Funeral

June 8, 1991

On the first week of St. Peter's Fast, a large and clearly written message appeared at the entrance to the Church of the Intercession below, stating that on Saturday, before the celebration of the memory of all Russian saints, the Patriarch gave his blessing to perform the funeral service for those who died in the camps, exiles, and prisons during the years of repression. At last! Thank God that this will be an open, nationwide funeral service for those who did not even dream that they would ever be remembered. And now they have survived! Now we think: it's high time, and a few years ago we could not even allow such a thought. Thank God that this has become possible. Thank God that we can be present at this. The Patriarch gave his blessing to perform the funeral service in the hierarchical rite, taking into account the large number of archpastors who died "from Petrozavodsk to Magadan, as well as in Siberia and Kazakhstan." Anna Ilyinskaya wrote about this in the documentary story "Solovki"CXVII: "The martyrs want to be prayed for, buried, they ask us for commemoration." Books by B. ShiryaevCXVIII, Nikiforov-Volgin, V. ShalamovCXIX, S. VolkovCXX, Archpriest MichaelCXXI and many others who wrote about those who died in the vast expanses of the Motherland have already been published. And so all of them, most often unbeknownst to those standing in church, listen invisibly to the solemn funeral service, which few of them heard during their lifetime. It was preceded by a speech by the Rector, who spoke about the blessing of the Patriarch and the significance of this for the faithful in our time, when divisions are multiplying... It seems to me that the divisions themselves are not so terrible as the causes that caused them. And it also seems that at such a moment it is necessary to think and even say that the prayer of the Church for so many perished and martyred is not only a prayer for them as our duty to their memory, but also a reminder to all of us: it is frightening to see the multiplication of iniquities, for which love dries up.70 From this multiplication, thousands, even tens, and perhaps hundreds of thousands reached the point of bestiality, to the loss of the human image. Reading about mockery, sophisticated torture, one cannot but understand: this was not always an instruction "from above", not everyone was called upon to become informers and executioners, torturers who found pleasure in mockery. Much was done of their own free will, out of spiritual emptiness, anger, loss, stupid and destructive obsession. Now, praying for the martyred, we must not forget that we must make every effort not to be heirs to the dark deeds of our fathers and grandfathers. The Church prays for the victims, but what about the executioners? And what about their children and grandchildren? Is it not because the people live so darkly that they forget about the need to repent? Evil, which is not stopped by repentance, continues to incinerate the souls of the next generations. And nowhere does anyone talk about it. Why? It is necessary to know about the martyrs, to know about those who went through this hell, although there are fewer and fewer of them in the world, to know by name – as much as possible so that such things are experienced as a wound on the body of the Church...

Vladyka Rector did not speak about this. His brief words were drowned in the sound of the first words of the 118th Psalm of Blessed Immaculate. The other choir exhaled quietly: "Alleluia." The kathisma began to be read by several verses by all the servants. There were many of them. From the pulpit to the solea everyone stood in white vestments. This radiance of white robes is a symbol of the triumph of faith over the darkness of evil, which has brought our martyrs and confessors into common nameless graves. The kathisma was read in full, orderly, solemnly. Several verses before and after "Glory" were sung by two choirs. The rite of the hierarchical funeral, in addition to the prescribed stichera, troparia, and litanies, also includes the fivefold reading of the Epistle and the Gospel with a preliminary prokeimenon. When the last Gospel was read, the irmoi of the Great Lenten canon were sung, "By the waves of the sea...". These irmoses involuntarily bring back Passion Week, where the Golgotha of Christ crowns the Golgotha of every martyred. The litany for all the archpastors, pastors and faithful children of the Russian Orthodox Church sends a chill down my spine... After it, the truly touching words of St. John of Damascus began to be sung — the self-voices of CXXII. Some of them are familiar, some are not, but they all emphasize one thing: what a blessing the Church is for every believer! Since the eighth century, the Church has been comforting, uniting, calming and reconciling with the words of St. John, addressed to us with the conviction to value the Heavenly Fatherland more than "worldly sweetness." At that moment it seemed as if the entire Heavenly Triumphant Church had clung to the ground, so that we could hear with our inner ears: we must not live indifferently, we must not be concerned about the purity of our hearts, we must not waste time on trifles and waste our strength. We must hurry to learn to pray and live according to God's commandments.

He was tonsured in the Trinity Cathedral

July 8

More than once I was able to be tonsured in the Lavra. Once an old man was tonsured in front of us... Not much remained in my memory, except for the conviction: it is better to do it in youth, when there is still something ahead (at least according to human ideas), you can promise something. When the whole life is lived... However, there may be one remarkable exception: if a person has consciously walked and prepared for this all his life. But now, putting aside all considerations, we are just waiting in front of the Trinity Cathedral, looking at both the cathedral and the square. The evening service on the eve of the feast of the Tikhvin Icon of the Mother of God gathered the faithful in the church. People usually don't talk about tonsure (or even close the doors, not wanting to let them in), but we know that Yura Kh. is expecting his celebration that evening. "The church is closed," says the old man at the entrance to the cathedral, letting the choir and priests pass. Who should I ask to say a word about us so that they let us through? We try to address this to Father Hilarion. He calmly and affably invites you to come in. And here we are in an almost empty cathedral. Very unusual. The cathedral does not seem lifeless even without people (that is, pilgrims, always moving to the Venerable). In the middle of the carpet, there is no fence, except for a thin cord marking the space prepared for tonsure. Only two cleaners sweep the last specks of dust off the carpet. The fathers go into the altar or occupy stasidia in the corners. We also stand in stasidia so as not to loom before the watchman's eyes and not to expose ourselves to the danger of being outside the door. How good, incomparably good in the cathedral at such moments! Unnoticed, everyone gathered, left the altar and quietly, slowly and majestically went downstairs. Usually, the person waiting for tonsure is either in the Nikon Church or in the Serapion Chamber. The choir sang "Embrace of the Father..." Very quiet and very coordinated. I wonder how many times I have heard these words and these sounds, and they always sound different! Does it depend on the composition of the choir or the choir director? Or for what other reasons? This time it was extremely good. They sang so quietly and at the same time expressively, as if the sounds, bypassing everyone and everything, poured from the heart and rose above the world. It seemed that there was nothing in the world but the soul praying for the opening of these embraces, and the Father silently and invitingly opening them. An amazing feeling that everything around has disappeared, all the noises of the earth have subsided, strangers have left. True, it was unusually quiet in the church. We were tonsured more than once, and they always took place in different ways. There were solemn and ordinary, there were majestic and so modest that it was somehow clear, I think, to everyone: something very important was missing. There were also those who, as it were, communed all those present with the sacrament (although tonsure is not counted among them, but by its power is experienced by many as a sacrament that opens the entrance to a different relationship with everyone and with everything). Father Benedict CXXIII, who tonsured Yura, read what was prescribed, called him Philaret, clothed him "in full armor," handed him to Father Hilarion, congratulated him, and even said a word. I don't remember what exactly I said, but it's not such a loss. The main impression of this evening is a rare concentration, the complete absence of any fuss, silence. Reverent, undisturbed. Even when it was all over, someone entered, somewhere the keys rattled, this silence did not immediately recede. Like a veil, it fenced off from everything that was "out there", beyond the invisible boundaries, as if descended from heaven to our earth, that special composure that excludes everything superfluous. It is not for nothing that they say: "Silence is the mystery of the age to come." Silence not only from the lips, silence with the most concentrated attention necessary for prayer.

It was all over, but I didn't want to leave. And thank God, no one prevented me from being silent. I remembered a legend, hardly recorded anywhere, that on the day of the celebration of the Tikhvin Icon of the Mother of God, people are given special consolation—the soul softens, calms down, sighing with relief, gratitude and joy. And so it was then.

On one of the weekdays

(at the grave of St. Maximus the Greek)

July 4, 1996