So this summer, as before, we, having defended the akathist to the Venerable One in the Church of the Intercession, go to the Trinity Cathedral. Near the entrance, the crowd, however, is not very dense. It is thicker at the fraternal entrance. There is already a gray, fairly bald "guardian of order", whom I still remember with curls. You want to get away from his metallic voice. Leave. Little by little, some are leaving the cathedral, others are slowly seeping in. Including us. The people are waiting patiently. There is also a crowd in the narthex. Everyone huddled at the entrance to the temple, which was covered with a bulky stasidia. It is not so easy for us to "touch the sacred"! Until all the constipation is removed... The voice of Metropolitan Vladimir is heard. The choir of Father Zotik is singing. Now they will be allowed to venerate the Venerable One from the narthex only after everyone who is in the cathedral itself is escorted to the square.

When this is done calmly, without unnecessary turmoil, it is tolerable, but more often the stampede is created by the stewards themselves. They sang "Praise the Name of the Lord", read the Gospel, read the canon. I stand, realizing that I am not capable of anything. I have no strength to think, even to wish. But it is necessary to gather the last strength in order to renounce everything that weighs heavily and painfully on the soul. It would be better to stand and remember that this cathedral is now the center of the feast, that this center has a living heart: not those serving in the shining altar, but the Venerable One himself. I would stand and listen to the words addressed to him by the Church. This consciousness, very weakened by all previous experiences, is unexpectedly supported by an inner almost command, which enters like needles into the soul, to leave everything now (that is, not to remember, not to go over the details, not to repeat for oneself even the past, not to try to decide: why, why, and so on). I try, I try... If only he could hold on, not break down and not flop into his reasoning, as if into a swamp! And the "answer" comes to this. Without a sound, without words, but clearly: "Lord, have mercy!" Only prayer can somehow hold on. And you need to read, read and read with the last of your strength...

The crowd stirred in the narthex, the stasidia was pushed aside, and they began to let us in. Now you can hear: "Don't linger!" Urged on by the noisy assistant of the "law enforcement", we hurriedly approached the Venerable, the bishop and went to the square. We went to A. I., with whom we had agreed in advance that we would come, and where we counted on the roof. It's quiet there, no one answers the knock. We have to wait. We sit on the terrace. A small garden and a garden nearby. Such patriarchal simplicity: literally everything here breathes the last or even the century before last. The terrace is entwined with already faded sweet peas. On the side walls there are metal narrow troughs, in which velvets bloom. Raspberry bushes, currants, apples with pouring fruits. And across the ravine in front of her windows is "our" world: a continuous chain of new tall buildings, where electric lights are on in the windows, and cars are noisy in the streets. Fortunately, their noise is barely audible. There is almost complete silence here. How long to wait? It's too late to go home. Spending the night here is freezing. Got to go... to the Lavra, where else? Darkens. The gates are not closed yet. Be quiet. People settle in groups near the Assumption, in front of the Trinity Cathedral. They sing quietly, but harmoniously. Confession is taking place in the Refectory Church and the Assumption Cathedral. Someone felt unwell in the stuffiness of the Refectory. Father N. went out with the cross and the Gospel to the festivities, asking to bring a chair for the woman who felt sick. It is so unusual to stand for confession in the open air, already darkened, but warm, calm, and grace-filled. When we were "forgiven", it was already a new day, two o'clock in the morning. We did not expect to spend the night in the Lavra and therefore did not take anything to lay on the floor. I want to lie down to give my legs a little rest. We found a place, laid a bag, and a bag under our heads. Above the head there is a large painting: "Expulsion of merchants from the temple". They sing the akathist, the canons, the magnification of the Venerable. Everything is so familiar, familiar... It's even good that it so happened that at this moment we were here. Perhaps the absence of such a night would later be felt as a disadvantage. It's already five o'clock. The first liturgy of the day will begin soon. It's good on it. There is still no hustle and bustle, no crowding, no running around of the subdeacons. There are not so many people. For the most part, visiting priests serve. The guys are singing. The words of the Cherubic Hymn: "Let us lay aside all the cares of this world" instantly remind us of yesterday's... I wish I could postpone it without thinking about it... The liturgy is over, and we go to the train. I want to sleep and I want silence. I would like to go to the forest, that is, just get off at some station on the way, but I don't have the strength, the most ordinary forces. Thank God that you don't have to toil, as it used to be, when you had to be "in shape" on such a day, after the night and the early liturgy – to work... Thank God – everything was there, and God gave me strength. Thank God for everything!

In autumn on the Venerable

October 8

Before the beginning of the all-night vigil, as always, you want to get to the bus stop earlier, pass by the familiar lake, and finally, after all the descents and ascents, go straight out into the street leading to the almost destroyed city hospital, the buildings of which once belonged to the Lavra (now the church, classrooms and premises of the Seminary have been restored there).

We stood for all-night vigil in the Church of the Intercession. As if to confirm the words of the stichera: "There are many monks...", there were more monks among the servants – fifteen (and nine from the white clergy). The guys sing well, but the choir has noticeably thinned out (the best forces at that moment are in Germany).

As always, we hurry to the train in order to be in time for the beginning of confession in the morning, that is, for seven. We got up long before dawn and arrived even before the opening of the gates (to the Academic Church). Through the bars it was seen how the priest went out to confess, but there was not a soul there. All our souls stood in a dense crowd at the bars. The sluggish duty officer barely moved with the keys. Finally, he opened the coveted gate, not thinking to apologize for making so many people worry in vain. The old women ran to confession.. General confession was conducted by Father Rostislav, four more priests approached. Everyone hurried to the lecterns, because they had already begun to read the hours, they would not wait for us, and downstairs, where confession was being held, the service was not heard. The Liturgy was served by the same bishops as the All-Night Vigil: Metropolitan Philaret CXXXII, Archimandrite Simon and Rector Vladyka AlexanderCXXXIII. Yes, Fr. Nikon came out to preach at all-night vigil. He spoke freely, but if you know that he is a historian, then you want to hear a clearer, more specific sermon, in which it would be said that St. Sergius is not just a miracle sent by God into the world, torn apart by fear, pain, distrust of each other, the eternal fear of the physical destruction not only of each individual, but also of the entire settlement, city, region, even country... No, he did not say the main thing, just as Father Vladimir K. did not say it in his sermon, who spoke bravo, not embarrassed by inaccuracies and even distortion of facts. For example, he said that the monk went to the forests from a prosperous life in the boyar's family. But it was not because of a good life that the parents of the monk left Rostov and moved to modest Radonezh, but because of the oppression of the voivode. Not from whims or on a whim, the boyar's son went to save himself in a remote forest side, when it was possible to go to a monastery in the capital, but from an inner urge to resume the feat. During the years of Tatar rule, the fear of ruin, disaster, and uncertainty about the future deprived people of the most ordinary sense of reliability of the land on which they lived. And young Bartholomew goes to the deep forest, away from all roads and villages, so that he can think about the soul, about God, about prayer. Think without flinching at every rustle. Of course, there were difficulties, and very significant ones, but the first thing was to choose conditions that would help to pray at least to some extent, without sighing,73 as the Apostle warns, so that the soul could surrender to God without looking back. The Monk Abba felt that the podvig of mental activity should not be completely forgotten in Russia, that prayerful sobriety should be the basis of all spiritual feats. The traditions of spiritual attention to the patristic experience were interrupted by the barbarian invasion, but they were not completely eradicated. St. Sergius had to revive them, to return spiritual needs to their former place. And it is no coincidence that quite soon a brotherhood was formed around him. Those who came felt in communion with the Monk that peace and stability that are needed for life like air. Not everything was easy for the brethren. There is a flaw in everything. And even in like-mindedness. Everyone wanted help from the Monk, but not everyone knew how and wanted to reckon with each other. Years of fear, distrust, and the desire to escape from misfortune put on the souls of the Monk's contemporaries a stamp of tension, constraint, and isolation. Had it not been for this, the chronicler would not have noted that the brethren did not at all desire the coenobitic rule, which was recommended to the Monk Patriarch CXXXIV. He could have learned about the ascetic from the future Metropolitan Alexis. The brethren were in no hurry to share the last crumb with each other, otherwise it would have happened that one had not eaten for three days (and who was the abbot of the monastery!), and the other's bread turned green from dampness. Not in one day it could turn into such a slice that mold spores rose in smoke. No, it was never easy for the monk in the silence of his solitude. And it was not for the sake of special glory that the Lord consoled His saint even with a vision of birds, but with this He answered the many days and, probably, long night prayers for the brethren, which the monk lifted up to God with spiritual pain. Only the lover is sick in his soul for others, despite the lack of their love and understanding; only God can console such a soul, and only by prayer will one stand and hold the others. This is not speculation, but the natural result of assumptions that arise by themselves when one thinks about the facts preserved by the chronicler. Had the brotherhood of the Monk Sergius been unanimous and sincerely honoring its abbot, Stephen could not have opened his mouth about his primacy in the monastery. It is important to understand all this not for the condemnation of the brethren, but as the conditions of life of the monk, always difficult. And his path and the path of his disciples, who went to other lands, no less desolate, to live in solitude could not be easy. They did not think that they were carrying the light of podvig into the deep wilds of the North, but each one went, apparently knowing in his soul that he had to go. The Northern Thebaid was created by students – the best! — St. Sergius. It was they, bearing in mind his example, who awakened in people a thirst for podvig, a desire to live according to God's commandments and not to think only about material well-being. It is without holiness in life, without the light of Christ, like a body without a soul. Neither Father Nikon nor Father Vladimir said anything of the kind.

The Lavra, of course, is crowded. And thank God! They are drawn to the Reverend! They love him.

After the service, I want so much... into the forest. Into the atmosphere beloved by the Venerable. In the forest, it is good to wander along barely noticeable paths, to be surprised and rejoice at the beauty of the earth, it is even easier to gather your thoughts, to start from everything worldly. If only he could learn to pray! Sometimes there is time, and the forest beckons through the window of the train, but it is impossible to get in... We must accept this calmly, accept it as a lesson and an exercise. And it is better not to think about what is impossible now, but to thank God for what we have. Especially for the Church! Many do not have this, and not to have it is such a deprivation, which has no equal, as well as life itself. Thank God for everything!

* * *

A few words about the festive evening. There was the same feast, the same service, therefore, avoiding repetitions, I want to say only about the evening. In the Trinity Cathedral, the all-night vigil ended, we went to the Assumption Cathedral. Singing came from the open high windows. It filled everything around, it was heard even in the most remote part of the territory, behind the Church of the Smolensk Icon of the Mother of God. It began to get dark. One star flashed almost at the horizon on the northwest side and seemed to melt. The evening is warm and the wind is warm. There are few people, everyone stands in churches or sits on benches around the Assumption Cathedral. The aroma of matthiol wafted from somewhere. It is associated with the idea of something unrealizable and beautiful, when there is nothing to desire. And here, now, slowly walking along the path lined with bushes, looking at the walls of the cathedrals familiar from childhood, the silhouette of the churches of the Venerable Zosima and Savvaty and Smolensky, to the chime of the clock on the high bell tower, you seem to dissolve in the flow of inexpressible, but such a peaceful acceptance of everything that is in life. And even if not everything rejoices, not everything is so carefree and easy, but there is the Church, there is the Lavra, there are festive services and quiet warm evenings, which the Lord gives to rest the soul, gives as a gift, gives as a consolation, encouragement and to strengthen hope in His mercy. It is also good from the smell of night flowers, and thick shadows, and deep greenery flashing brightly by the lanterns. Everything is fine if it is with God!