The last thing tormented me very much, what about the service? Nun Senclitikia also asked about this in Moscow, whether I served, as she put it, with the "Sergianists." In that situation, there was no time for theological disputes, and in general I had no desire for them since the revolution of 1914 - they debated the 17th! But the lack of lawful, so to speak, service, bothered me. In addition, I took the return to me of all that was official and spiritual, in many respects, as a call to service, and not only secret, underground. Although, by this time, an excellent parish had developed in our village, the parish of the old understanding, not as an income in the church, but as a community of people who love each other in the Lord. I was somewhat confused by the number of Antimensions on my hands, when counting, there were about a dozen and a half of them. What is this, just trust in the preservation of the shrine, relics, finally, or something else? And, with no little hesitation, I began to look for an application for my strength in the Russian Orthodox Church of the Moscow Patriarchate.

Very quickly and, surprisingly, without much difficulty, I was received into the clergy of one of the dioceses.

"Father Anthony," I interrupted the elder's story with a question, "how do they say that you were not accepted immediately, that the children refused and so on?"

"No, I told you that I was a monk from the seminary bench. That's another story. For a long time I had a certain Father Alexis, so he was a hereditary tsarist archpriest, and had children who abandoned him. Most of all, I was offended by my son, a front-line soldier - a general. Hero of the Union, slammed the door in front of the father. And he fell on the bishop in such a way that until he reposed, so from. Alexis could not get a parish anywhere.

No, everything was easier with me. True, before that, I was rejected a couple of times, but without malice, without continuation.

Vladyka, quite young, but he was in prison. This is how it is with the authorities, and not for a short time, but he did not fight either. In any case, he was not particularly forbidden to receive, and he often ordained. The fact is that although the churches were not particularly opened, the old clergy was dying out, after all, everyone went through prisons and exiles. And if there was no service in the church, then it was quickly closed, and there was no standing on ceremony.

As expected, I was summoned to the commissioner, I filled out all the papers, it seemed that everything was already done. But the commissioner did not let go, he started a conversation about loyalty to the Soviet regime. I explain that I am not even interested in church politics, let alone secular politics. As a citizen and a Christian, I submit to the authorities. I have not done anything illegal, and I do not intend to do anything in the future, not out of fear, but out of conscience. He, so pathetically, encourages my beliefs, and he himself puts a piece of paper, sign it. And a piece of paper for "snitching"! I apologized and refused, mildly motivating it by the camp's disgust for sexotism. The commissioner calmly and without emotion took the subscription and said: "Well, what a fool, my friend! And we wanted to put you in the city, now you will go to the village. And for that, thank you that it is not for the construction of the national economy. Donbass is over there and there are enough mines there, so next time it is better to change your habits in advance. Go and settle down."

Vladyka did not say anything about my visit to the plenipotentiary, but it was clear that the attitude towards me had become more trusting. Although, the need to settle me in the village clearly did not suit him: after all, I am already over fifty, a monk, I have no family, and my education is not today's, when they go through the history of the Communist Party more than the history of the Apostolic Church. All this, apparently, allowed Vladyka to make some plans for me, but the conversation with the plenipotentiary ruined a lot. Nevertheless, after a couple of weeks, I received the parish.

It turned out, however, that it was not as exciting to accept as to leave one's own. What can I say, I came to the village sick, barely moving my legs, a disabled camp inmate. They lifted, dressed, shod, gave work and saved from the watchful eye of the NKVD. All the most pleasant things in my life after my release happened here. And here is the farewell. People did not perceive it as a betrayal, but there was an element of treason in all this. What are you going to do?! Gone are the days of electing a priest to a parish in Slobozhanshchyna, especially in the Orthodox world. I asked my benefactors-parishioners for one thing - not to cross out my name forever, because I did not sell my house, but left it in their care.

Parish life, I did not know it at all, all its charms and its difficulties. Someone is satisfied, someone is offended, he generally considers it impossible to serve as a bloodsucking priest during the construction of communism! As warm as Anthony the fireman was, so cold did Hieromonk Anthony, the rector of the church. However, soon - to the abbot, and then to the archimandrite.

The last promotion frightened me. Firstly, it was connected with the transfer to the city parish, and I have not forgotten the conversation with the commissioner; Secondly, I was frightened by the changes in church life at that time. I reassured myself that this was senile grumbling, that there was no reason to worry and in general, any fears, but something was alarming.

Several relatively quiet years have passed. I tried to comprehend the science of spiritual work, and I tried to teach the parishioners to distinguish white from black, the salvific from the pernicious. In the first years after the war, it was easier: the people, taught by the war, are kinder, and people's needs are more natural - a roof over their heads and a piece of bread. And the happiness was that you were alive. Then it will be more difficult, and the destructive impact of cinema and propaganda will also have an effect. After all, we were forced to be silent on the ambo, where the priest preached. People will laugh a lot and think little.

But that's not what I'm talking about now. The abbot, then the archimandrite, everything seemed to be going as well as possible. But something did not give her peace of mind. I began to go to my village more often for cell services, and now I had a home church with the blessing of the bishop. I served and served, beseeching the Lord to reveal my unrighteousness, for why did I lose the peace of my soul to others? And then one day at the morning service, and I was serving it, at about three in the morning, during which I once again asked a question about the one who was disturbing me, I did not even hear, but felt a voice: "And who are you, Anthony?!" "How - who, Lord, is an archimandrite". "No, you are a monk!" and that was the answer. Yes, monk!

In the morning I was in the diocesan administration and submitted a petition to the staff. For a long time the bishop persuaded me not to do this, I had to agree to stay until the priest came to the diocese, since at that time many were returning from the camps, and seminary graduates were also coming, so the delay was not long.