The elder fell silent. My companions, sensing Father Anthony's fatigue, began to get up from their seats and say goodbye. I followed their example, although it seemed that I would not leave this house, such calm and peace were in my soul. We bowed, and then, already at the door, I heard the voice of the Elder: "Father Alexander, we already know each other!" "Do you remember, Verkhnedno-Novskoye, eh, Father Alexander?!"

I remembered. These were terrible pages of my life, it is impossible to imagine a more terrible one. Grief overtook me, although, to be more precise, signs of grief, I do not want to return even to that time, but for two nights my mother and I did not sleep.

It's Sunday, I can't serve. The parishioners all know our tragedy, they have come together in church and read akathists. It was about 9-10 in the morning, a young guy came up to me and said: "Father and matushkas told me to tell you, from. Alexander, do not worry, do not take any action, but pray! Everything has already been resolved, everything is fine!" Honestly, I was taken aback by his words - what kind of priest and matushka?! My predecessor lived in the village, a native of the Lviv region, suspended from the priesthood, but he was the least of all for such matters! People came to him for spare parts for foreign cars, for resale of some, but something like that!! And here is the father and the matushkas!

I knew the boy quite well, he often asked to read something on the kliros, he tried, his diction was very good, his name was Victor.

"Vitya," I asked, "well, all right, mothers, and who is Father?!" "Like someone - Father Anthony! He constantly visits them, serves the Liturgy, confesses, communes, instructs all of us, who else! He also prayed for you, all night, said that you calm down, everything is already fine!" But when I entered the church, hundreds of people were praying, and an akathist was being read. Somehow I got on my knees, took the "Akathist" in my hands and... With tears, a moleben began to be served. I learned that everything was already really fine only in the evening. And then there arose a really serious interest in this elder - from. Anthony.

I saw him. There was some kind of festive service of Great Lent. I began censing after the Proskomedia, and then the senior sexton jumped up and almost shouted:

"Father, from. I go out to the censing, and immediately my gaze rests on a majestic elder, in a cassock and a warm, somewhat old-fashioned cassock with an archpriest's cross with decorations. After the censing, on the clock, I go out and invite the priest to concelebrate. He politely refuses, referring to the fact that he will serve in another church. And that's it. At the Little Entrance, he was no longer in the church. Then there was a transfer, a new parish, and everything melted away in the bustle of the present days. Now I hear a familiar voice again.

"I remember, from. Anthony, I remember!" "Well, you don't need escorts, I do, father. Visit if there is time between righteous labors! True, I have heard that you do not love us, the elders, so much, and we are all ignorant, and we are all ignorant, and we do not want to bear the cross of Christ, we delight in the flock of others, in general, all the troubles are from us, eh, holy father?!" "You can't find two identical leaves, let alone people, from. Anthony." "Here, here, I'm also talking about the same thing. So tomorrow morning I am waiting for you!"

My companions had long since left and were surprised that I hesitated. And I waited for the morning. Again and again I read the lines of the Holy Scriptures. Ignatius (Brianchaninov), the life of the Optina elders, measuring everything with what was happening, looking for a proper explanation for it.

Earthly paths.

In the morning I was again in the car, and again the already familiar path to the elder. The same woman at the entrance, only now her greetings are addressed to me, and there is a certain mystery in her gaze - the look of a person who knows a little more than he should and than those around him know. "By prayers..." "Amen" – I heard from behind the door, – "Yes, he has been waiting for you for a long time," the woman whispered, "come quickly, father!" Alas, I do not find anything unusual: icons on whitewashed walls, in towels; In the holy corner there are two boxes - one larger, the other small. In the priest's house, or, more correctly, in the house of his stay, such questions should not be raised - the baptismal and Eucharistic set, probably with the Antimension.

Let me explain, for people who do not know what we are talking about. An antimension is a silk cloth with a woven or painted, as a rule, image of Christ in a coffin and the relics of a martyr sewn to it, a small part of them, of course. And so, it is only at the Antimension that the Divine Liturgy is celebrated, or rather, that most important part of it, during which the transubstantiation of the Holy Gifts takes place – the transformation of bread and wine into the Body and Blood of the Lord. Usually, the Antimension is blessed by the Bishop for services in a particular church, but in moments of instability in society, be it war, revolutions, the danger of schism or alien religious domination, as, for example, was the case with the introduction of Uniatism in Ukraine, the bishops blessed the most steadfast priests in the faith with the Antimension specifically for the service "wherever it happens." Many antimensions were in the hands of the clergy during the closure and destruction of churches by the Bolsheviks. In a word, it was rare for anyone from the priesthood of that period not to have his own Antimension, therefore, the presence of it in Fr. Anthony did not raise any doubts.

"What, father, do the Holinesses attract the eye, don't they?" After greeting him with a priestly greeting and kissing, I, at the invitation of the elder, sat down on a chair beside his bed. The conversation somehow did not go well. From. Anthony, in a white old cassock, was also reclining, only the expression of his face was different from yesterday - deep thoughtfulness, even a kind of drag of sorrow on his forehead,

"Father, maybe I'm not in time?" - I asked the elder. "Yes, no, what are you, what are you, I called it myself. I just thought about the days past, it is a sin to seek the way of the Lord, but no, I keep returning there, to the past, trying to understand how, what and why."