At the beginning of this century, a certain N. lived in one of the provincial towns, a retired official of rather elderly years, a kind and truly pious man. He was very friendly with V., his childhood friend and colleague, the same age and the same views on things. When V. died, his comrade fervently prayed to God for the repose of his friend, and from time to time he gave out alms for the salvation of his soul. He often thought about his friend's fate after death.

On the fortieth day after V.’s death, his friend, sitting in his room, heard the creaking of the doors. Raising his eyes, he sees his deceased friend V entering the room. “I thank you, friend,” said the one who appeared in a quiet voice, “for your fervent prayers for me and for your alms, which have helped me a lot. By the grace of God, I am delivered from hell: my abode is at peace.” With horror and amazement N. listened to the wonderful newcomer, not daring to interrupt him. “Forgive me, friend, goodbye in eternity,” said the one who appeared, “I hope that we will meet soon, we will live together, but for now, work hard for your eternal salvation,” and with these words he disappeared behind the door.

Pious N. intensified his pious deeds, leaving all the cares of life to his elder children. Two years after his vision, he, kneeling, died quietly and peacefully in prayer (“ Soulful reading", 1868, part I).

In one village there lived a respectable couple: an old man, a freelance priest, G.’s father, and an old woman, his wife. They lived for a very long time in the world and, as they say, in perfect harmony. Father G. with his life gained the respect of many in the neighborhood. He was a man of the good old days, hospitable, friendly and affectionate with everyone, and most importantly, pious and kind. But everything in the world comes to an end: G.’s father fell ill, went into fasting, and, with parting words, Christian sacraments, quietly and peacefully passed into eternity, leaving the bitterly mourning companion of his life. A year has passed since his death. The old woman, his wife, on the eve of the year-long memorial for him, after various troubles, lay down to rest a little. And so, she sees her late husband in a dream. She happily rushed to him and began asking him: what was wrong with him and where was he now? The deceased answered: “Although I am not obliged to talk to you, but since during my life I did not have any secrets from you, I will say that, by the grace of God, I am not in hell; soon you too will follow me, prepare for death three weeks after this day.”

The deceased slowly left, as if not wanting to part with her, and the old woman, waking up, joyfully began to tell everyone about her meeting with her late husband. And, indeed, exactly three weeks later she died peacefully. (“Soulful reading”, 1868, part I).

At the end of the last century, landowner Z., a man not yet old, burdened with a large family and having a rather limited fortune, served as his only support for the family.

But then, one day, Z. became seriously ill and, apparently, began to approach death; the doctors refused to treat him. The grief-stricken wife mourned her sick husband as if he were dead, imagining a hopeless situation with a bunch of young children. Seeing all this, the hopeless patient began to mentally ask God to extend his life while he settled his eldest sons and thus left his family in their care. After this prayer, he fell asleep and slept for quite a long time. Having woken up, he immediately calls his wife to him and joyfully tells her that he saw in a dream the Archpastor of Belgorod Joseph Gorlenko, whom he remembered while still alive. The archpastor, in a dream vision, told him that by the Mercy of God, for the sake of the innocent little ones, he was given another twenty years of life. But after 20 years, exactly on this day, the Lord will call him to himself.

Having told his dream, the patient asked his wife to write all this down in his prayer book, which was done, and the hitherto hopeless patient 3. began, to the surprise of his family and the doctors who treated him, to quickly recover and soon completely recovered.

Exactly 20 years later, on the appointed day, Z. fell into eternal sleep in the arms of his sons and daughters, already settled and provided for, with a grateful prayer on his lips.

His prayer book with the entry is still kept by his descendants as a family rarity (“Soulful reading”, 1868, parts 1-3).

Dr. Camille Wortman from Duke University explores this phenomenon within psychological assistance people who have lost loved one. “Grieving relatives, despite the mental relief that contacts with the dead bring them, are afraid to discuss this kind of experience with anyone, because they are sure that they will be considered abnormal. Therefore, due to lack of information, society does not believe in otherworldly communications.”

Based on her research, Wortman found that about 60% of people who have lost a spouse, parent or child feel their presence, and 40% of people come into contact with them.

In 1995, Dr. Allan Botkin developed “directed communication with the other world” therapy. One of his patients learned during such communication new information about his dead friend, which indicates that communication was not an illusion.

Julia Mossbridge lost her boyfriend Josh while they were in college. Julia persuaded him to go to the dance, although Josh had completely different plans. On his way to the party he got into car accident and died. Since then, Julia has not left the feeling of guilt.

Botkin's method was to imitate rapid eye movements, similar topics what happens in a person during the phase REM sleep. People dream in this phase. At the same time, the doctor helped the patient focus on the basic emotions associated with her loss.

Here's how Julia Mossbridge described what happened to her during a therapy session: “I saw Josh walk in the door. My friend, with his characteristic youthful enthusiasm, was delighted when he saw me. I also felt great joy from seeing him again, but at the same time I could not understand whether all this was really happening. He said he didn't blame me for anything, and I believed him. Then I saw Josh playing with the dog. I didn't know whose dog it was. We said goodbye and I opened my eyes, smiling. Later I learned that Josh’s sister’s dog, the same breed my friend was playing with, had died. I am still not sure about the reality of what happened. The only thing I know for sure is that I managed to get rid of the obsessive images in my head where I call for him or see his death in a car accident.

“It doesn’t matter whether the patient believes in such things or not,” says Botkin, “in any case, they can have a positive effect.”

Husband and wife team Judy and Bill Guggenheim have long researched posthumous communication. Since 1988, they have interviewed about 2 thousand people who communicated with the dead, from all 50 states of America and 10 provinces of Canada.

Bill himself never believed in communicating with the other world until he personally experienced it himself. He is convinced that he heard his dead father speak to him. This is what Bill said in his interview on Afterlife TV.

Guggenheim was at home when a voice suddenly said, “Go outside and check the pool.” Bill went out and found the gate enclosing the pool ajar. He went to close them and saw the body of his two-year-old son floating in the pool.

Fortunately, the father arrived in time and the boy was saved. Guggenheim claimed that he simply could not hear the splash of water from the house and was sure that his son was in the bathroom at the time. Somehow, mystically, the child managed to leave the house, despite the fact that door handles were equipped with child safety locks.

The same voice that helped save baby Bill urged the man to conduct his own research on the topic of communicating with the dead and write a book. Guggenheim was sure that no one would trust an ordinary broker who had no scientific degrees. As a result, his joint work with his wife was published - the book “Messages from the Other World.”

In 1944, Bernard Ackermann collected numerous stories of people who communicated with the dead in his book “One Hundred Cases of Life After Death”. Ackerman does not claim that all the cases he describes are genuine - he leaves it to readers to decide for themselves.

One of the stories was about young man named Robert McKenzie. MacKenzie was saved from starvation on the streets by the owner of a mechanical factory in Glasgow, who gave him work. The name of this person has not been revealed, but it was he who described the incident.

One night, the manufacturer dreamed that he was sitting in his office, and MacKenzie walked in. The following conversation took place between them (according to the manufacturer):

“What happened, Robert? – I asked a little angrily. -Can’t you see that I’m busy?
“Yes, sir,” he replied. - But I have to talk to you.
- About what? – I asked. – What is so important that you want to tell me?
“I want to warn you, sir, that I am being accused of something I did not do.” I want you to know this and be able to forgive me for what I am accused of, because I am innocent.
“But how can I forgive you if you don’t tell me what you’re accused of?” – I asked.
“You will soon find out,” he replied. I will never forget the expressive Scots tone in which he delivered that last sentence.”

When he woke up, his wife told him that McKenzie had committed suicide. However, the manufacturer knew that it was not suicide.
As it turned out, McKenzie really did not take his own life. He confused a bottle of whiskey with a bottle containing poisonous substance for staining wood.

I didn't like mornings anymore. I didn’t like waking up and getting involved in a long series of routine tasks. I no longer cared whether the sun was shining or whether it was raining. Every new day, like yesterday, like tomorrow, became unnecessary to me - you were no longer there, and you won’t be in them. I asked the void: “Why did you go to the store that evening?” But I didn’t receive an answer. The emptiness was silent...

We could do without tea. And you would be alive... Of course, we couldn’t know that drunken thugs would start a fight near the store. You didn’t interfere, but one of them had a traumatic pistol, and he shot. Not at you. You just found yourself in the line of fire....I don't care what sentence that freak got. You weren't around anymore. It wasn’t there during the day... But at night...

Everything changed when forty days passed from that evening. On that first visit to me, you said that you were not at all offended that I did not come to your funeral. You knew that there was no need for us to say goodbye, we would soon be together again. My mother begged me not to disgrace my family: how is it that a young wife refuses to go to the cemetery? My mother-in-law hissed and cursed: for some reason she got it into her head that it was I who sent you to the store that night, that it was because of me that you died. But I couldn’t understand: why were they all attached to me?

This motionless body surrounded by wreaths, with a face like a wax mask - it has nothing to do with you, always cheerful, bright, passionate. And I didn’t want to participate in the stupid spectacle of burying something that wasn’t you. They sent me to a psychiatrist. Strange...they tried to make me cry and grieve. I remember how I returned from the hospital to our empty house. I sat just like today, on the windowsill, looking at the heavens, looking for you in them. Night fell. starry sky reflected in the city lights, as if space was below me and above me. Our apartment is on the eighteenth floor. Closer to the sky.

Suddenly some stars became larger, their shape changed. Now they looked like droplets, which grew larger as they approached the ground. And then human figures clearly appeared in them. They slid down and disappeared into the houses. One of these figures was rapidly rushing towards me. A shining drop hovered in front of the window and I saw your face. She opened the window and shouted “Sasha!” fell into your arms.

You were the same as before: impetuous, hot, passionate. Doesn't look like a ghost. Only instead of the usual jeans and a T-shirt, you were wearing something reminiscent of a Greek tunic... We kissed and made love, you whispered that you missed you, that now we will be together, that you will come the next night when the first stars light up in the sky. It is their rays that show the way for the departed to those who are waiting for them on earth. Therefore, you will not be able to come on cloudy nights.

When the sky began to turn pale, you left. He stood on the windowsill and stepped into the void. A ray of blinding light rushed towards the sky, towards the pale stars.

A meaning has appeared in my life: to wait for the night. To wait for you. My mother was perplexed as to what was happening to me. She sent me to the doctor again. I went just so as not to disturb her and she fell behind. They gave me pills, but I didn’t take them, I’m not crazy... I was just waiting for the night. You will come and be there.

My family gradually left me behind. Just like the bosses who invited me to work. Supposedly this will help me get over the grief. I had to take a vacation - going to the office and pretending to be busy was beyond my strength. Existence was concentrated in the night, I came to life only when a ray flew towards me from the dark depths of the sky, taking on your outline... We made love and chatted about everything: about mutual acquaintances, interesting books and films that we both liked during your life ...

You just refused to talk about where you are now and what it’s like. He laughed: when the time comes, you’ll see everything for yourself.

When? - I asked impatiently. “Will you take me to your place?”

When the time comes and you are ready to come with me.

But one day something strange happened. I caught your gaze when you thought I wasn't looking at you. I was scared: your eyes have changed. They were black, without pupils, motionless, creepy. Within a second they became the same again: gray with cheerful sparkles. But that chilling look, like a window into other world, terribly frightening.... The look of a demon patiently waiting for his victim....

What if....if I’m wrong, and you are not you, but the demon of death who comes for me, but for some reason doesn’t take me to the kingdom of the dead yet? And you, my beloved man, are no more? If going with you means dying too? ...I suddenly realized that I was not ready to take a step into the void...behind your beam.

It seems you, or what is pretending to be you, felt this change in me.

What's wrong with you? Come to me.” He pulled me towards him and took my hand... But something has already changed. Real sensations began to return to me. Your palm turned out to be icy, and your embrace was hard, as if I was being squeezed in a vice.

Do you want to come with me today? - you asked... No... not you. The demon sensed that I was slipping away, that he was losing his victim. And again I saw this look from the abyss... And then my mobile phone exploded with a call signal.

Don't answer! - the demon pulled my hand. - We have to go!

It's mom! And I can’t help but answer! - I escaped from his hands...

Rita, daughter, are you okay? - Mom shouted into the phone. “Sorry for calling in the middle of the night, but I had such a nightmare.” It’s like you’re standing on an open window... I beg you... Take care of yourself... Dad and I are already on our way....

LEAVE! - I told the demon. - My Sashka died. He's gone. And you are not him. And you will never replace him... He loved me. He would never drag me into the abyss. GO AWAY!... I won't open the window for you again.....

The demon has disappeared...

The first ray of sun flashed above the horizon. A new day began... And I was reborn with it.

Margarita.Novosibirsk.

Many people have dreams about loved ones or relatives who have already left this world. In a dream, both of them talk about something, hug, as if in real life. Then, having awakened, the one who had such a dream remains in thought for a long time: what does this mean? Trying to see some kind of sign or omen in this. Is there a point to all this?

In February 2003, the sick Bishop Anthony of Sourozh dreamed of his grandmother and, flipping through the calendar, indicated the date: August 4. The Bishop, contrary to the optimism of the attending physician, said that this was the day of his death. Which came true.
Let’s give another story: “A friend of mine was killed at the age of 20. About a month or two after the funeral, I dreamed about him. It’s as if she’s standing under my balcony, waiting for me. I was surprised, since during my lifetime I communicated with him extremely rarely. And in a dream he began to complain to me that he was quickly forgotten, and no one came to his grave to remember him. He asked his girlfriend to come to his grave. I was so surprised because I didn’t know the girl at all. After such a dream, I went to church, constantly prayed for him, found his friend and told him what the deceased had asked for.”
Moscow Metropolitan Philaret, who died on November 19, 1867, two months before his death received an unusual notification from another world about his imminent departure to eternity. It was September 17th. The Bishop at that time was in the Trinity-Sergius Lavra. On the morning of September 18, the Metropolitan woke up and called Anthony, whom he respected and especially trusted. “Tonight,” Filaret told him, “my parents appeared to me and said: take care of the nineteenth.” After all, there are twelve nineteenths in every year. He took care of September 19, October 19 and November 19. On November 19, he died quietly.

The dream of the great Russian scientist Mikhail Lomonosov is also significant. On the way from Holland to Russia on a ship, Mikhail Vasilyevich Lomonosov has a dream: his father, a fisherman, is sailing on a boat on the Arctic Sea, the wind has risen, the waves are roaring and are ready to swallow the swimmer; the son wants to rush to his aid, but his arms and legs are numb; The boat, hitting the shore of a nearby island, cried out: “Mikhail!” and disappeared, and then washed ashore. Upon arrival in St. Petersburg, not having peace in his soul with the persistent thought that his father lay unburied, Lomonosov found his fellow countrymen in the capital. He asked them what had become of his father; They replied that at the beginning of spring he and his comrades went to sea, but for four months nothing had been heard about them. Having no peace in his soul, Lomonosov himself wants to go to the island he saw in a dream, familiar to him from childhood, but did not receive leave from St. Petersburg. Then he begged the local fishermen to visit that island and, if they found his father’s body, give it an honest burial. The father's body was found and buried.
Another case. “Two friends died one after another in the winter, they were buried next to each other. Both widows met almost every day at the cemetery. And then one day, on Sunday night, one of them dreams of her husband and tells her that she must come to the cemetery early in the morning tomorrow. When she woke up, she was surprised and doubtful: she was going to go to church for the liturgy, as usual, at ten o’clock, and then suddenly it was early in the morning. But for some reason she wanted to fulfill the request she heard in her dream. She went to the cemetery and saw that something bad had happened: her friend’s grave had sunk half a meter - the sight was terrifying. Apparently, a lot of snow got into the ground with which the grave was covered: it rained at night, the snow melted, and the ground settled. If a friend’s widow, who was generally on the verge of a mental breakdown from grief, had come and seen this nightmare, the matter would have ended in a mental hospital. The woman quickly took the wreaths out of the hole, pulled old wreaths and bouquets from the trash heap, filled the hole with them, and covered the top with the deceased’s “own” wreaths. And as soon as she finished this work, the second widow appeared; they cried peacefully together and went their separate ways. What would have happened if she had neglected her late husband’s request?”
Nikanor, Archbishop of Kherson and Odessa, speaking in one of his teachings about afterlife, states: “There could be many such facts that have full meaning reliability for persons who are completely respectable and deserving of faith... the facts are reliable, valid, possible, but it cannot be said that they agree with the usual order of things established by the will of God.”

The book "Stories about the apparitions of the deceased to their relatives and friends."
Author of the book: Fomin A.V.

Priest Georgy Belkind

Three years ago, after Christmas, Marinochka was buried. In general, 2014 was a kind of death year for us. Right after Easter, a very close friend of mine died, my mother died in the fall, my mother’s sister died in December, and then, Marina’s death.

I felt like some stupid student to whom the teacher is trying to explain something, but he just doesn’t get it, and I have to repeat, repeat...

We went to visit Marina on January 4th. Marina is my student, she suffered from type 1 diabetes, she is survived by her husband Sergei and a little daughter with cerebral palsy.

Seryozhka called her and said that she was in good condition. I took the gifts, and we met on Kievsky, near the clock tower. It was exactly fifteen minutes past eleven.

They are allowed into the intensive care unit one at a time, but children are not allowed in at all, so they decided that I would go first, and he would stay with Manyasha, then we would switch. Explained that in intensive care unit The doors are closed, you need to ring the bell.

I approach the department, and suddenly the doors swing open, and there is such a bright glow behind them. A smiling cleaning lady comes out with her cart: “Who are you seeing?” - “To Marina Bogdanova.” - “And she died in the morning.” - “No, you were mistaken, you called her.” - “Well, maybe I got confused...” Half a minute later, a nurse appears: “How did you get here? Who are you going to?" I explain about the open door and that I am visiting Marina Bogdanova. - “Who are you to her?”

This is where everything started to fall apart... The nurse called the doctor, they didn’t tell me anything, they just asked: “Where is my husband?” We went down to the hall together. I called Seryozha, took Manyasha and stepped aside. They said something to him and left.

Then I remember everything, as if in delirium - Seryozha called Marina’s sister to give Manyasha to her, then there were a lot of people, then we were left alone and walked around the hospital like crazy - first taking turns to the morgue, then returning to the doctors... By the evening I felt a little better came. We sat in the hospital lobby and were silent. Marina's life is complete.

In the evening, a relative arrived in a car so that Seryozhka would not drive. They took me to Kyiv and left. I remember standing near the same tower, and the hands showed the same quarter of a new hour. Eight hours passed... It was as if the Lord took it from this place, showed death - as a message about life - and put it back.

Three years have passed, and I am beginning to understand a little this radiance in open doors resuscitation. Marina was very strong. For her, being on the border between life and death was almost an everyday matter, because for a diabetic it is a matter of injecting a dose of insulin on time. And in such a state, which lasts for years, continuously, always, to get an education and a profession, to get married and give birth to a child...

After the funeral we went to the wake. I have never seen such joyful, not to mention funerals, such joyful gatherings in my life. About 40 people gathered and talked about her, like at a birthday party!

At some point, Seryozhka stood up to say the funeral address. If someone from the street had come in at that moment and asked what was happening, and they would have told him that it was a husband who had just returned from his wife’s funeral in the cemetery, the person would have decided that he had ended up in a mental hospital.

And Seryozha said: “I have rarely felt her presence the way I feel her presence now.” And this was the universal truth.

Marinochka’s funeral service was performed by seven priests, by the way. How does a person have to live to have seven priests perform his funeral service?

Marinochka had bouquets of spray roses in her coffin. When we said goodbye, I broke off one bud. A year later, I gave this rose to Seryozhka—hello from my wife—and told him: “You need to get married, this is a word from her.” He answered me then: “I’m afraid to even think about it.” Recently I told him again about marriage: “It’s hard for Manyasha to carry you.”

Sergey and Manyasha

Yes, he is a responsible father, takes care of his daughter, treats and rehabilitates her, but in fact, Manyasha holds him and carries him through life. Manechka is a man of enormous power. If Seryozha marries, then in this new family life for Manyasha will be a great blessing and relief. And Marina will always be present in this new life.

Marina never said that she was afraid to die. Everything we talked about was always vital, cheerful, momentary, this-worldly, local, optimistic, trivial, life-affirming. Her awareness of mortality was a very deep secret - not even a single conversation. But this constant experience of the border between life and death gave her enormous spiritual experience.

Marina with her daughter

I think she didn't know about her hour of death. The Lord gives the hour of death for His faithful, for those who love Him, when their soul is most ready to enter Eternity. The hour of death does not become a meaningless end to existence. This is the meeting with Eternity that we want and ask for. If we understand it this way, then Marina passed into Eternity when she was completely ready.

Young driver, ease and error

The priest in a special way comes into contact with the experience of the mystery of death, since by the service itself he is introduced into someone else’s life at its very end. Death, of course, is a message - a message about a person's life, his last word, his last revelation. But as a permanent funeral parish priest, I can say that very often, unfortunately, too often the messages are empty - like an SMS without text. And this is a real religious disaster.

But it also happens differently. Here is one memorable incident we had in Venev. About seven or eight years ago they asked for a funeral service at the cemetery young man– 30 years old, driver, died in a car accident.

The closed coffin was brought from the Kashira morgue. The funeral service was very easy: you often feel the state of mind of a person who has crossed the threshold of death. I didn’t know him at all, what kind of life he lived, whether he was truly a believer or nominally... But at the same time, the firm confidence that his soul was in some kind of bright lightness did not leave me.

When the funeral service was over, the relatives said: “Father, now we’ll have to open the coffin, my wife didn’t have time to say goodbye.” They opened it. I don’t know what kind of people worked in that morgue, but they applied such makeup...

In general, a sixty-year-old man was lying in a coffin. When everyone saw the deceased, a wave of numb horror ran through. The widow began to sag; four people held her.

And, you know, if I suddenly tried to start talking to them about his soul, to somehow console him, it would be stupid, of course. Unfortunately, for them, for the widowed woman, for all relatives, death will now always look the way they accidentally and mistakenly saw it. But the real message remained untransmitted.

After that we did not speak with the widow. For the most part, people don’t come then. For them, the ceremony is complete, and that's the end of it.

You know, periodically during confessions and in conversations after confession, wives (husbands usually leave earlier) ask: “Father, what should we do? My husband is dreaming." And who should he dream about if not his wife? To whom should his soul turn? But everything is covered with such superstition, such fear, such some kind of reluctance to accept this mortal message. It’s rare, rare when a person close to his deceased is ready to ask: “How do you like it? What are you doing there?

Father and audacious request for life

When I just started serving, my dad fell ill almost immediately, dry gangrene of his legs began, necrosis began, and a few months later he died. He died in March, and in February my family and I came to say goodbye. We had the only conversation about faith, I asked him: “Perhaps you should be baptized? I’m already a priest, I can baptize you.” He said: “Somehow I don’t know, I haven’t met God in my life. What will baptism mean now?

We didn't touch on this topic anymore. But all the months of my father’s illness, I not only asked, but directly knocked on Heaven and somehow boldly said to God: “I am now Your priest, hear me, give my father life.” When two years passed after my father’s death, I clearly realized that I had asked for torment for my father. If God had listened to me and the disease had not progressed so rapidly, it would have been torture.

Of course, as a human being, you want your loved one to always be there. Very rarely do people agree to accept the death of a loved one as a kind of message and begin to read it, begin to recognize it, begin to accept it.

But for the most part they experience emptiness, loss, and this continues even after a period of acute grief. But how can this be? The soul is alive, it does not disappear.

The patient swore at his mother and died

I will retell one story from the words of Father Andrei, with whom we serve together in Venev. Somehow I came to him elderly woman: “My son is in the hospital, give him communion.” The usual thing, the priest got ready and went, it turned out that the son was a grown man, a drunkard, it was clear that they were pumping out... He was baptized, but he obviously didn’t really care about the faith, the mother said that a priest was needed, apparently, he decided not to contradict.

Father Andrei began to read prayers. There was a radio on the window, turned on quite loudly. The priest asked to turn it off because it was disturbing. “Turn it off,” the mother turned to her son, and he responded with such obscenities... Father Andrei told me: “Such obscenities were addressed to the mother! And I have already prepared the Holy Gifts, I take a spoon to give him communion. And I think how, after all, this very minute before communion the man committed a mortal sin. What to do? Confess him again? Or not give him communion at all?

I was confused and mechanically, as they say automatically, I turned to give him communion, without even understanding how. And at that moment his tongue turned blue, fell out, he wheezed and collapsed. Died". You cannot say bad words to your mother - God sent such a message. In this sense, death is, of course, the last message, final and irrevocable.

But modern people It's hard to understand all of this.

Modern life is built on isolating death, repressing it, making a person generally incapable of experiencing death, and this is wrong, this is bad, this greatly impoverishes life. What exactly is liturgy? We must experience the death of Christ, stand before His cross, before His tomb, followed by the resurrection.

Lyuba and the last unction

In the first years of my ministry, I was called to give unction to a woman about 60 years old in a village not far from Venev. They said that she was our parishioner, but I didn’t find her as a parishioner: she had been ill for a long time. We met.

After the unction, Lyuba says: “Father, bless.” - “For what?” - “I want your blessing.” - “For what?” - “Do not take painkillers.” - "Why?" She said very firmly, quietly, calmly, you know what is called with authority when a person speaks, and you do not dare to object: “I want to suffer for Christ as long as I have the strength to endure.”

I went to unction her several times later. Then her daughter moved her to Moscow because she had become very bad, the pain was unbearable, and she was already being injected with painkillers. We became very friendly with her. IN once again came to administer unction, and it turned out that this was her last unction.

She was very fond of conciliar prayers; she seemed to rise up before our eyes, sit, and be invigorated. I remember at the fifth Gospel, at the fifth anointing, I suddenly asked her: “Lyuba, if God heals you, what will you do?” She joyfully replies: “I will praise Him!” And we had so much fun. Through short time she died. Such memories are what strengthens the heart, what we look for in saints who give us confidence in eternal life, her presence.

Poet and friend - we talked about death cheerfully

In that 2014, the first of the close people to leave was Evgeny Vladimirovich Turenko, a famous poet, creator of the Nizhny Tagil school of poetry. Originally from Venev, he lived in the Urals, then returned and began to restore the Intercession Church.

In 2014, on Easter, for the first time on Bright Wednesday, I served the first liturgy in this church after restoration, on Bright Thursday I gave him communion at home - cancer, he could no longer go to church. On Fomino Sunday he reposed. It came out last year posthumous book, written by him in recent months. It's called "Hello, I am." There are very bold speeches there, for example, “Letters to the Apostles.”

LETTER TO THE HOLY APOSTLE PAUL

The archpriest says a vague sermon,
Like verbosity, imperious - to the dumb parishioners,
And intones, and has an artistic look
It depicts, and it doesn’t seem strange...
Sermons - give - help - bring...
I am not a walker, and, taking this sin upon myself,
I strive for God - from all the commonplace chatter,
I honestly walk and pray, but I don’t know the way...
Should I judge, and should I reason doubtfully?
Who am I - blind and almost a holy fool - that’s who...
Write letters and wait for mercy without memory,
Poke holes in empty frosty windows with your gaze?
Listen to the verses, both blood and tears, Pavel!
WITH God's will exclaim to the evil one: “Perish!”
I have already convinced and corrected many,
Do not abandon the Apostolic Church. Amen!

He and I talked about death, oh possible care very much and fun. He has a wonderful line in one of his poems:

If you are on first name terms with me,
I'll be me for you.

I tell him: “Zhenya, come on, when you die, we will knock out this line for you on the monument, and I will bring you a wreath and write on the ribbon: “I was with him on a first name basis, and he was me!”” I’m always with him. it was fun talking about death.

When I gave him communion on Bright Thursday (as it turned out, three days before his death) and joked something about the fact that he had to crawl into the church yesterday, oh, how he fervently snapped in response... But it was already like... that's what it says from there. The soul strengthens itself, doing the mortal work of affirming life. Remember Pasternak’s:

Death can be overcome
Let's make Sunday stronger.

This is an unobservable mystery, but sometimes the Lord lifts the veil...

The heroine of the very first story, Marina, has a daughter with cerebral palsy. To her .