June 11, 1995

As always, there are worries, a mental appeal: "Lord, help me, so that nothing prevents you from getting to the feast of the Venerable!" And to him, too: "Abba, arrange so that nothing delays you!" Quite real worries: Olga NikolaevnaCXIV is barely alive. At any moment, all plans and desires can collapse. With bated breath, I wait for the moment when the lock clicks and we set off. There is some clarity. It's terribly hot outside. On the train, we were exhausted, we dozed off all the way. In Posad, the sky turned gray, the first large drops of rain dripped on the hot sidewalk, then it began to rain, and we even stood for a while under a thick old poplar tree. Of course, it soon ended, but the air became cleaner and fresher, the dust was nailed, the gardens were watered for the holiday. We descend a narrow and steep alley, even choosing where to step, because cheerful streams have spilled into wide puddles in convenient places. We go to the Lavra with a margin of time: it is not known what the stewards and guardians of order will come up with, whether they will let us into the Trinity Cathedral. On this day, you want to get here. We looked and saw that all the entrances were open: both to the narthex and to the church. What kind of miracles? Without going into unnecessary arguments, we enter the cathedral and immediately turn to the left — it is a little cooler there: a window at the top and a door for the clergy and choir. Stuffy, of course, but it would have been even harder if it had not been for this rain, the monk sprinkled it directly. Everyone is somehow settled, waiting for the service. It is good, in general, to come to church before the beginning of the service – to come to one's senses, to collect one's thoughts or to renounce those that prevent one from thinking about the upcoming doxology of the Holy Trinity. I look greedily at the long-familiar iconostasis, large icons on pillars. In front of us is the icon of the Descent of the Holy Spirit on the Apostles. Why such a state? From the desire to first see, then to hear the service, and from the fear of losing all this, which has not yet passed. I always remember at that time how in my childhood, at the very beginning of my second decade, I was looking for "humility" in the icon. Anyuta said that there is an icon in the Trinity Cathedral, where humility itself is revealed to the world. So I was looking for where it was, this humility. It is not so easy to notice it. For some reason, it seemed to me that the fiery Cherubim, surrounding the New Testament Trinity on the huge icon of the right pillar, kept it in themselves.

Of course, Rublev's "Trinity" was meant, but it was difficult for me to understand it in those years. Now again, as many times in my life, I see the "Trinity", if not the Rublev one, but a very good copy. I see - all in flowers, I see through the attached leaves of young birches. There is a smell of peonies that stand on the sole, grass, birches - in a word, the Trinity. Thank God we're here. Wherever I am, there will be a feeling of incompleteness, insufficiency... Here, and only here, you feel as you can only when you don't need anything else, when you don't want anywhere else. That's all here. Not to speak of the internal—and it is impossible to talk about it, it is too individual, to each in his own measure—it is impossible not to speak of everything that is accessible. The Church of the Holy Trinity is truly a temple of Beauty. It is not for nothing that beauty is considered one of the expressions, manifestations of God to man. Architecture, icons, worship — everything is beautiful. And on this holiday, even more so. The powerful, man-made beauty created for centuries is complemented by the fragile, quickly fading, but living beauty of the earth. And the silver reflections, gilded by the flickering of candles, the green of the birches sing to the soul barely audibly, but quite intelligibly: "O Heavenly King...". You do not yet pronounce these words before the general singing, but they are somewhere very close. How good it is that our spiritualized ancestors loved, understood and created this beauty, which somehow pushes back our everyday life and helps to postpone the vacillation of anxious thoughts and everything unnecessary that is so much in life. By the way, there are also stories about the pilgrimage to Sinai, especially by Valeria AlfeevaCXV. They bring closer the mountains that have heard the voice of God. But then, in fire and storm, now we await the voice of the subtle cold.66 Now we know that in order to hear it, it is necessary to forget, throw away, renounce one's "I" to the end, or at least to the limit possible for each soul, that is, to admit that there is nothing more I can do. Everything that was possible was done, that could be spoiled by stupidity and pride, was spoiled. Now, "You, O Lord, can gather up and restore what is broken, repair what is corrupted, turn all that is painful and harmful for good..." Only God can, and He does. This is our faith: to entrust Him with the repair of what we have destroyed, and not to doubt that the Giver of life will be able to do it better than we can dream. This is the foundation of the peace of the soul: the Lord will not allow what is unnecessary and harmful, but He will be able to miraculously correct what is allowed: and correct the works of our hands.67 In this lies the possibility of the most desirable consolation: the Lord knows each person and Himself leads him along the path that He finds most suitable for him... One thing is inevitable for everyone: all experiential knowledge comes only when circumstances have been thoroughly examined.

These thoughts, randomly arising and changing, are instantly blown away by the breeze. The ringing begins. Just listening to it, looking at everything, not thinking about anything - and that's a gift for the holiday. Thank God, we got it. Along with the ringing, bustle pours into the cathedral: subdeacons, attendants flash, fathers running around. The Patriarch will serve, everything must be kept in order. The Patriarch, apparently, had already entered through the Nikon Church, but the choir was silent. It is necessary to sing the troparion. Someone desperately reminds the choir director of this with both hands. They began to sing not very harmoniously, but this does not cause annoyance: a young student is probably in such a role for the first time, no wonder he forgets from excitement. But the main thing is that the guys will sing, and not professionals and specialists. Let them get lost somewhere, but it can be fixed. There are people among them who are sincere and love the divine services, hence the nature of the sound. In general, they sang quite appropriately, although sometimes not quite as we would like. And how did you want? For example, to hear the concert of S. A. Degtyarev "The glorious day has seen all languages...". I would have enough strength, probably no rehearsals. And there is a lot of work with it, but when they sing, for example: "And all began to speak...", you feel the wave movement of the melody, which received its impulse from an almost visible flash – the tongue of the Divine energy that transformed the "fishermen" into the Apostles. I don't like all of the "concerts", but some of them are certain. It is surprising that forms, when changing, can contain the unchanging. The service is rapidly moving towards its conclusion. Here we want it to slow down, but that's not for us to decide. We're even playing for time, not in a hurry to come to the anointing, because then we'll be thrown out the door. I would very much like Father Vladimir, as before, after reading the Gospel, to turn to the people and sing "O Heavenly King..." He was in service, but "O Heavenly King..." The choir sang, and not as harmoniously and on the rise as expected. What else is left in my memory? A bright, warm, joyful evening, a fading sunset, a huge Assumption Cathedral nearby, confession in it. Sometimes or not, maybe the priest says this to encourage him, but the truth is that he wants to say everything, not caring about how he will be perceived. Simple human sympathy and understanding give rise to a desire to try to correct everything in ourselves that we are able to correct. What a great miracle God has given us – the Church and in her – the Sacraments!

In the morning, when it is already warm, but not yet too hot, the choir of Father N. sings in the Dormition. For some reason, it smells of such a village parish that we go to the still empty Troitsky. A dozen students would sing in a much more appropriate way. I have nothing against the parish, but not in the Lavra!

In Troitskoye, prayers are served, all barriers are destroyed – go and venerate the Venerable Saint, everyone who wants to. We stayed at the Venerable One's and went to the Academic Church. I want the choir to sound harmoniously on such a holiday, glorifying the Holy Trinity, so that the choir leads and lifts the soul up.

The church was opened early, we could sit at the window. An important detail. Until the service began, from the height of the second floor, you can see crumbling and crumbling peony bushes, a green trimmed lawn, multi-colored bushes near the fence, hear the cries of rooks and jackdaws. And all this together is united by one common consciousness: we are in the Lavra! Very good faces flash in the crowd. Among the servants, the face of Bishop Basil, who was modestly present, who did not even concelebrate, attracts attention. Maybe he will serve the late one. You can't say anything – a person has just passed, just stands in church – and somehow it becomes more festive in the soul. And this is in the complete absence of any communication. Yes, a personal example means a lot. In the Church, the importance of the individual increases. Time passed, and both the Liturgy and Vespers ended. We must, as always, hurry home. In the train we sleep, thinking through sleep: now only You, Lord, can work a miracle. We want a ray of light in our disagreements, even if it is invisible, to somehow act and melt the sharp corners of the discrepancy of our desires. God can do it. Only God can. All human strength has been exhausted, and you have to live and endure again and again. God! Help! Without any external change, something inside seemed to have moved. Perhaps God is giving us a respite. And for that, thank God! It is absolutely necessary... Thank God for everything! For everything that allowed us to be in the Lavra, and if we do not know how to fully appreciate it, forgive me, Lord, and help us to improve. And what about the promise of God: I will pour out my Spirit on all flesh.68 The paremias resemble this promise, but one wants to feel in practice, in one's soul, in one's life, the vitality and eternal efficacy of these words. One would not dare to say that the action of the Spirit of God is familiar, especially if one reveres St. Symeon the New Theologian. To say that I have no idea of such an acquaintance, as the Apostles were told (in the Book of Acts), would this not be the blackest ingratitude? How to connect the seemingly incompatible? The prophet, repenting, asked: "Do not take away Thy Holy Spirit from me."69 This means that repentance is the most obvious revelation to the soul of the Holy Spirit. St. Theophan the Recluse also wrote about this. And if on the feast day any soul becomes more visible and disgusting, more hateful of his sins, it means that God gave it as a mercy. This means that a ray of Divine light fell and illuminated the sinful abyss at least for a moment. May God grant that this understanding will strengthen our souls with hope in the Creator's care for each of us, protecting us from weakness, despondency and laziness. It is a gift worthy of God, and it is given to us because without it we would not be able to understand our sinfulness or repent of it. And it is also a mercy if you meet a priest who in a few words will be able to feel, understand and forgive in the name of God.

Glory to Thy longsuffering, O Lord!

Roses on Vladimirskaya

1990 year

This time there was an opportunity to be in the Lavra for all-night vigil before the feast, stay overnight in the Posad and go to the liturgy in the morning. In the evening we stood in the Church of the Intercession. The service is good, the Vladimir Icon of the Mother of God is the most favorite. But my head is bad, it can barely hold on. It's not good because of the stuffiness. After the service, we go through Berezki in a warm evening. We decided to visit A. N., to bring her water from the pump. She had a daughter, she brought water. We sat on the terrace, talked about politics for the sake of decency (we had to talk about E. A. Shevardnadze's speech, answer K.'s questions...), and began to say goodbye. They gave us a bunch of green onions, a few boiled potatoes, and K. cut a few roses for us. Wonderful, classically pink, strong, large. Such a place is only in paradise. We are going to spend the night. It's still light. While the brightest evenings are and there is an opportunity not to rush, we walk slowly and silently. It is difficult for both of us, that's why it is not said. Our common pain and burden will not be weakened by words. You know that the only salvation in such a case is patience, but it is difficult... At about four o'clock I woke up, remembering that it was the feast of my beloved icon, that we would soon be in the Lavra for a service, and that we had roses. They smell delicate and touching. There is a faint ray of hope in their smell. Whereat? By the mercy of God, by the help of the Queen of Heaven... We go to the Trinity Cathedral to the Venerable. There is nothing ahead. We stand at the entrance in indecision. Father Matthew came to venerate the veneration, and on his way back he invited: "It's already open." He was going to start the Liturgy. He was rarely seen serving on a holiday. But here is the end of the service. In his sermon there was a story by a former employee of the Tretyakov Gallery, who even before the revolution went to the Assumption Cathedral of the Kremlin and remembered with what reverence everyone treated the Vladimir Icon of the Mother of God. When the cathedral was closed and the icon was placed in the storeroom without a riza, without any respect, she could not calm down, she kept thinking about how to do so that the icon could be placed in a functioning church. I talked to my superiors – I don't mind (this was even before its restoration). I talked to the priest of one of the churches (without saying which icon she was bothering about) – and he did not mind. She began to pray fervently to the Mother of God, asking her to reveal Her will. On the last night before she wanted to give the icon to church, she saw this icon in a dream and understood, with her whole being, that the Mother of God was not pleased with this. He wakes up with the thought: if so, let everything remain as it is. And he calms down on this. After a while, she learns that the church where she wanted to take the icon was blown up at night... The Vladimir Icon of the Mother of God is still in the State Tretyakov Gallery. Books and articles are written about it, pictures are printed. The whole world gets acquainted with it – a reading world, not indifferent to beauty, cut off from the Church. She shines on him in this way, so that he does not get lost completely.

After the service, you can put roses in front of a photograph of this icon, which has been known in Russia since the XII century, loved and especially revered. Roses have endured the road and service, they have not even been grafted, they stand in all their glory and stream a delicate aroma. The pain in the soul is dulled, but does not go away completely. I read the canon of the monk Theostirictos CXVI, asking him with the words: "Fill my heart with joy, O Virgin...", knowing that joy is still far away. At least it was tolerable. And yet the edge of pain is broken. Glory to God and thanks to the Queen of Heaven! Old wounds will not heal immediately, but it would be ingratitude to say that everything has remained hopelessly dark and bitter. It is hard for me, because it is connected with others, because one after another one sees the victory not just of recklessness, self-love, or something else, but of a cunning, strong, malicious opponent of God, who easily twists ropes out of us and triumphs in victory. We are proud and selfish—is this not his pleasure? Who will help and protect us? Except for the Merciful Lady... The consciousness of guilt and mistakes is not easy, but you can pray, ask for forgiveness and help. It's worse if you blame others. Even if it is not joy yet, you ask for help and feel that somewhere deep a crack is outlined, there will be a fracture, the crisis will pass, the pain will weaken, the Lord will help through the prayers of His Mother. I look at the beautiful roses, which, I want to believe, God gave me as a sign of hope, gave them for encouragement, strengthening in patience. He gave them not to lose heart, not to weaken in prayer.

Most Holy Mother of God, help us!