Sergius Day

October 8, 1991

This year we were able to visit Diveyevo before the feast of St. Sergius. When we returned from there – and we had been there for only two days – it was even more acute that we were at home here, especially in the Lavra. For this day, we all received a gift: for the vigil, a shield was strengthened on the façade of the station, where it was written in large letters, a little stylized in Slavic script: Sergiev Posad. At the same time, it is impossible not to recall our Russian monks on Mount Athos, who are fighting for special attention to the sound of the dear Name. They may not have been able to formalize it strictly in form, but the meaning of their aspirations is clear to CXXXVIII. Involuntarily, a special depth is heard in the sound of a dear name. Even on the train, the announcement heard: "The train goes to Sergiev Posad" pleases. And let no one in the Lavra wait, meet, greet, but from the Abba himself, contrary to common sense, you expect something good, some gift for consolation. I want consolation to raise my wings at least a little, heavy from the clinging garbage of daily upsets, worries, annoying sad memories.

In order to break away from everything, switch, forget the current, I walk several kilometers to the Lavra. In some places surprisingly good, especially where there is a lake. There are few people, the forest road is deserted. Green spruces greet with silence and the smell of pine needles, - with a joyful squeak and cheerful character. Everything seems like a fairy tale, especially pleasant if you do not see these lands for a long time. By five o'clock, pilgrims from all over gather in a tight group at the entrance to the Trinity Cathedral. Again the same anxiety: they will let you in, they will not let you in. I don't want to think about it, but it's hard to get distracted, because on this day I especially want to go to the Venerable. Soon they began to let us in little by little. Again the soul is restless: will you have time to seep in? At any moment, another steward can come and order to close the door so as not to let anyone in. And so it was, but, thank God, only after we had found ourselves in the narthex and even, to our great surprise, in the church itself, protected as always on such days by a bulky stasidia.

That evening, perhaps even after the plywood, without icons, iconostasis in Diveyevo, our Trinity Monastery sparkled with such a wealth of colors that it takes your breath away. One never ceases to be amazed at how generously and thoughtfully, unobtrusively the tyabla of the iconostasis is decorated, how the radiance of multi-colored lamps harmonizes with its silver. And one more feature has been noticed: at the moment of a rush of sad thoughts, sorrowful memories, the same icons seen countless times in the iconostasis begin to shine brighter, as if they are really windows through which invisible light penetrates to us. When they write about "windows" in clever books, you believe it, but with your mind, but with your heart, you can see, apparently, as a consolation... Until the festal vespers began, I think that not so much to see with the eyes as to feel beauty with the whole soul is a gift of God. One can look and not see, not respond to any manifestation of beauty. This is so familiar, apparently, to the majority. When the Six Psalms were read and the lights were turned off, I noticed that even then the colors of the icons did not twitch with a gray veil of twilight, but continued to burn surprisingly harmoniously, harmoniously, joyfully. What a blessing it is for all believers – the Lavra! They serve on holidays especially quickly, after the anointing they are also quickly escorted to the square. We are accustomed to this, and therefore we procrastinate, huddle in the corner as long as possible in order to stay longer at the vigil. But it was our turn, and we found ourselves outside the door. We go to the Refectory Church. They are only reading the canon there.

We decided to look into the Uspensky. A crowd pours out of the cathedral. This means that they can soon begin a general confession. And they began. The hieromonk came out and began to read the prayers before confession very quietly. It's good if they know each other, otherwise you won't hear a word and, therefore, you won't understand anything. We attach ourselves to the only lectern at which the hieromonk stands. He lets go of his "children", who, of course, come and come, regardless of anyone. Perhaps other fathers have come, but now everyone is surrounded by a dense crowd, so we must wait, endure, without losing hope. The turn came, and we were "forgiven" as well.

We go out into the night, we go Posad. The weather is unusually good for this time of year. Someone's or nobody's big dog touches the hand with a cold nose. In this movement, you can feel trust, and even from this dog's trust it warms your soul. We were promised a roof, where it is unlikely that we will be able to fall asleep, but we can at least lie down, give rest to our legs. It is dark and quiet on the outskirts of Posad. And we came in darkness, and we leave in the same way. It is necessary to be in time for the early Liturgy, which begins at 4.45.

We enter the Assumption Gate. The windows of the cathedral are already glowing. Those who are going to confess in the morning huddle up to the steps of the Church of the Baptist. At this early hour, there are fewer people, and there is less bustle. Usually a lot of visiting archpriests serve. At the head is one of the Lavra archimandrites. The seminarians sing, which is also an integral part of the Lavra celebration, although later there will be a service with a mixed choir. Here, on such a day, you don't want to hear him at all. In church, especially during Communion, there is inevitable movement, conversations. This, of course, interferes, but it also pleases: people have come to the Venerable, people are drawn to the feast, the feast is inseparable from communion, and thank God – there is a place to come.

After an early one, we go to the train. I have a dream: to be in silence, in nature, that is, to get out into the forest. I quickly drink tea and go to the Losinoostrovsky Nature Reserve. There I am looking for unknown lands. Suddenly I find a lonely road along which I walk for an hour - and not a soul. Unspeakable beauty! Silence. Souls, of course, exist, but they do not meet often, they walk on their own, not disturbing anyone. One of the people he met asked what the nearest railway station was. From him I learned that this is the territory of the hospital complex. The path is asphalted, the forest is nearby (although it is very damp), there is a turn to the Yaroslavl highway ahead. It seemed to me that this highway was very close, but I had to walk several kilometers to get to it. It's even more desolate here. Here, indeed, I did not come across a soul. I walk and rejoice in the clear day, the clean forest, the desolation and... daisies. Live, large daisies, which miraculously survived at this time. Frosts are about to hit, so you can't pass by and not pick up a bouquet. The road goes around the concrete slabs of a blind fence, which is guarded by barbed wire. Behind the fence, presumably, a military unit. The barbed wire is somehow uncomfortable. Residential box houses appeared, I casually looked around and read: "Possession N... Passage and passage are prohibited." If I had met such an inscription at the turn, I would have preferred to return, but there was nothing, there was no one. That is why the daisies survived, and the walkers were not visible, and it was deserted, desolate, quiet. You can't go another time, but when I didn't know any of this, it was good. It is very good, as if they were invited to heaven for a short time for the sake of the feast of the Venerable. This forest is familiar to him, because this road is Yaroslavl Highway - Troitskaya. By it or somewhere close to it, the Monk himself went to Moscow more than once, thousands of pilgrims came to him for centuries. They went with prayer, with repentance, with hope. On the way, the turbidity of worldly cares settled, the soul rested, and was strengthened. Hope in the nearness of the monk, his prayers, his protection multiplied strength and patience. And we, thank God, could visit the Lavra for a service, and even take our souls away with a journey into the world of beauty in the bosom of nature. And the day was unusually bright, joyful, a golden day of late autumn, warm and gentle.

And in the evening it was possible to go to the Donskoy Monastery, where Patriarch Tikhon would be especially remembered. His memory is celebrated on the second day of the Sergius feast.

The Small Cathedral, dedicated to the Don Icon of the Mother of God, like the Large Cathedral, became better known as the Sergius Cathedral. This has happened more than once in history. The feast of St. Sergius is honored there, and many of those who have been prevented from going to the Lavra by circumstances gather there. On a festive evening, although attention has already shifted to St. Tikhon, the memory of the monk does not yet recede, it coexists. And St. Tikhon loved the Venerable, loved the Lavra, ached in his soul when it was closed, tried to do everything he could; But there are periods in the life of a person and an entire society when all that remains is to endure and repent. And of course, pray that the Lord would strengthen faith and kindle hope in the soul.

Unfortunately, the Small Cathedral was closed that day. They say that there are repairs. All the same, it was good to visit this ancient monastery, to rejoice that it had been returned to the Church, to stand and listen to the Vigil, thanking the Lord and His saints for the great blessing of being in the Church.

Feast of the Venerable