***
The Lord then covered her with undeserved favors.
Soon the hieromonk father Andrew, a former artist in the world Ignatius Darenov, began to perform religious rites in a small but very well-known suburban church.
From the Luzhino one can be easily reached by train and bus out of town. Joanna raided with bags stuffed with Luzhino's gifts: pickles, sauerkraut, jams, fruits and berries during the summer. And then just a can of cheese, or market a success in some home-cooked meals (except, of course, food forbidden to eat during a fast)
She first hated any fuss about eating, experiencing the bliss at the thought that he was preparing to Ignatius (and, of course, all the brethren) the gifts brought by the parishioners immediately exposed to the common table.
For her generous gifts mothers serving Temple greetewd her and called 'camp kitchen'.
Joanna came on weekdays, with the first bus, but it may be too early to come, in the confessional was waiting for the people.
The religious revival of the seventies and eighties, the scandalously popular reputation as a famous artist who was an exile and now a monk, who had returned from a capitalist paradise abundant to serve God... At first, because Joanna explained himself this growing buzz around a new father.
But the overheard conversations do not understand in the painting and emigration simple parishioners testified about his father Andrew, prayer, fasting and strict. About the hard demanding teacher.
Burning himself, father Andrew who now believed his heavenly patron of the great Andrei Rublev wanted the same spiritual fire of their children.
Those moaning, but tolerated. The number of richly dressed ladies, intellectuals 'on wheels' and sheepskin coats, among which came across quite a few familiar faces, growing by the day, pushing indigenous grannies than they were extremely dissatisfied.
At first they humbly passed forward, afraid, but then the aliens accustomed, and it all began to resemble a sad, even tacitly, but still turn.
The Many Faces of the Soviet crowd, prodigal children, vied with each other pulling the hand to the bread of heaven, to the gracious father, looked like a crow shot down if hanging over his confessor black plumage.
So if in mortal agony lying helpless on the lectern hands-wings, falling into his arms once a person under the snowdrift once grizzled, but still lush mane.
Then the snow comes to life, Father Andrew says something, sometimes unbearably long, audible alarm, but indistinguishable, like Morse code, the pulse of words...
Again the black wing alive:
'Yes, child of George forgiven his sins.'
A flash of emotion, happy, tear-stained, then crimson, burnt with shame, you will lose face pale with excitement to wade to the output of a confessor. The crowd pushed him out of the confessional, the steam pressure, and everyone is moving another step closer to our goal.
And now again black raven like a wounded, falls to the lectern to once again plunge into the dark stinking lagoons of the human soul. Sometimes the first who came to confession, as Joanna used to be.
For the first time in decades.
The most dark, evil, dirty, sometimes hidden in the thoughts, intentions unfulfilled; the bottom of the soul, hell bent went to Ignatius fell upon his head.
Humbly, as before guillotine.
Every time it was a guillotine. Once he told her this:
'Lord, what they do! The smartest, best, most reliable and suddenly a terrible fall!.'
Ignatius almost cried; he invisible to the prying eyes in the depths of the deserted church courtyard. And shocked by this sudden burst the dam is a weakness, whether of love, Joanna lamented with him on someone's fall.
She knew it is fatally attractive to the edge of the abyss embrace evil intention. So creepy and sweetly beckon rails under the oncoming train.
It is remembered, it would seem, the overgrown ruin bygone death Leonid them with Denis long detective series.
Everyone is a potential criminal, a murderer, everyone is in the soul of a delayed mine of original sin. Looking for a certain condition, the temptations, so that it detonated.
Or joined the opposing forces of sin, the protective mechanisms.
No one can judge another, not having been in the shoes of another. On his rack, his stake. So it simply said Denis.
Only God, only He is a real judge. Only the Son is bound together by the blood of the right.
And whispered at the moment of Ignatius' strength or weakness
:
'Forgive them, Lord, do not know what they do.'
He could not heal them. He could only pray for them, to listen and to forgive sins, love and pity, in spite of their ugliness. Dress wounds, sometimes cut in the living ... But it was only a medium through which conveyed healing power of God's grace.
'I cannot, I'm just the conductor,' lamented Ignatius 'They listen but not hear, and if you hear, do not listen.'
And listen, it is only in appearance, resisting heart. And it was told 'not to seem but be'.
The patient voluntarily comes to the hospital, placed on the operating table. The surgeon takes a scalpel to cut off a tumor of evil, does blood transfusion, but this does not mean anything.
Evil metastasizes, sometimes more terrible - the usual blood will not help.
'This is my blood of the New Testament, hedgehog for you and for many the remission of sins.'
Through faith, prayer, compassion and love of the priest the bread and wine are transformed into their vessels, arteries, not in normal blood, and the Divine. Healing miracle of all-powerful.
'Take, eat.'
'Why do not they healed? I probably cannot do anything, I'm impervious to light, I'm a bad shepherd.'
Then Ignatius repented of the sin of cowardice, and despondency.
Joanna, as she could, comforting, encouraging, inwardly shuddering consciousness, as the secret abominations have to listen every time his father Andrew.
And not just listen, but to take responsibility for the remission of sin, for the choice of medication.
And to make the right decision, and give a correct advice, finding the key to every soul.
'Among the sly, cowardly, sick children indulging in.'
For each answer to God; for him it was very serious. But sometimes we had to deal only with the curious who want to talk to the monks filed a famous artist.
Either way, the number of children of his father Andrew was growing rapidly, which was, of course, the reason for dissatisfaction with the authorities and the temptation for other priests. Ignatius literally would collapse to the ground and melted every day from nervous exhaustion.
He served as the inspiration Liturgy, admitting that sometimes loses consciousness from feeling close to God's presence and his own darkness before the fire.
But apart from the liturgy: prayers, funeral services... Dead, for which he also replied in the church, 'the dead'.
And the charge of the choir of the congregation, went sacrament the sick and the dying, baptized and crowned, long hours praying, sleeping four to five hours.
She could feel every cell, as he had hard times on this fire, before the throne of God, pray for him weak in prayer and nothing else could help.
So, she came very early with bags stuffed in an unusually long, instead of the usual jeans, skirt, scarf tied under the chin.
She stood quietly in a corner somewhere during confession, liturgy, sacraments, prayer, memorial services. Then, together with all the fit to the cross.
'Joanna!'
It was not possible to them to talk about; after the service has already lined up in the yard of a long queue to the priest on personal matters. It failed when the church disbanded novices; they say, have a conscience, allow my father to rest, have dinner at least, he is also a man.
Finally, the door has a refectory, Joanna passed his bags - at first just a meal, and then printed out with the religious and informative brochures, which she propagated according to his instructions. Sometimes making up for his own spiritual children; then practically no such literature was not available.
Chapters from various sources: about God, faith, sin, fasting, prayer, Christian life, the sacraments. How to prepare for confession and communion. On the Cross, on the death of Orthodox holidays.
Imperceptibly, these pamphlets are its main business, the main filler Luzhino's days. To serve God by helping his father Andrew sow "reasonable, good and eternal."
'If ever it was,' she was dreaming, waiting on a bench in front of Ignatius refectory. He came back with empty bags; food off for the common table, literature Ignatius hid in his cell, and then distributed on the sly.
Religious-publishing is not very encouraged, in the community Gleb were in trouble. I had to exercise extreme caution.
Joanna, this conspiracy, even entertained, all such restrictions seem ridiculous, childishly silly. The regime seemed eternal, people lived their childish life, fun and good-natured teasing authority.
If possible, they skive, stole a little, went on a visit, becomes an inveterate drunkard on the sly.
Technical intelligentsia skive work hard and in countless research institutes, swearing stupidity and inertia of the parent bodies, humanitarian rallied in the kitchen, quietly, and debauchery, too, becomes an inveterate drunkard.
Some have moved to the trendy Eastern religions Buddhism, Yoga, Hare Krishnas.
Those who overcome pride and fraternized with Grandma went back to church orthodoxy could not believe my heart. Their 'false named' demanded evidence of the mind, knowledge and evidence. Basically, to them that Joanna was, and his pamphlets, and at the same time convincing themselves and strengthening their shaky religious dogma.
By long Luzhino's evenings, surrounded by literature, she led a fascinating conversation with heaven, asking and receiving answers.
Pounding machine, clicked the folder, brochures stacked on the bottom of a dense layer of bags from the top the jars. Ignatius attributed bags and returned to his cell with a single: bag in a bag.
And in a plastic bag, put in an empty three-liter jar, instruction and money. Who to call as to what address to distribute to needy, etc.
It's hiding her loved. Although she knew that things could end badly.
The first time is money for charity have been personally Ignatius' and community, then it is attached to and part of its proceeds for the flowers. For many children, the sick, just in distress.
'Oh, dear, wait a minute, tell me who to thank at least?'
'God sent, Grandma.'
She also liked the way they mismanaged baptized, unopened packages of Christmas gifts with which children derive joy out of a tasty and healthy deficit. And the room smells in the New Year, casting memories of the first postwar gifts.
And on overcoming its forbidden fruit, which was thought impossible, but it was not recalled.
It was all as if from another, not her life. And it is transported in the current Christmas gifts for her aging Zhiguli and told me that Santa Claus; this is the St. Nicholas saint, whom even the students are asked to send in the exam lucky ticket.
Santa Claus, Saint Nicholas.
Once, she even dreamed of him; he leapt into the faceless crowd elder in the red mantle, with snow-white hair blowing snow, similar to Ignatius', to whom she rushed to the delight, caught up, asking for blessings.
The old man put on her head his light hand and sighed sadly:
'Your faith is not enough.'
Perhaps it was so, why else would she again and again to seek the mind of proving the existence of God? She is flattered by the thought that looking for - for others.
Found, a few hours and was happy and looking for a new one.
Those evidences already accumulated about a dozen, and that's not counting all her wonderful accidents, coincidences and magic of dreams: color, full of secret meaning high. Later vindicated, sending warning.
She told them only Ignatius and father Tikhon, who along with her delighted, terrified, talked...
One he knew about its clandestine activities, he knew, and blessed. For him, it is also sometimes prepared pamphlets.
He feared only their meetings with Ignatius.
'Look, Joanna, the enemy is strong!'
But in the holy awe with which she humbly, like everyone else, was applied to the hand of his father Andrew, coming for a blessing, there was no room for the flesh - all burned down back in Luzhino's garden, rain washed away.
The crowd attacking worshipers she managed to spill over to him a few words. His guarded hours, as some pop diva - adored, jealous, quarreling, intrigued.
What is there was more, unconscious of sin, religious exaltation, thirst, miracle, mystery? Who knows...
But nothing can be done, on earth where the fire there, and children.
They worshiped the priest, caught every word, because it is acting through him the Lord. And waiting for a miracle from him, save, help...
Joanna watched him for a long time standing in a thin, flowing robes in the icy wind in the yard, surrounded by a crowd of eager, not nuns who heard the exhortation:
'Let go, damned, sir, you have won everything in poltah, and he go and stiff.'
And once his own, in the first and last time, under the leadership of Joanna tied the familiar flower a thick sweater very long coat of soft dark gray mountain goats, which barely fit in the bag.
She lectured Ignatius hurry bag and run away cowardly, referring to employment.
And the next visit saw him surrounded by worshipers in the frosty wind is in her sweater under the robe; just rather chubby father, a high collar protects the neck, the skin is not like substandard chicken for sixty rubles per kilo.
Here it is, happiness. To defend the service, spread a few words and wishes, to make like everyone else, to the blessing hand.
Infinitely small and infinitely many.
***
Once they had a chance to serve for two amazing funeral.
It was the day his mother's death. Joanna did not remember in which the anniversary, a weekday (Father Tikhon served only on Sundays and holidays) she decided to pay tribute to her mother in Ignatius' church.
At the funeral of a cross, which usually lay a pile of notes, all whitened with a big name written: 'Yury'. There was no singing, waning lonely candle.
Joanna laid next to the 'Jury' his note and waited Ignatius, which has already said about the mother.
There was a friend of a parishioner, an artist, asked anxiously:
'And what are you doing here?'
'Why, our father waiting for my mother's anniversary. All gone away.'
'Do not you know?' Tatiana nodded to the note. 'Deceased Yuri.'
'So what?'
'It's Andropov; it is ordered to all churches to commemorate him... That, and fled.'
'Why?'
'Tatiana has suffered some sort of nonsense about the cosmic evil of the black aura that surrounds all the godless politicians, whose sinful souls sucked in praying for them all the energy, so that you can even die.
'ike, more than a sinner, we pray, the more need of spiritual energy. And it controlled the destinies of nations, will not help and the saints.
So it is better to do these days to stay home.
Ignatius appeared, and Tatiana hastily retreated.
Joanna in a nutshell outlined Tatiana's version.
Father Andrew shrugged, saying that we are only guides, asylum, and the energy - in the Lord, inexhaustible for the worst sinner.
And then she wrote in remembrance, except for George and Sophia (mother), another Leonid and Joseph.
It would have remembered all of the Politburo of the deceased, if I remembered their names.
Joseph and Sophia and Arkady; she remembered from childhood together in prayer before sleep, the health and repose, and said about his father Andrew.
He replied that yes, all right. For there can be unjust child's prayer.
'And what about "you cannot pray for King Herod?'
'Herod was searching for the death of the infant Christ, he was godless. But rather out of ignorance. In general, I would immediately argue with Pushkin. Praying for all you can.'
Father Andrew served amazing, in the same breath, a memorial service, Joanna has been and parishioners, and the choir. He was pleasantly surprised by her knowledge of the funeral service.
She stood behind him, his eyes half closed, but feeling flooded every cell somewhere in the flow of love and compassion to those who once great and powerful, which the crowd shouted "Hosanna!" And now they were afraid to even mention.
Who nothing can change his fate. We can only hope for this crafty crowd that yearns for idols, the victim chooses, raises the height of the Celestial Empire, then to overthrow.
By not even in the petition to God for it is perpetrated by enticing.
But it is said, 'Do not make yourself an idol!'
She remembered her father, and; at the table with a green lamp, my mother; the one the young, in a hat with short fields and gray duster. Xenia with her grandmother the box, a cough and a hot little body. And ever the drunk operator Leonid.
And all of them, the just-materialist ascetics. Deprived of sacraments without faith in a miracle, in personal immortality. Or 'a god', which is contrary to the image imposed inscribed in their hearts the Act.
Following his father Andrew, revealing the power of the soul, nerves, blood vessels, which flowed endlessly and hot flows into eternity forgiveness, protection, and unearthly love for him, departed, she realized that they all live in it.
Just as in Joanna today, praying right now for everyone, 'requiring help and intercession' alive Little Joanna, Yana of her mother, father and grandmother Xenia.
And Joanna who was a faithful Pioneer, and young Joanna who was killed since deceased Leonid.
That in every living soul emerging alive all the near and far.
Live past worlds and generations: Pushkin, Rublev, St. Augustine, Rembrandt, Tchaikovsky and Shakespeare. As well as giving the body 'daily bread'.
And let this bread once the bodies and souls of generations who lived up to it.
Cain and Abel, Adam and Eve; all it contains, Joanna, at the turn of the millennium, as the cell; the genetic code of the Whole.
How does this puff in the churchyard birch - all of their falling leaves, and along with heat from the sun, snow, winds and rains of many years.
She understands that everyone; only an intermediate state, the step of increasing a certain stage of development, and emerging in the everlasting future, immortal Whole.
Implemented by the fullness of life that overcomes all the trauma, tumor, disease, eliminating all obstacles to this all-conquering breakthrough in eternity.
Where life just carries life gets.
And only accommodates all gets all.
Always go hand in hand with Ignatius ascending path Luzhino's forest. Knowing that the sun never set on the horizon, and the trail would never end.
And no 'tomorrow'.
***
'Tomorrow' - it was a terrible beast with one of the earliest Ignatius' paintings.
Look at the paintings of that Ignatius' period Joanna at all afraid, but from just this once shamefully fled, making up some ridiculous excuse.
But too late; the picture firmly imprinted in the memory as a coming apocalypse, as the ghost of Hamlet's father a forerunner of the fatal change.
Instead, the sun was rising over the sea monster.
It has clung to the cliffs huge ruchischami with animal claws; on one of the claws dangling pierced right through the boat.
Already appeared on the horizon, covered with sharp rusty bars of his head, low forehead, a gorilla - hideous, hairy and lumpy.
And for all, on the forehead that, on the rocks and clouds, the sea, the bloody ominous flashes from the eyes of monsters.
Own eyes cannot see, they have not yet appeared over the horizon, but it is clear that there is nothing worse in the world.
And all living things: human figures, mountain goats on the rocks, gulls, crabs, dogs, snakes in a panic run, fly, crawl away.
And Regina said she bought the picture of figure skater from Germany for a fantastic sum in those days. As a gift to her fiance.
And now Joanna prayed with his father Andrew, and the beast that was drowning in the sea.
Uncoupled from the rocks of his legs, fell below the horizon in the rusty bars of his head, freed from the clutches of the boat rocked on the waves...