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Natalia Evgenievna Sukhinina
WHERE DO THE HAPPY PEOPLE LIVE?
stories and essays
Preface
ORTHODOX VISION OF THE WORLD
Russian people are Orthodox. And whoever is not Orthodox, his Russianness becomes doubtful. For many, this has already been a commonplace since the time of Dostoevsky. But what does it mean to be Orthodox? This is not given at birth. No, it is necessary to study Orthodoxy, to be brought up in Orthodoxy. But as?
Of course, going to church: whoever puts himself outside the church is inevitably outside the faith - to whom the Church is not a mother, God is not a father. This, again, has long been indisputable, although not for everyone, so it is useful to repeat and repeat the undoubted from time to time. It is imperative to read the Holy Scriptures, testing yourself with patristic wisdom, because with your understanding you can read such heresies that it would be better not to pick up those books. It is necessary to comprehend the doctrinal foundations of Orthodoxy, dogmatic truths. Finally, we must try to live according to the commandments, which is very difficult.
However, in following all this we are faced with the danger of turning what is necessary into something external, formal, which does not take possession of the fullness of our being. You can become a scribbler, a proud Pharisee - but that will be of little use. After all, the Pharisee was very pious, fulfilling even more than what was required, and yet he was placed lower than the sinner publican by the Son of God Himself.
In order to accept the truths of Orthodoxy, it is necessary, among other things, to assimilate them through one’s own life experience - then they will not become an external dogma, but guidelines on the path to salvation. Why did our first parents sin? Because they had no experience of being outside of God. Actually, their punishment was a great blessing, a teaching provided providentially for all mankind for the sake of gaining the most valuable experience, without which it is impossible to be firm in following the will of God. (Not everyone benefited from that experience, but that’s a different topic.)
However, one cannot comprehend all the complexity of life with one’s own experience. The sea of life is too vast and boundless for one person. But you can also use the spiritual experience of your neighbors, both good and negative, for your benefit. Therefore, a great work is done by those who collect such experience bit by bit and make it public property. It is especially valuable if everything collected receives Orthodox, that is, true, illumination and interpretation.
I admit that I always take on the task of reading works in which the author sets just such a goal for himself. For Orthodoxy is often understood externally: it seems that it is worth remembering the name of God, being piously touched - and that is enough. What comes out is mannerism, lisp, false piety, sugary exaltation, deliberate cloying. Orthodoxy does not tolerate this; eye rolling and dramatic poses are contraindicated for it. Those works where a word is not said in simplicity, but everything is done with a “pious” grimace, only harm the cause, alienating from themselves souls that cannot tolerate falsehood.
Natalia Sukhinina’s book will give everyone who reads it with interest a lot of useful information necessary to enrich their own experience, since it offers a strict, sober, courageous, sometimes tough and at the same time wise, genuinely kind outlook on life. The most valuable experience is collected here, revealing not speculatively, but through living examples - being with God and without God.
Suquinina teaches Orthodoxy. Not dogma, of course, and not church canons - there are special books for that. She teaches Orthodox comprehension of life using simple everyday examples. And this is simply necessary for the reader, since everyday experience is unobtrusive, but sometimes more conclusive than the most judicious edifications.
Who, for example, does not know the truth of St. Seraphim of Sarov “acquire a peaceful spirit, and thousands around you will be saved”? You can talk about this for a long time and intelligently. In Sukhinina, this is revealed through a negative example, in an everyday situation recognizable to everyone (the story “The Last Flowers from Our Garden”): an unpeaceful spirit, despondency - they poison everything around them, making their neighbors unhappy, filled with the spirit of malice. And there is not a single mention of God’s name in vain, there is no reference to the Holy Fathers, but the patristic wisdom “Despondency is the delight of the devil” (St. Tikhon of Zadonsk) is too clear to be doubted.
There is no need to retell the meaning of all the stories - you just need to read them. The author teaches to peer into people, to see the inner essence of characters and actions behind the external. And it teaches love, which begins with sympathy for even the most unattractive person. Teaches you to forgive in humility when it is so difficult to forgive.
Every believer knows: God helps him in all life circumstances, in trials and troubles. You just need to seek such help with faith. And if doubts overcome? But read about true stories that happened in the lives of the most ordinary people - isn’t this a living testimony?
You read the book and involuntarily become stronger in the conviction: with faith it is good and easy to live (not in the everyday sense, but in the spiritual), without God it is painful and hopeless. Russian people have long known: without God there is no way to reach the threshold. And all these Stories are yet another confirmation of this.
And one side consideration involuntarily comes to mind, which probably was not included in the author’s calculations: how criminally those who are still fighting against the faith, who speak with hatred about Orthodoxy, think and behave. What are they dooming a person, an entire nation, to, trying to drive into everyone’s consciousness their depressingly vulgar stereotypes about human self-sufficiency, pluralism, and consumer ideals? Those who are hysterical, should start talking about the need to teach children the basics of Orthodoxy, doom the people to degeneration and death. The statistics are frightening: we are number one in youth suicides. And don’t deceive yourself: in unbelief, in godlessness, this will become increasingly worse. What do those at war with faith achieve? Don't they know what they're doing? Some people, in their own complacency and stupid self-confidence, really don’t know, but others...
A person is led through life, protected from falling (and we often resist this - and still fall), by the providential will of God. However, one should not assume that this simple thought is primitively simple. It often requires a genuine feat of faith, because Orthodox demands on a person are sometimes severely paradoxical and unacceptable at the level of everyday consciousness. In this sense, the story “The Sad Flutist at the Cheerful Bakery” becomes a kind of test for testing our faith. Our entire being resists the choice that the participants in the story told humbly made, submitting to the will of the elder. But the spiritual wisdom of the elder is only a consequence not of his own arbitrariness, but of spiritual comprehension of Providence. To resist Providence is to always doom yourself to future disaster. It’s easy to say, but go ahead and try it when it hits you. After all, we judge everything from our limited time space, and it still seems to us that we know better than anyone else where our good is. Providence determines everything according to the laws of eternity, and from eternity, no matter how wise you are, you always know better. Without accepting this with our own limited reason, we get burned, being in a lack of faith. And if we accept it, even despite our inner protest, we get something for which we may have lost hope long ago (the story “A Dress to Grow”).
It is not our task, we repeat again, to list all the good lessons that can be learned from reading the stories of Natalia Sukhinina. Whoever reads it will see and understand everything for himself. Finally, it is necessary to say about the undoubted artistic merits of the proposed book. This is very important: a bad form can make any good intention meaningless. Sukhinina skillfully masters the form, constructs the narrative laconically, succinctly selects the most accurate and expressive details, clearly builds the composition of the story, and correctly chooses the right intonation.
The skill of verbal drawing can be judged at least by this passage (the story “The Evil Old Woman with a Blue Reticule”):
“She was small, nimble, with a small wrinkled face, deep-set eyes that burned the world around her like embers. She quickly, with the gait of a hurrying, very businesslike person, entered the church gates, importantly crossed herself on the dome and minced to the front door. At the door she made three more low bows and entered under the temple arches. And the work with elbows began. Her elbows were sharp, she herself was nimble, and that’s why she quickly moved through the crowd. Forward to Solea, in the center
In the limited space of text - nothing superfluous. But how clearly the description is given... We not only see the appearance of a person, but we already guess the character, correlating with what we ourselves know from experience. And how unexpectedly and expressively the word was created: she slipped through the crowd... This is the highest aerobatics of verbal art.
The book of stories by Natalia Sukhinina is necessary, useful, kind. Anyone who reads this will inevitably agree with this.
Mikhail Dunaev,
Professor of the Moscow Theological Academy
PURE GOLD EARRINGS
Maria is seven years old. She walks, or rather runs, to first grade. Why does he run? Don't know. Probably because she can't walk. The legs carry themselves, thin, dexterous, nimble legs, they barely touch the ground, tangentially, almost like a dotted line, forward, forward... Maria is dark-eyed and sharp-eyed, gimlets of coals look with curiosity at God's world, rejoicing at the bright colors of earthly existence and saddened from inexpressive colors. Does she like her name? She adores him. Maria... How can you not like such a name? Of course, Masha, Marusya, Manya are not so harmonious, sometimes you don’t even want to respond, but she responds. You won’t respond, but they called her to where it was interesting. Maria lives in an Orthodox family, she has three older sisters and no younger ones. Her family loves her, but they don't spoil her. Maria herself understands that self-indulgence will not lead to good, and she learned from the cradle that one must be content with little. She was content until that unforgettable day came.
She galloped through the puddles, and the backpack knocked slightly on her back, it was so fun, so fun: she wasn’t asked for math today! And at home today - pies! Maria went to school, and her eldest sister Lena was putting out dough:
– You come home from school, and they’re hot...
There are days like this. Everything is going well, she even jumps through puddles easily and gracefully, and now she’s about to run away... And she stood up. And the black gimlet eyes lit up with delight. A beauty was walking towards Maria. Her ashen hair flowed over her shoulders, her gait was light and independent, and in her eyes there was a magnanimous condescension towards all human weaknesses combined. And in the ears - earrings! Mind-blowing, not earrings! Flickering lights shuddering in the sun. Maria even thought they were ringing. Like spring droplets - tinkling, tinkling...
The girl's heart beat under her blue padded jacket, louder than this tinkle, tinkle... The sun dimmed. The taste of the expected pies became inappropriate and gross. The beauty walked past, gracefully walking around a large puddle sparkling in the sun. And Maria stopped in front of the puddle, powerless - she couldn’t jump over. The lightness in my legs gave way to leaden heaviness. She dragged herself home and threw her backpack at a green, furry hare, sitting peacefully on the sofa and indifferently staring at a wall calendar with views of winter Toronto. The hare humbly fell silent under the weight of Marya’s sophisticated textbooks. And she herself, still in her jacket, curled up next to the hare, turned to the wall and began to cry bitterly. Mom came and sat down next to me. Silently she put her hand on her daughter’s heated head. The eldest sister came and placed a plate of pies on the table next to her. The youngest of the older sisters came, frightened:
- Well, what are you doing, Mash, what are you doing?
There was no dad, he worked the evening shift, and another sister, she was at the institute. Those gathered around the sofa were waiting for Maria's explanations.
And they heard them:
“I want earrings,” Maria squeezed out, sobbing, “small, made of pure gold.” But you will never buy them for me... - and she began to cry again, bitterly smearing tears across her unhappy face.
In the evening, when everyone had gathered, and Maria, tired from the shock of the day, was fast asleep, the “council in Fili” began in the kitchen about the correct tactics and wise strategy. Of course, the family budget will not be able to afford earrings for Maria. And why does a little girl need such pampering? Three daughters grew up without these whims, and Masha will interrupt, you need to talk to her strictly. To whom? Dad? Older sister? Mom? To mom.
– You know, this is a very expensive thing and we can’t afford it. If you see someone wearing a mink coat, will you want it too? This is not good, we are Orthodox people, luxury is not good for us. When you grow up, learn, go to work...
Maria was horrified by the long path to her cherished dream. If I go crazy, I’ll grow up and learn. I wanted earrings now. Bright lights and golden droplets burned through the heart, and in sweet languor it ached and murmured against the mother’s logic.
- A hundred years will pass. And now I want it! Don't buy me anything, not boots for the winter, not a sweater, just buy earrings...
- Stop whims. Look, you took the fashion - demand it. You won't receive any earrings.
The jumping girl became sad and sad. And should she have met the beautiful temptress? And here’s what’s interesting: my mother’s cruel sentence “you won’t get any earrings” inflamed her heart even more. She only wanted to talk about the earrings.
She stood in front of the mirror and imagined herself happy, smiling, with earrings in her ears. Ding - turned to the right, ding - turned to the left.
- Well, buy...
- Masha, stop it.
- Well, I don’t need winter boots.
– How long can you talk about one thing?
- Oh please...
She received a slap on the head from the youngest of the older sisters. I cried. And - again for my own.
The decision came unexpectedly. She realized that she would never pity her family, who were stubborn in their stubbornness. We must go a different way. And the path was determined by her.
Sunday turned out to be grey, heavy and slushy.
- I'm going for a walk.
- In such weather? But not for long.
Run, without looking back, to the train. I stood in the vestibule and pressed my nose against the glass, just to avoid the inspectors. She only has four stops. She's in Sergiev Posad. To the Lavra. To Saint Sergius.
A huge queue at the Trinity Cathedral to see the shrine with the relics of St. Sergius. A small, black-eyed, reed-like girl with the most serious intentions stood in the tail. She will ask the Reverend for earrings. They say he is a great man of prayer, he hears everyone, he consoles everyone. And she is Orthodox, baptized, her mother takes her to church, gives her communion, she even tries to fast. Doesn’t she, the Orthodox Christian Mary, have the right to ask the Reverend for help? Rain is coming. The woman standing in front let her under the umbrella. Slowly, slowly, towards cancer...
An elderly woman fell to her knees with tears of despair - help!
Maria doubted her decision for a moment. People are in trouble, they ask for help in trouble, and I ask for earrings... The Reverend won’t even have time for me, there are so many people, and everyone is asking for something serious!
But as soon as I climbed the step in front of the shrine, I forgot about everything except the earrings. The children's knees were weakened by a pure, sparkling prayer. The eyes were dry, but the heart was trembling.
They were worried at home. But Maria decisively walked into the kitchen and asked for food. The family looked at each other - he let go. And the next day she went to the Lavra again. Right after school, without going home. There were fewer people, and she quickly found herself in front of the holy shrine. She asked again - persistently and persistently. The third time is a failure. Maria was discovered in the Lavra by a friend of her older sister Lena.
- You are alone? Do they know at home?
Well, of course, I reported. “You know, your Masha...” Maria received in full for self-will. She remained stubbornly silent when her family asked why she went to the Lavra. Finally, she couldn’t stand it and shouted:
- Yes, I asked the Reverend for earrings! You're not buying for me. Earrings!
Long pedagogical conversations began. Mom said that we should ask the Reverend to be diligent in our studies, he helps those who are weak in science. And you, Masha, don’t you have anything to ask the Reverend? Are you okay with math, for example?
And again Maria became sad. Mom’s truth put her to shame; does St. Sergius really care if people from all over Russia come to him about tests, exams, and tests?
And it was evening, quiet and warm. The sunny day managed to warm the earth and it now gave up what it had accumulated to the gentle twilight that arrived in time to replace it. Mom entered the house mysterious, silent and beautiful. She looked at Maria for a long time, did not rush, as usual, to the kitchen to rattle dishes, fry and steam, but sat down on the sofa and hugged her daughter.
“Give me your hand,” she asked quietly.
A small, cozy box fell into Maria’s palm. And in it...
- Earrings... Mom, earrings! Did you buy it? Expensive? But I don’t need anything, boots for the winter...
- No, daughter, this is not my gift. St. Sergius gave this to you.
At night, when the shocked Maria, having carefully hidden the treasured box under her pillow, slept, the quiet household listened to the story...
Mom was in a hurry towards the train and a friend caught up with her. Haven't seen you for a long time, how and what, how is the house, how are the children?
- Oh, don’t ask. We have a war situation at home. Maria does this. I saw someone’s earrings on the street and – I want those and that’s it. Gold, not just any kind. They persuaded and punished, but nothing helps. So what did she come up with? She began to go to the Lavra and pray to the shrine of St. Sergius so that he would give her earrings!
The friend stopped in amazement.
- Earrings? Did you pray to the monk? Miracles...
A quiet acquaintance accompanied my mother to the train, and when she had already entered the vestibule and wanted to wave her hand, she suddenly quickly took off her earrings:
- Take it! This is Maschke.
The door closed, and the confused mother was left standing in the vestibule with earrings in her hands. I reproached myself all the way for my tactless story. I went the next day to give it away. But she doesn’t take it: it’s not from me, from St. Sergius.
The husband of this friend, Natalya, is a deacon of one of the churches near Moscow. A lot of time has passed, and he still has not been ordained as a priest. And when they arrived, they would have to decide and improve their lives. And Natalya went to ask St. Sergius for help. Just like Mary, she stood in a long line and also knelt before the holy shrine. Help, servant of Christ! And suddenly, with prayerful zeal, she promised:
- I’ll donate my gold earrings to you, help me...
Soon Natalya's husband was ordained. He became the rector of one of the churches in the Moscow region. It's time to deliver what you promised. She came to the Lavra and walked around confused: where should she go with these earrings? You can’t leave it on the cancer, it’s not supposed to be passed on to someone, but to whom? I walked and walked, but still couldn’t figure out how best to thank St. Sergius with my gold earrings. I left the Lavra, and here I met Maria’s mother. And I couldn’t believe my ears:
– Our Mary goes to the Lavra so that the Reverend will give her earrings...
She took off the golden droplets-lights. With the blessing of the Reverend. And Natalya cannot violate that blessing.
But Mary was not surprised at the particularly expensive gift; the child’s heart opened to the holy elder and sincerely hoped for his help. Prayer is a special work. It has its own secret, its own laws and its own craft. An expensive gift from St. Sergius in a small box. The special joy of the black-eyed girl, who confirmed with her pure faith and earnest, without prying eyes, prayer, the natural order of life in God, established over thousands of years.
But Maria’s ears are not pierced. And her mother is afraid to allow her to wear earrings to school. It really is risky. While they were thinking about how best to proceed, Priest Maxim called. The same one whose mother prayed to the Reverend. And she promised to donate an expensive gift.
“Listen, Maria, this is the case,” he said seriously. – Our cathedral needs to be restored; there is no end to the work. The frescoes require serious restoration. I would like to ask you to pray that the Lord will give us strength to work for the glory of God. And as soon as we restore the frescoes, I will immediately bless you to wear earrings. Agree?
“How bless you, Father Maxim,” answered the servant of God Maria humbly.
She really wants this to happen as soon as possible. And every evening he gets up to pray in front of the icon of St. Sergius, bows to the ground, and asks, and hopes, and believes. And the cathedral is called Trinity. And in this, too, the wonderful Providence of God is clearly visible. St. Sergius is a servant of the Trinity from his birth to his blessed death. Through prayers all Trinity monasteries and churches in Russia live and grow stronger. And he will not leave this one without his spiritual care, especially since there is a special prayer book for the temple, a little girl with the beautiful name Maria. Black-eyed Thumbelina, who would really like earrings made of the purest gold in the world.
PICNIC BY THE DEER RIVER
The sunflower turned out to be bolder than his notorious brothers: they huddled together on a sunny hillock, and this one boldly lifted his freckled nose right by the side of the road. And he stands at attention like a soldier, even in front of the coolest foreign cars he doesn’t bend his back.
- Beauty! - Mother Varvara exclaimed.
“Beauty,” confirmed our driver Volodya.
“Beauty,” I also supported.
We got out of the car to take a photo with a sunflower. Mother carefully hugged him, pressed him to her monastic dress, and sad eyes framed by a black apostle looked into the lens through large glasses.
– I’ll take this photo to Australia...
The sadness that rolled up to mother’s heart cannot be quelled. To cheer her up, I begin to philosophize:
- So the sunflower lived on the side of the road, and on you, made a dizzying career and went all the way to Australia. This is what it means to be in the right place at the right time.
We move on, discussing the fate of the careerist sunflower. And Mother Siberia laid a smooth tablecloth of homespun, but very smooth roads under our wheels. And now there’s a photo in front of me: mother and a sunflower. And neither one nor the other is nearby. Mother flew to Sydney, and the sunflower with her was the envy of those timid losers left on the Siberian hillock. It makes me sad to look at the photo card. But sadness is good, it brings back good memories.
A phone call to my apartment. An elderly woman pronounces the words clearly and slowly:
- I'm Mother Varvara. Many years ago we met with you in Jerusalem. I was the abbess in the monastery on the Mount of Olives, you came to see us...
I remember feverishly. Mother Varvara? Yes, yes, eleven years ago, when I first found myself in the Holy Land, I actually went to the Monastery of Olives for a couple of hours, actually met the abbess there, and we talked a little. But eleven years have passed.
- Do not be surprised. I accidentally saw a post signed by you. I thought, suddenly you remember. The editorial office gave you your phone number.
– I came to Russia from Australia, I would like to see...
All my plans were instantly adjusted for the sake of this amazing meeting. We hugged like family. Mother Varvara has never been to Russia. Her parents left immediately after the revolution. No, no, the word “left” is wrong, it’s too prosperous and calm. There was a family dinner, the first thing was served. But then excited neighbors came running; there is a train in two hours, they asked me to tell you that you need to leave. For a couple of weeks, no more, the city is unquiet, anything can happen.
Her father was a Cossack chieftain. Indeed, anything could happen. They rose from the table without recognizing the taste of Sunday soup. What we had on (two weeks is not enough time, we’ll make do) we hurried to the station.
And these two weeks continue to this day. For two years, my parents traveled to Harbin in torment, hardship, and incredible suffering. Chinese soil sheltered many unfortunate, persecuted Russians. It also became a shelter for the family of the Russian Cossack ataman, who loved Russia as children love their only God-given mother. It was here, in Harbin, that the girl Zhenya was born. A little time will pass, and she will know that she is Russian, and that life in China is forced for her family, and that the hour will strike and they will return. But time passed and the mother began to repeat more and more often to her growing daughter:
– I probably won’t be able to visit Russia again, but you should definitely see it...
Then there was monastic tonsure with the name Varvara, monastic obedience to the glory of God, abbess in the Olivet Monastery, years of life in Australia. And now, for the first time in more than seventy years, mother sets off on a journey, to fulfill the order of her late mother, to see Russia reborn from the darkness of godlessness.
– I was afraid to go. Twenty-eight hours of flight, but that’s not the main thing. The main thing is how they will greet me, whether I can see what my late mother wanted to see.
It turns out that Mother Varvara is not in Moscow:
- I want to see the outback. I was in Ukraine. In the Pskov region, Novgorod region. I really want to go to Solovki, but especially to Siberia.
And I’m flying to Siberia one of these days, I’ve already bought a ticket. A Moscow acquaintance, whose parents live in Minusinsk, promised to meet me and take me around Siberia. He is visiting them, and he invited me to stay with them. I tell my mother about this and remember that my Moscow friend once studied in Australia.
– Isn’t his name Volodya by any chance? - Mother asks and looks at me intently.
“Volodya,” I babble, already understanding that something important is about to happen.
“Volodya, Volodya...” Mother rummages through her notebook, “I was given the phone number of one Volodya, but I call, and the phone doesn’t answer.”
A familiar set of numbers. My Volodya's phone number.
- He won’t answer. He’s in Minusinsk, with his parents, and in three days I’m flying out to him...
“I brought him a tribute from a priest from Sydney. And I still haven’t conveyed it...
- Mother, we need to fly to Minusinsk! On the same flight with me. We need to fly to Siberia! After all, you really wanted to see the Russian outback! - I worry,
I’m afraid that my idea will seem crazy to my mother, but she calmly answers:
– I would fly, but would it be polite, because I don’t know Volodya or his parents.
- I'm sure they will be happy. And give your regards...
The plane gained altitude. Moscow at night spread out
beneath us is a huge black spot. Nearby in a chair is Mother Varvara. Lord, bless us on our long journey!
I look at the photo and remember. Maybe my mother is now in her distant Australia, also looking at the same photo? And the yellow sunflower between us is like a cheerful exclamation mark, forbidding two Orthodox hearts to be sad: there are no kilometers between us, no continents, no time zones, but prayer. A prayer bridge from heart to heart, saving, comforting, durable.
Do you remember, mother? We were sitting in a small courtyard near the Minusinsk Church of the Savior Not Made by Hands and two Russian women, Elena Ivanovna and Lyubov Vasilievna, Sunday school teachers, told us about the children they teach?
- They are better than us. They are cleaner than us. They will save Russia.
And you cried, mother, and were embarrassed by your tears, but they still came out from under your glasses in thin streams. And when the Siberians, hearing that you were from distant Australia, were surprised: “how well you speak Russian!”, You, mother, were embarrassed and always repeated the same thing:
- I'm Russian. It is my native language. I lived in Harbin, but I am Russian.
Sorry, mother. People didn't mean to offend you. For them, Australia is exotic with parrots and kangaroos, and a Russian person from Australia is also exotic for them. And your eyes screamed every minute about the fact that you are Russian, and your inquisitive mind did not want idleness:
-What kind of tree is this, maple? Does not look like it. Is this rye heading? Yes, yes, rye, I see it. What are these people selling in buckets? Chanterelles! Whole buckets, how interesting! Look, horse! And the boy sleeps in the cart, what a charming baby. A herd of cows... Large, but why are they all red?
Mother absorbed Russia greedily, like a traveler yearning for a well. I remember when we went to rest at the house of the priest Father Vasily in the village of Ermakovskoye, my mother asked permission to look at their garden. She returned quiet and asked me:
– Please take a photo of the potato field and huts behind the house. A piece of Russia. I have to show a photo in Australia, there are a lot of Russians there! But not everyone can visit here.
Father Vasily’s daughter, Nastya, we didn’t even have time to blink an eye, she cooked soup.
- How old are you? Seven? And did you make soup? Can I open the lid? Dill, onion, carrot, and it smells so good! Did you really cook it yourself?
Nastya poured us a full plate. Mother was still surprised, and we were surprised at mother - what a miracle, the girl made soup?
– In Australia, children can’t cook soup?
- Yes, they can from bags. Throw it in boiling water and it’s done, but it’s unlikely to be real.
We compared a lot - with us, with them. They don’t give birth very often, they don’t want to, but they haven’t come up with anything to help mothers. Press the buttons in time and no problems. But we, it’s true, have large priestly families, especially in villages. But the city Orthodox have now also come to their senses, giving birth and baptizing. And our churches are crowded, especially on holidays. Mother is like a sponge, she absorbs everything, remembers everything, puts everything into a deep memory bank. And Volodin’s name day will definitely fall into it, into this piggy bank. It turned out to be a great name day, with homemade wine, gifts, and pies. Volodya’s mother, Lyudmila Ivanovna, began making pies with blueberries, cabbage, and eggs. Mother volunteered to help. Does every housewife have her own secrets? Not always. It turned out that both Lyudmila Ivanovna and mother bake pies in exactly the same way. How many eggs do you add to the dough? And so much I. How long do you knead the dough? And so am I. How do you seal the pies? Oh, I'm the same way! Two housewives are busy at the stove, two Russian women. They have different life experiences, different mentalities, different destinies. But they are Russian, and for them the concepts of hospitality, cordial affection for one’s neighbor and the secrets of pies are common. The name day was a success.
And tomorrow morning early we set off for the Sayan Mountains.
“Whoever has not seen the Sayans has not seen Siberia,” said Volodya’s father, Vadim Petrovich.
And my mother and I thought that we had seen a little of Siberia. From the breathtaking steepness of the cliff, the mighty taiga seems like a raging sea. It seriously foams with waves, and it seems that you are not standing over a cliff at all, but are making a brave flight in an airplane over the ocean depths. In the distance, mountain peaks covered with snow are like longed-for shores, beckoning with the saving firmament.
“Look, there’s a sleeping Sayan,” Volodya points towards a long mountain range.
Indeed, the giant frozen in stone lies on his back, his arms submissively folded on his chest, his legs stretched out. His sleep is deep and long, for how many centuries neither the cold Siberian winds nor the clap of thunder awakens him, he is indifferent even to this Godly beauty. Sleeping Sayan is the highest point of a mountain pass. Mother collected a bouquet of bright pink fireweed, yellow St. John's wort flowers, and honey-scented, discreet grass.
She was once a successful secular journalist and, in order to write an effective article for the newspaper of the CPSU Central Committee “Socialist Industry” (it was 1990), she decided to walk from Moscow to Jerusalem. A few months later, Sukhinina returned a different person. Believers.
Natalya Evgenievna has the ability to attract (or see?) miracles: this can be felt in her books. And there are no less miracles in Sukhinina’s life...
– Your new book “Flights of Dandelions” is dedicated to the “love triangle” situation. Could there be a way out of it? After all, betrayal has been committed, relationships are broken...
- The situation is not easy. Although there was no betrayal in the physical, generally accepted sense. The hero tried to understand himself, it was not easy for him... But he really met a great, real, serious feeling.
However, he was able to accept and understand that such love had a right to exist before the appearance of children. As soon as the children were born, the main thing became the awareness of duty to them.
This was accepted by Dasha, the girl Ilya was going to marry. Vika, his wife, also suffered a lot, she suffered, drove Ilya away from her. This is the story of the formation of three people, and the united misfortune became the point of their spiritual growth. Through pain, through loss...
– They tell us what is possible and necessary. We know, and we remain at the same level. The main tragedy of modern Christians is that we know everything, but we can’t do anything.
This science is very difficult for me. I remember the grievances for a long time. This is also a question that I don’t understand: I don’t want to remember the offense, but I do. What should I do? No, I don’t have to show the offense outwardly, I can say, as is customary: “God bless!”, “For the glory of God!” - we all know what to say, especially in... And the main thing is what's inside. How to get rid of the resentment inside?
In general, I have the feeling that you repeat the same thing over and over again in confession, but don’t move. And the years pass... Poor priests, how much they listen to this from us!
– What other problems do modern Christians have?
– A “thumbnail” appeared: all-night service, liturgy, confession, communion, holidays - and that’s it. . This is our problem.
When I had a period of active churching, my materials were replete with all sorts of Christian terms... And then I felt ashamed to declare all this. And now I have reduced the “terms” to a minimum. In my book “Seasons” there are few words about Orthodoxy; the actions of the heroes testify to it.
I have met a lot of people who are not churchgoers, don’t go to churches, and don’t fast. But they are Christians in action. And we got carried away with declarations.
I used to have a certain arrogance: here I am - a church person! Then I looked: there was no reason to be proud.
In Pitsunda, my neighbor Seryozha, an Armenian, helps me around the house a lot. Once we went with him to Kamany on business, and he said: “Natalya Evgenievna, I really want to go to the temple!” He came in and then worried: “I probably did everything wrong, crossed myself wrong, and not as many times as needed.” You should have seen how he was baptized! He put his soul into the movement of his hands. And we, churchgoers, often waved our hands: that’s it, we crossed ourselves. And this Seryozha, who does not fast, can say a strong word, turns out to be closer to God.
In order to return to God, to Christ, we, the churchgoers, need to analyze our actions and attitude towards life. And pull it out of yourself. After all, this is a dead end path. We’ve all read it, we know – it’s jaw-dropping, we go to confession – we know how to say, what to say, at what moment and how to take a blessing... So what?
Apparently, this is a stage of the path that needs to be passed and reached a new level - Christian love. But taking a step is not easy, but walking around the church yearly circle without internal tension is somehow more comfortable...
And people used to die for Christ. But here everything is calm, hence our lukewarmness... There is such an anecdote: the service in the church begins, masked people with machine guns jump out of the altar: “Okay, quickly: whoever is ready to die for Christ, for the faith, go to the right. The rest are out of here." A minute later there are two people in the temple. “Well, now let’s start the Liturgy,” says the priest, taking off his mask.
We now do not live in the same danger as the priests in the 30s of the last century, who performed funeral services for each other. They definitely had no time to offend each other! And we are relaxed that we live in such peace. It seems to me that this will end...
What if the character gets offended?
– What has left your life?
– Spontaneity, openness. Because, alas, I had to be beaten. Therefore, a certain pose appeared that I don’t really like. It’s a pity that it’s gone - sincere feelings please, first of all, the soul of the person himself. On the other hand, this is normal: age implies some fatigue and disappointment. You have to learn to live with this and treat it wisely.
– Usually people are afraid of loneliness...
– In the book “The Flight of Dandelions” I discuss exactly this: Dasha could not get married. While skating on the skating rink, she reflects on loneliness and says that if this is a stage in life, then there is no need to be afraid of it. Many girls do a lot of stupid things out of fear of loneliness. If you set yourself up correctly, you can avoid them...
Loneliness at an advanced age is something else. I treat solitude as a reward. I liked it regardless of age. I always wanted to leave noisy Moscow; I feel comfortable in small places. This gorge for me is just happiness. Sometimes I don’t see anyone for a week. I don’t say a word, the only thing I do is wave to my neighbors from the porch. I love it so much! While I'm leaving the summer rush, when there are always a lot of guests, I think: when everyone leaves, I'll be left alone and write. Maybe all this is because I am a sought-after person. I don’t treat loneliness as some kind of fate: it’s a state that I can change at any moment. Apparently, there is slyness here: as soon as I want, I will find myself among people...
Natalia Evgenievna Sukhinina
WHERE DO THE HAPPY PEOPLE LIVE?
stories and essays
Preface
ORTHODOX VISION OF THE WORLD
Russian people are Orthodox. And whoever is not Orthodox, his Russianness becomes doubtful. For many, this has already been a commonplace since the time of Dostoevsky. But what does it mean to be Orthodox? This is not given at birth. No, you need to study Orthodoxy, to be brought up in Orthodoxy. But as?
Of course, go to church: whoever places himself outside the temple is inevitably outside the faith - whoever doesn’t care about the Church, God is not his father. This, again, has long become indisputable, although not for everyone, so it is useful to repeat and repeat the undoubted from time to time. It is imperative to read the Holy Scriptures, testing yourself with patristic wisdom, for with your understanding you can read such heresies that it would be better if those books were in your hands do not take. It is necessary to comprehend the doctrinal foundations of Orthodoxy, dogmatic truths. Finally, we must try to live according to the commandments, which is very difficult.
However, in following all this, we are in danger of turning what is necessary into something external, formal, which does not take possession of the fullness of our being. You can become an accountant, a proud Pharisee - but that will be of little use. After all, the Pharisee was very pious, fulfilling even more than what was required, and yet he was placed lower by the Son of God Himself than the sinner publican.
In order to accept the truths of Orthodoxy, it is necessary, among other things, to assimilate them through one’s own life experience - then they will not become an external dogma, but a guideline on the path to salvation. Why did our first parents sin? Because they had no experience of being outside of God. In fact, their punishment was a great blessing, a teaching providentially given for all mankind for the sake of gaining the most valuable experience, without which it is impossible to be firm in following the will of God. (Not everyone benefited from this experience, but that’s a different topic.)
However, one cannot comprehend all the complexity of life with one’s own experience. The sea of life is too vast and immeasurable for one person. But you can also use the spiritual experience of your neighbors, both good and negative, for your benefit. Therefore, a great work is done by those who collect such experience bit by bit and make it public property. It is especially valuable if everything collected receives Orthodox, that is, true, illumination and interpretation.
I confess that I am always very wary of reading works in which the author sets himself precisely such a goal. For Orthodoxy is often understood externally: it seems that just remembering the name of God, being piously touched - and that’s enough. What comes out is mannerism, lisp, false piety, sugary exaltation, deliberate cloying. Orthodoxy does not tolerate this; eye rolling and dramatic poses are contraindicated for it. Those works where the words are simply unsaid, and everything is done with a “pious” grimace, only harm the cause, alienating from themselves souls that cannot tolerate falsehood.
Natalia Sukhinina’s book will give anyone who reads it a lot of useful things necessary to enrich their own experience, since it offers a strict, sober, courageous, sometimes tough and at the same time wise, genuinely kind outlook on life. The most valuable experience is collected here, revealing not speculatively, but through real-life examples - being with God and without God.
Suquinine teaches Orthodoxy. Not dogma, of course, and not church canons - there are special books for that. She teaches the Orthodox understanding of life using simple everyday examples. And this is simply necessary for the reader, since everyday experience is unobtrusive, but sometimes more conclusive than the most judicious edifications.
Who, for example, does not know the truth of St. Seraphim of Sarov “acquire a peaceful spirit, and thousands around you will be saved”? You can talk about this for a long time and intelligently. In Sukhinina, this is revealed through a negative example, in an everyday situation recognizable to everyone (the story “The Last Flowers from Our Garden”): an unpeaceful spirit, despondency - they poison everything around them, making their neighbors unhappy, filled with the spirit of malice. And there is not a single mention of God’s name in vain, there is no reference to the Holy Fathers, but the patristic wisdom “despondency is the delight of the devil” (St. Tikhon of Zadonsk) is too clear to doubt it.
There is no need to retell the meaning of all the stories - you just need to read them. The author teaches us to peer into people, to see the inner essence of their characters and actions behind the external. And it teaches love, which begins with sympathy for even the most unattractive person. Teaches you to forgive in humility when it is so difficult to forgive.
Every believer knows: God helps him in all life circumstances, in trials, troubles. One only needs to seek such help with faith. And if doubts overcome? But read about the true stories that happened in the lives of the most ordinary people - isn’t this a living testimony?
You read the book and involuntarily become stronger in the conviction: with faith it is good and easy to live (not in the everyday sense, but in the spiritual sense), without God it is painful and hopeless. Russian people have long known: without God there is no doorstep. And all these Stories are yet another confirmation of this.
And one side reasoning involuntarily comes to mind, which probably was not included in the author’s calculation: how criminally those who are still fighting against the faith, who speak of Orthodoxy with hatred, think and behave. What are they dooming a person, an entire nation, to, trying to drive into everyone’s consciousness their depressingly vulgar stereotypes of human self-sufficiency, pluralism, and consumer ideals? Those who are hysterical, should start talking about the need to teach children the basics of Orthodoxy, doom the people to degeneration and death. The statistics are frightening: we are number one in youth suicides. And do not deceive yourself: in lack of faith, in godlessness, this will become increasingly worse. What do those who fight with faith achieve? Don't they know what they're doing? Some people, in their own complacency and stupid self-confidence, really don’t know, but others...
A person is led through life, protected from falling (and we often resist this - and still fall), the providential will of God. However, one should not assume that this simple thought is primitively simple. It often requires a genuine feat of faith, because Orthodox demands on a person are sometimes severely paradoxical and unacceptable at the level of everyday consciousness. In this sense, the story “The Sad Flutist at the Cheerful Bakery” becomes a kind of test for testing our faith. Our whole being resists the choice that the participants in the story humbly made, submitting to the will of the elder. But the spiritual wisdom of the elder is only a consequence not of his own arbitrariness, but of spiritual comprehension of Providence. To resist Providence is to always doom yourself to future misfortune. It’s easy to say, but go ahead and try it when it touches you. After all, we judge everything from our limited time space, and everything seems to us as if we know better than anyone else where our good is. Providence determines everything according to the laws of eternity, and from eternity, no matter how wise you are, you always know better. Without accepting this with our own limited minds, we get burned, being in a lack of faith. And if we accept it, even despite our inner protest, we get what we may have long ago lost hope for (the story “Dress to Grow”).
It is not our task, we repeat again, to list all the good lessons that can be learned from reading Natalia Sukhinina’s stories. Whoever reads it will see and understand everything for himself. The wife finally needs to say about the undoubted artistic merits of the proposed book. This is very important: a bad form can make any good intention meaningless. Sukhinina skillfully masters the form, constructs the narrative laconically, succinctly selects the most accurate and expressive details, clearly builds the composition of the story, and correctly chooses the right intonation.
The skill of verbal drawing can be judged at least by this passage (the story “The Evil Old Woman with a Blue Reticule”):
“She was small, nimble, with a small wrinkled face, deep-set eyes that burned the world around her like embers. She quickly, with the gait of a hurrying, very businesslike person, entered the church gates, importantly crossed herself on the dome and trotted towards the front door. At the door she made three more low bows and entered the sub-temple vaults. And - the work with elbows began. Her elbows were sharp, she herself was nimble, and that’s why she moved quickly through the crowd. Forward to Solea, in the center
