The father covered the head of the confessing woman with epitrachelia and read a permissive prayer. The queue of parishioners for confession became less and less.
The ponomary reader read the clock on the choir. The liturgy was soon to begin, when drunken representatives of the law broke into the church. The local precinct and commissioner for religious affairs demanded to stop the service and close the temple.
The frightened abbot looked silently at them, holding epitrachil with his hand. The Ponomar reader passed the reading to the singing old woman and slowly descended from the choir down the twisted stairs.
Quietly approached the men and politely asked them for a few words at the porch. Less than two minutes passed, as both stood at attention, saluted and with sober eyes raced out of the temple.
And the story began long before that in a secret archive.
A KGB colonel, searching for documents, saw an old rubbed folder. He was interested in his consonant name — Kruglov. I put the file with the rest of the materials in the portfolio and went to work on it. It was already dark in the evening, when the colleagues left the workplace, Ivan Maksimovich obtained intriguing documents.
The case was about the priest Maxim Kruglov who was shot in 1937.
The next day, after requesting additional information, he went on a business trip.
Hard work and constant travel did not give an opportunity to arrange a personal life. Ivan did not remember his parents, but grew up in an orphanage. He was an excellent employee, responsible and able to immediately find a way out of difficult situations.
Upon returning after completing the task, there was a response to the request on the desktop among many papers. Having become acquainted with Ivan Maksimovich, he understood only one thing — the priest Maxim Kruglov, who was shot, was his father.
Accustomed to thinking quickly and prudently, the mind suddenly plunged into confusion. It was not possible to assess the situation in a working order, dry and according to the instructions.
Having issued a permit, Ivan received a confiscation in the Kruglov case.
In the evening, when he returned home, he put a plywood box on his desk. A few hours passed, but he hesitated to open an object that contained secrets.
How can I be the son of an enemy of the people? Popa?
The Soviet education given to Ivan in the middle of the twentieth century deeply and clearly confirmed in his mind the idea that the priests are brazen drunkards robbing the common people.
It was far past midnight when he managed to persuade himself to open the box.
There was a pectoral cross, a serviceman and his father’s diary. A few more books and the Bible.
All night Ivan Maksimovich carefully read every line of the diary. Page by page he met his parents. Through these letters he saw the character and character of his father. Mother’s care.
Everything amazed him. Their attitude to life, to people. And above all, to God! Every day was filled with not just communion with God, but life for God Himself!
Self-sacrifice and scarcity of life for the sake of helping others.
It was very funny to learn about the boy who began to serve in the altar of Dima Vorobyov.
God has given me a helper today. Just like a sparrow, Dima Sparrow tweeted. A modest, skinny boy looked at me with huge eyes. I followed the service closely and prayed sincerely. So the priest Maxim recorded in his diary the appearance of Dima.
Later, the boy often met in the lines of the diary. Incredibly reverently described the birth and baptism of Ivan.
On the days of big holidays, the diary conveyed the sermon of Father Maxim.
All this could not be compared to what he knew about priests throughout his life.
The information he received spoke of the lack of morality of the clergy. In general, everything connected with the Church is invented, stupid and directed against people.
The next few days Ivan Maksimovich lost the ability to sleep and the usual way of life.
One of the following evenings, after reading his father’s diary, he put other books from the drawer on his desk.
Accustomed to working with secret documents, the colonel discovered the most forbidden book imaginable: the Bible.
I opened it from a place that my father often remembered in his diary. The sixth chapter of the Gospel of Luke, verse thirty-seven: “Judge not, and ye shall not be judged; condemn not, and ye shall not be condemned; forgive, and ye shall be forgiven.”
After reading the chapter to the end, he set about the next.
With the advent of a new day, events began to take on a slightly different character. Everything that happened was immediately compared in Ivan’s head with what he had read the night before.
Suddenly, during the working day, the idea came to find Dima Vorobyov. If he was a teenager then he should be alive.
He had to go to the staff behind a closed door.
A few days have passed since Ivan Maksimovich takes a vacation and leaves the countryside. On special orders, his colleagues were waiting for him. Archbishop Damian, serving time in the north of the country as an enemy of the people, was brought to meet him.
The colonel went down to the cellar, where the bishop was interrogated. Not shy of his colleagues, Ivan Maksimovich took off his hat and folded his hands under the blessing.
Ponomar Dima was the now exiled bishop.
Having handed over the prepared document with an important signature, he took the bishop to his dacha, where the bath was already heated and dinner was ready.
Vladyka could not understand anything. At dinner, the colonel put a diary on the table.
— You will, Vladyka?
— No way! Vanya!
The bishop got up from the table and hugged Ivan Maksimovich with his shabby hands.
Now I know whose eyes I saw in your eyes! That’s your father’s look!
The conversation took a very long time. After dinner, the host and guest sat by the burning fireplace and boiled the kettle over and over again. In the diary of the father was indicated the collection of herbs, of which every time after the service they drank tea in a “ponomark” with Dima. It was this gathering that was prepared for the meeting today.
Vladyka Damian told a lot about Father Maxim and Mother Helen.
You were already helping my father when I was born. Do you remember that?
— Of course I do, Vanechka. You were such a pretty and surprisingly quiet baby. Parents thanked the Lord for the gifted son and treated you with great love.
Do you remember how I was baptized?
— I remember, Vanechka! I’m your godfather!
Ivan Maksimovich sat down on the sofa to Vladyka, pressed himself against the chest of his godfather, and as a child cried sobbing. For the first time in his life, he felt he was no longer an orphan.
The room was quiet. The two men met each other decades later.
Ivan told me how difficult it was in the orphanage. His early years were filled with pain and suffering. He never remembered his parents, but his dream was to have a father and mother.
He was an easy student. Phenomenal memory and high intelligence from elementary school made themselves felt. Therefore, when he began to show excellent abilities in high school, he was noticed. Thus, further training with the prospect of working for the state was offered.
Ivan Maksimovich brought a suitcase to a large room and put it on the table.
— Do you know, godfather? — Ivan asked with a happy smile.
— Son, Vanechka! How did you manage to find him?
It was a suitcase dressed as Archbishop Damian.
— Godfather, can you confess me?
Archbishop Damian was rehabilitated and reinstated in the ministry. Next to him from now on there was always a ponomar, his godfather Ivan Kruglov.
To attend divine services, the previous evening the colonel took a diplomat with him for special missions. And masterfully transformed into an old grandfather, a stately blonde or a mustache farmer.
Sometimes in a particular temple could be difficult circumstances. Then a mysterious ponomar appeared there and all the problems ended before they could start.
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Orthodox stories from life
