who heard them receive the benefit that is within their power.

I became acquainted with the work of Father Alexander from the book “In the Circle of Light,” which I read right away, admired, found on the Internet all the possible stories of the father, his “Live Journal,” read and admired even more.

Why was I so attracted to the work of Father Alexander? Much of what he writes is familiar, even some facts from his life are akin to me, because I was baptized at about 30 years old, like him, and ordained at the age of 40. Everything is the same, only with a difference of 15 years. Even the fact that he has a friend - a priest, a former special forces soldier - coincides, because I - former instructor hand-to-hand combat. Everything is native, and even written in good Russian, with warmth - what could you ask for better?

Works written by a priest are read differently by the laity and his colleagues in the priestly ministry. A layman looks at the events described in the book from the outside. The priest sees in them stories from his practice, only well written. Yes, indeed, for some reason one grandmother manages to wait for the priest rushing to her last confession, but the other one doesn’t. A man came to confession for the first time, and in an incomprehensible state, but he brought his pain, and how to deal with him, how to help? This professional exchange of experience in parish practice, which is not taught in the seminary, is very useful.

“Popovskaya prose” is a unique genre that is interesting not only to believers. In our time, the so-called “great literature” usually creates aesthetic nonsense, playing with words, describing, as a rule, vile passions. Fiction and fantasy immerse you in a too fictitious world. The priest hardly invents, his soul does not dare to write outright fabrication. As a rule, the priest describes reality so that it becomes alive, and this is precisely what is missing in popular culture now» .

Anna Barkhatova , correspondent for Russian People's Line

I confess that I started reading Father Alexander Dyachenko’s book “Scholia”, published by the Nikeya publishing house, with the prejudice that the so-called “pastoral literature” has nothing to do with literature itself. It must certainly be stuffed with soulful instructions, ground into crumbs with touching and affectionate suffixes, a kind of “night marshmallow flows through the ether” or marshmallows, a delicacy for the infantile.

Indeed, the first pages of the book justified the fears. Here and there there were “gray-haired men with beer bellies,” “backs like stretched strings,” and other small suffix-deformed objects. I was especially struck by the “you” address and the promise of mutual friendship. It must be said that such a desire not only significantly reduces the distance between the author and the reader, but instead of the desire to become one of their own, it gives rise to mistrust.

However, by the twelfth page these criticisms were overcome.

Now a few formal observations.

In the composition “Scholia” the author uses the technique of framing the text, a story within a story. Moreover, double and triple framing. This is similar to the principle of a box within a box. The main narrative line, it would seem, belongs to the narrator, played by Archpriest Alexander Dyachenko himself. His life is happening surrounded by many people. Dozens, hundreds appear on the pages - a great galaxy of names, with each of which the main character is connected by a micro or macro plot. But the narrator’s line is actually only a commentary, a scholia to the main compositional core of the story - the diary of Nadezhda Ivanovna Shishova, which, by force of circumstances, turns out to be found and read not only by the narrator, but also by one of the heroes.

The diary is an epic canvas, hundred year history one peasant family, originating in the village of Racheika in Samara region. For each of the chapters of the diary there is an author's scholia, a “commentary in the margins”, which in one way or another correlates with what is happening in the diary. This technique creates a feeling of continuity of what is happening, a semantic retrospective that arises as a result of the simultaneous resolution of many plot lines.

So what is this book about?

About love

About love for those near and far. To relatives and strangers. About the love of wife and husband. About parental love (the story of a girl Katya, who rebelled in front of her parents and became disabled). “Loving and forgiving is an ability that we have lost.”

Merciful love is indicative in the chapter of the scholia “The Girl in the Window.” Cancer patient Nina is treated in the hospital with the mouse poison cyclophosphamide. The same poison is used to poison cockroaches in the ward. Dehydrated, Nina crawls to the sink to pour water and notices two cockroaches crawling the same way. The three of them crawl to the washstand, the man and the cockroaches. Cockroaches understand that now a person is not dangerous to them, he is in the same position, they move their mustache and ask for help: “Help, man!” Taking the lid from plastic bottle, Nina pours water for the cockroaches: “I understand you guys. Here, drink some water." “Mercy is like the key, even if you showed love to creatures such as cockroaches,” the author summarizes.

About paradise

Not a speculative dream, but a real earthly paradise accompanies man. Memories of the paradise of childhood transform even such a hopeless gambler, a threat to the area, a giant smoker, like Genka Bulygin from the chapter of the scholia “Red Poppies of Issyk-Kul”.

“Sanya, you won’t believe it, whole valleys of poppies! They grow on their own, no one sows them,” Genka knew such words and built long phrases. “You run and crash into them like an icebreaker into an ice floe, and then you swim through the red waves. While you are a boy, they hit you in the face; when you grow up, they hit you on the chest, then only on the arms. You fall on your back, lie and look for a long, long time through the red petals at the sun and the bottomless sky. But there everything is different, there is no evil, there is a different air, different people. They are kind and smile at each other”...

Paradise - in a mountain lake with clear greenish water, in the Tien Shan mountains, in the forests of the foothills, in herds of grazing sheep, in the fish that Genka caught with his father in mountain rivers. No matter what childhood is, a model of heaven is always formulated in it...

About the priesthood

The scholia were written on behalf of the author of the book, priest Alexander Dyachenko. From the text it becomes clear that his homeland is the Belarusian city of Grodno. In his youth, he received the nickname “Sectarian” for reading the New Testament. He became a priest with the blessing of his confessor. And since then he has served as rector of a rural church in a village that has almost merged with the sprawling city.

“A priest, like a doctor, accompanies a person from the moment of birth until the last day. But unlike doctors, we are also concerned about his posthumous existence. After all, the fact that one of those who were nearby has already left the earthly world, in fact, does not change anything. His immortal soul continues to be my responsibility."

Like the doctor, every priest, especially a parish priest, has an “alarm” suitcase.

“It happens that you have to run to a call without hesitation. He put on his cassock, grabbed his bag, and off he went. But the suitcase itself is nothing; what is filled with it is much more important. The main “tool of labor” of any priest is his censer and cross. The censer may be new, from Sofrino, but the cross cannot be. It must necessarily bear witness to an uninterrupted tradition from past centuries to today.”

From chapter to chapter, the author brings out the stories of his parishioners. True stories, in which he himself is mistaken, shows his impulsive, “human” side. In these stories, “the loneliness of a stranger is everyday and imperceptible. He goes to the temple in the hope that they will listen to him there. Approaching the priest, he probably understands that even in the temple he will not be given back dead son or lost health. That's not what he's going for. I haven't read Jung, but I have my own scale of human despair. And I know how to help those who come to church. Don't say anything, just be close to him and be silent. The Lord will do the rest."

About death

The theme of death runs through the narrative.

“I love funeral services. The chants seem to me the most beautiful and very touching. There is no despair in them, but there is simultaneously the joy of the human soul returning home and the sadness of loved ones. This parting is temporary: the day will come when we will all meet again, and the words of the chants inspire hope.”

Death as a test affects every hero in one way or another. A cycle of death occurs. Parents are eyewitnesses to the passing of their children. Children witness the death of their parents. Every time death appears differently, every human story has its own death. Sudden or due to negligence (children drowned under ice), protracted from a long illness (“today paradise is filled with cancer patients”), with and without pain. The smell of rotting human flesh (“man smells bad”) in the aurora and snow. The soul in the form of a dove appears more than once at final farewells.

Death today is not the same as before.

Previously, people prepared for death from childhood - the old children in the village played at funerals. They rolled a doll out of a rag and put it in a “mykolnik” (yarn box). The boys carried the dead man, and the girls wailed. The main thing was not to be shy, but to understand that there is only you and the dead man, and no one else.

There was a premonition of death. A man went to the bathhouse, put on a clean shirt, called everyone to say goodbye and lay down under the icons. The soul was preparing to leave earthly life. Now, the author admits, “more souls are being ripped out of us.” Hiding deep lamentations:

My dear brother Kolenka!

We gathered in your room

Not for an honest feast and not for a wedding.

And we came to see you off

On your last journey.

Oh, oh...

About the feat of small deeds

Before us is a description of everyday life human lives. Each character in the book is engaged in ordinary routine work, quietly cultivating their garden. In the early hours he goes out to the feat of daily work in order to see his temple in splendor. (So Father Pavel, for example, collects bottles and digs through garbage in order to restore monasteries and churches with the money he accumulates). None of the heroes shirk their task or rise above it. In awareness, recognition of the final task - cultivation of oneself, an important thing occurs - inclusion in everyday meanings. Small everyday meanings that build into a whole and richly filled life.

About the righteous

The feat of small deeds - isn’t this the essence of the righteous? And again about the garden:

“Judge for yourself what our land is for the Lord? Yes, read the same garden as mine. Do you know how much work you need to do for the land to produce a harvest? And what is this hard labor for? Yes, all for the sake of the harvest of the righteous human souls. God is always working. This is His “garden” all year round"! When God's garden stops producing the harvest of the righteous, then the world will end. There is no need to waste such energy on him...”

Speaking about the righteous, we should say more about one of the heroes of “Scholia”, who is Andrei Kuzmich Loginov. It would seem that the biography of the “grandfather” fits well into several pages of the diary of Nadezhda Ivanovna, his granddaughter. However, it is he, the hermit and prayer book, who is the axial core around which the narrative invisibly revolves, in most cases seemingly not directly connected with him. This is what the author is thinking about latently. And, I suppose, it was he, Andrei Loginov, a righteous man and confessor of the Christian faith, who was the impetus for writing “Scholia”.

Dreaming of monasticism since childhood, at the insistence of the confessor of the Sarov Monastery of the Arzamas district, Father Anatoly, Andrei Kuzmich was forced to get married. Having raised his daughter, he digs a hermitage for himself on the edge of the village, where he labors from 1917 to 1928. For three years he lives as a complete recluse, sees no one and does not talk to anyone, but only prays and reads. Scripture, makes 300 bows a day. His wife leaves food for him at his doorstep.

During Stalin's repressions“The hermitage was plundered, the key was broken, the apple trees were cut down, a large cross stood on the road - they cut it down. One party member moved the cell to his yard and turned it into a stable.” However, the grandfather manages to escape - for several years his family hides him in the house from persecution. He is experiencing the Great Patriotic War, reaches the sixty-first year, in which he dies at the age of eighty-six.

The image of Andrei Kuzmich Loginov appears in the book as the image of a saint, possessing the gift of providence and the talent of consolation. Everyone approached their grandfather for advice, and he gave everyone the necessary teaching, which was based on the indispensable commandment of the Gospel.

“Whoever asked: “Do you believe in God?” – don’t be afraid and boldly answer: “Yes, I believe!” And God will not leave you. If at work you are demoted or even fired, God will not leave you, but will make you even better.” Or: “Never put yourself above others. Learn from everyone. Do everything at work with your soul. Be honest, listen to your bosses, do everything they tell you. But if they begin to demand something illegal, that is at odds with the commandments of Christ, do not do it.”

About historical time

On almost four hundred pages of the book, events pass through different generations of one family Russian history. Dispossession, Holodomor, persecution, security officers, collectivization, repression, war, thaw, stagnation, the dashing nineties... People behave differently. None of them are winners. No one is defeated. Not a single word of condemnation was said, either towards the authorities or about the executioners. There are no negative characters in the book. Neither Nadezhda Ivanovna, nor Elder Andrei, nor any other character in the book considers himself an enemy of the existing government. They perceive everything that happens as inevitable, a given, as God’s permission and an opportunity to save themselves and their loved ones.

“Grandfather told us that any power is from God. This is how it should be, and it doesn’t depend on us. Just no matter what power you have, never renounce God. I remember when I was already an adult, my mother taught: if they ask you if there is a God, say that there is.”

“I have always believed in God. I prayed every morning and evening, I prayed when I went to exams or did something important. I prayed when I sat down at the table, but always to myself. She wore the cross pinned to her underwear, and before a medical examination or physical education class, she went into the toilet and unhooked it.”

Schoolchildren write on the board the names of people who came to church on Easter. Saratov region. Photo: TASS

Through the prism of faith, the country appears patient, merciful and trusting to the point of foolishness. But humility does not mean reconciliation, oblivion of all historical memory:

“Only seventy years have passed, but everyone has already forgotten everything. New country needs new heroes, and now the streets are named after the SS man, monuments are erected in his honor and casts Gold Star Hero. In independent Uzbekistan, they came to their senses and glorified the formidable Tamerlane, who after his raids left pyramids of severed heads. National hero, his portraits are printed on money, monuments are erected. The Mongols praise Genghis Khan, the enlightened French praise Napoleon. And you think: why, forgetting the creators of beauty, poets, thinkers, scientists, doctors, people with enviable persistence continue to glorify Cain?

About eternity

The main core of the “Scholy” narrative is the authentic diary of Nadezhda Ivanovna Shishova, the granddaughter of Andrei Kuzmich Loginov. The entirety of it unfolds before the reader. life drama, associated with the loss of loved ones (first her parents die, then one after another she buries her daughter, husband, grandson). She began writing her memoirs in the late 1990s, “when everyone you loved in this earthly life was already gone. Then you begin to live in anticipation of meeting them there, in eternity. The earthly ceases to excite.”

She dedicates her memories to her little great-grandson Vanechka, who lives abroad. It is likely that Vanechka is a fictitious addressee, but that doesn’t matter. Because it is he who is the point at which the entire birth experience is directed, all historical memory. A point of reflection for each of us. The past, which becomes eternity, and the future, which is already eternity, unite at this point.

“I wrote these memories about our family, about your ancestors, distant and close, especially for you. I don't know what language you speak now. But, Vanechka, I believe that someday you will read my notes about these ordinary people. Know that you have nothing to be ashamed of us. We worked honestly on our land, defended it from enemies, built churches, believed and loved. Remember yourself, my dear grandson. Remember, you are Russian. We love you, Vanechka, and send our bows to you from eternity.”

As a postscript, I will say that the fears associated with “pastoral literature”, framed in the “Spiritual Prose” series, turned out to be not that far-fetched - no, and the simplicity in presentation, stylistic and lexical repetitions, all this is in the text. But there is also something in the text that raises the reader’s perception above the expectation of “literature proper”, forces one to take action - to look around oneself and notice others - those who live invisibly nearby. Or, like Grandfather Andrei in a snowstorm, go out onto the porch of a cell in the desert with the bell “Gift of Valdai” and ring it for a long, long time so that a traveler who has lost his direction knows the way.

I dedicate this book to my dear granddaughter Elizabeth and to everyone who was born in the first years of the twenty-first century - with hope and love.

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Road checks

Shortly before the New Year, my good friend received sad news. In one of the small towns of the neighboring region, his friend was killed. As soon as I found out, I immediately rushed there. It turned out that it was nothing personal. Big, strong man about fifty years old, returning home late at night, I saw four young guys trying to rape a girl. He was a warrior a real warrior, passed many hot spots.

He stood up without hesitation and immediately rushed into battle. He fought off the girl, but someone contrived and stabbed him in the back. The blow turned out to be fatal. The girl decided that now they would kill her too, but they didn’t. Said:

- Live for now. One night was enough, and they left.

When my friend returned, I tried as best I could to express my condolences to him, but he replied:

- Don't console me. Such a death for my friend is a reward. It would be difficult to dream of a better death for him. I knew him well, we fought together. There is a lot of blood on his hands, maybe not always justified. After the war he did not live very well. You understand what time it was. It took me a long time to convince him to be baptized, and, thank God, he was baptized not so long ago. The Lord took him to the most glorious death for a warrior: on the battlefield, protecting the weak. A beautiful Christian demise.

I listened to my friend and remembered an incident that happened to me.

Then there was a war in Afghanistan. IN active army, due to losses, urgent replacements were required. Career officers from the units they were transferred there, and in their places reserves were called up for a period of two years. Not long before, I returned from the army and found myself among these “lucky ones.” Thus, I had to repay my debt to the Motherland twice.

But since military unit, where I served was not very far from my home, then everything turned out well for us. I often came home on weekends. My daughter was a little more than a year, the wife did not work, and the salaries of the officers were good then.

I had to travel home by train. Sometimes in military uniform, sometimes in civilian life. One day, it was in the fall, I was returning to my unit. I arrived at the station about thirty minutes before the electric train arrived. It was getting dark, it was cool. Most of the passengers were sitting inside the station. Some were dozing, some were talking quietly. There were many men and young people.

Suddenly, quite suddenly, the station door swung open and a young girl ran towards us. She pressed her back against the wall near the cash register and, stretching out her hands towards us, shouted:

- Help, they want to kill us!

Immediately at least four young people run after her and shout: “You won’t leave! It's the end of you! – they press this girl into a corner and begin to strangle her. Then another guy literally drags another guy like him into the waiting room by the collar, and she screams in a heartbreaking voice: “Help!” Imagine this picture.

Back then, there was usually a policeman on duty at the station, but that day, as if on purpose, he was not there. The people sat and looked frozen at all this horror.

Among everyone who was in the waiting room, I was the only one wearing the military uniform of an aviation senior lieutenant. If I had been a civilian then, I would hardly have gotten up, but I was in uniform.

I get up and hear the grandmother sitting next to me exhale:

- Son! Don't go, they'll kill you!

But I had already gotten up and couldn’t sit back. I still ask myself the question: how did I decide? Why? If this had happened today, I probably wouldn’t have gotten up. But today I am such a wise minnow, but then? After all, I myself had small child. Who would feed him then? And what could I do? I could have fought with one more hooligan, but I couldn’t stand against five for even a minute, they would have simply smashed me.

He walked up to them and stood between the guys and girls. I remember getting up and standing, what else could I do? And I also remember that none of the other men supported me.

Luckily for me, the guys stopped and became silent. They didn’t say anything to me, and no one hit me even once, they just looked at me with some kind of respect or surprise.

Then, as if on command, they turned their backs to me and left the station building. The people were silent. The girls disappeared unnoticed. There was silence, and I found myself the center of everyone's attention. Having experienced a moment of glory, he became embarrassed and also tried to leave quickly.

I walk along the platform and - imagine my surprise - I see this whole company of young people, but no longer fighting, but walking in an embrace!

It dawned on me - they were playing a prank on us! Maybe they had nothing to do, and while waiting for the train, they had fun, or maybe they bet that no one would intercede. Don't know.

Then I went to the unit and thought: “But I didn’t know that the guys were joking with us, I really stood up.” Then I was still far from faith, from the Church. He hadn't even been baptized yet. But I realized that I was being tested. Someone was looking at me then. As if he was asking: how would you behave in such circumstances? They simulated the situation, completely protecting me from any risk, and watched.

We are constantly being peered at. When I ask myself why I became a priest, I cannot find an answer. My opinion is that a candidate for the priesthood must still be a person of very high moral standing. He must comply with all the conditions and canons historically imposed by the Church on a future priest. But if you consider that I was only baptized at thirty, and before that time I lived like everyone else, then like it or not I came to the conclusion that He simply had no one to choose from.

He looks at us like a housewife sorting through badly damaged cereal, hoping to finally cook something, or like a carpenter who needs to nail a few more planks, but has run out of nails. Then he takes the bent and rusty ones, straightens them and tries: will they work? I, too, am probably such a rusty nail, and so are many of my brothers who came to the Church in the wake of the early nineties. We are a generation of church builders. Our task is to restore churches, open seminaries, and teach the new generation of believing boys and girls who will replace us. We cannot be saints, our limit is sincerity in our relationship with God, our parishioner is most often a suffering person. And most often we cannot help him with our prayers, we are not strong enough, the most we can do is only share his pain with him.

We are laying the foundation for a new state of the Church, emerging from persecution and getting used to living in a period of creative creation. Those for whom we work must come to the soil we prepare and grow in holiness. That’s why, when I give Holy Communion to babies, I look at their faces with such interest. What will you choose, baby, cross or bread?