He's coming to you

Priest Andrey Mizyuk - that there is no loneliness

Peter's fast has begun. I'm coming to the temple. It's All Night Vigil now. There are almost no parishioners. Only a singing Armenian nun and a young Serb who came to this temple not so long ago. It remained that way. Confession is conducted in English or Serbian. The first one I understand relatively, the second one I almost don’t, oddly enough. But most importantly, he hears and understands. He goes to confession regularly and diligently, but this is his personal spiritual work, no one imposes it. Local children, who live with their parents in the former temple premises of Surb Gevorg nearby and in neighboring courtyards, are running screaming near the church. Some of them respond to familiar words from the singing, and sometimes children’s exclamations are heard: “Hallelujah, Hallelujah”... And so the whole service goes on, with children’s screams and games outside the window.

Summer is outside the window. Lord's summer.

When was Easter? So on April 12th... It hasn’t even been two months yet. And another post? Well, as the charter says. You can’t help but think: what do you think? Isn't it time? From a personal, inner feeling? Isn't it time for fasting?

The fact is that if by fasting we mean the disappearance of a favorite kebab or lomajio from life during a work break, then this, of course, is not a special change in life, but rather an easy turn in gastronomic affairs. But we understand, we know that the posts were given to us for something else? And we understand that fasting is for man, and not man for fasting?

Thank you, Lord, for these few lighthouses from coast to coast. In my stormy sea, I have long since sailed from the Easter shore and I see that there are storms and storms all around again. Yes, not 9 points, of course, but everything is not all right with my ship and compasses. But sometimes I forget about the map. So I struggle at times, now raising the sails, now tightening them and hiding in the hold. But I noticed the light in the darkness and wind again, which means that on the rocks in the distance, in the lighthouse, which I almost didn’t notice, someone had lit a fire. And on this night of mine and of this world, he is visible to me again.

You suddenly look and understand: am I here for the wind and aimless wandering on the waves? Where are my shores, why am I swimming and why do I always go somewhere?

This is how the storms cool down and calm down, this is how the starry sky opens over the dark water, this is how maps are remembered, compasses are found, and you slowly realize that you are your own team and captain here. Only when it blew hard, you ran and hid in the hold, and whatever was up there - let it sort itself out somehow, Lord. OK?

So where am I going and why, huh?

You will sit and think, and you will remember that the shores to which I am walking along these seas and oceans of my life are the ultimate goal. No, how will I get there? And so every time - it almost blows it to pieces. Maybe back to my old bay, to the quiet backwater and river along which I swam, leaving my native shores? Who knows what’s ahead, how many there are who swam—that is, walked like this—and couldn’t? Why is all this? I would have lived as it was, in no hurry to go anywhere, and quietly, without glowing, and gone out.

What pushed my heart from those forgotten shores, what was drawn to the horizons and the unknown, what are these shores, where did the call come from? Where? Who is waiting for me there and why?

But having heard, as if in a dream, and then more and more clearly and clearly this call, this path, I could no longer help but go. And there is nothing left on this shore anymore. And only there, there, into the distance and through the great and terrible water, through storms and elements.

By lighthouses. Through hope, through salvation in unimaginable trials, almost accidental salvation. Well, how is it random? It's not accidental.

So I go. And the tea of ​​these shores.

And sometimes it seems that there is no ship at all, but there is only you yourself, standing on the water and surprised that you are not drowning, and only a moment of fear and doubt and the smooth surface of this icy darkness under you is already taking you away.

And only one thing: help me, Lord, I’m drowning and I can’t help but drown. As with His disciple.

And He will only answer: you can. And you will go and you will get there, and it’s not about what awaits you at the finish line, not about fireworks or orchestras upon arrival. The fact is that on this path, in all this cold and darkness of time and wanderings, He always comes to you. He comes forward. How, at the hour of His death, He walked towards those who had already fallen and had no hope beyond the line of death. And He no longer has traits. Borders Obstruction And there is no impossibility. There is a way. From the bay to the desired shores we go towards. And only one instruction: pick up along the way those who have not yet understood and do not know. Tell them that life on the shallows and icy rocks of our vanity and passing times is not at all what we are alive for and came into this world for.

They will not always agree and, most likely, will not immediately decide on the path. But where we are going there is no loneliness. Or, at any rate, we are not co-natural with it. As with this dark, cold abyss below us and behind us. As with what is behind and in the past, with what no longer exists. If you have already followed the paths of life, then you probably understood this.

I emerge from my thoughts... Outside the windows there is again the cheerful cry of children, the singing of psalms and the Summer of the Lord. And the light of another beacon. New post. To collect my thoughts. And in spirit. And go again.