In addition to the Antimensions, the suitcase contained service books, a baptismal box, a silver Eucharistic set, incense, a bottle of Myrrh, which had become incredibly thick over time, and something else.

In the third drawer there were books, many books. I took them and, as it were, met with old friends and mentors. Clearly not all the books were there. "Yes," said Ivan, as if understanding my thought, "many books have been lost. Not quite successfully they found the principals - in the famine of the twenties, they were sold, and some owners were arrested with confiscation of property. Maybe they remained hidden in their homes, but you won't ask to look for new owners - they are imprisoned for the Bible, it is considered anti-Soviet!" "Why, Vanya, dear, it's just a feat to preserve this in the midst of all the horror that has happened over the years! Thank you, dear, thank you!" - tears covered my eyes, I barely uttered the words of gratitude.

But that was half the battle, I found it, but how to smuggle it?! There are practically no passenger trains, and the risk is huge - both the police and the barefoot. Ivan helped again. The suitcases were sealed and sealed as the cargo of his institute. He changed me into a "capital" one, from his shoulder, wrote out documents for escorting the cargo and put me in a passenger train, in a soft car. Already on the train, in the pocket of the jacket I had been given as a gift, I found money and an envelope with a long letter from a friend...

Yes, that's how I went to Moscow. And they were waiting for me at home. This is such a necessary feeling for a person - that they are waiting for him. When I left, I didn't think about it. But when the first person I came across so generously gave me a greeting with a warm joyful smile, it became clear - I was needed here, they were waiting for me here.

Now there are no questions about how to bring things home, but then there were no horses in a good way. They drove me, and who - a district policeman in an old, captured BMW! And not only did he bring them, but he also helped me bring my suitcases home. And then there were visitors, with or without reason, people came, came and came. I couldn't wait to be alone with my treasure, my past, but they were coming. No, of course, they could not even guess who met me in Moscow, and that I came with money that, as they say, these workers could not even dream of. They came with food - an egg, bread, flour, a fish caught by the children. I put on the samovar, a gift from the nun Senclitikia, and we drank tea, a real one! Let it be rare, and re-brewed many, many times until the evening, but real tea!

But then evening came, my dear parishioners dispersed and I was alone. First of all, the books that I had left here, and there was not much time to make out. The main thing that I saw was the Philokalia in place. Chrysostom, Ephraim the Syrian, Gregory Palamas, Patericons, some of the books were in Greek, some were even in Latin. Everything is pretty much forgotten, but I think we'll figure it out. I saw several books that were not my own, someone else's. In all likelihood, Ivan's aunt was the keeper of more than just my treasure. Signature:

Hieromonk Nifont, Schema-Abbot Paul, Novice Daniel, where are you, reverend fathers?! And I felt a great responsibility before God and the Holy New Martyrs of Russia for being alive. Before the Church, finally.

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."