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Natalia Evgenievna Sukhinina

WHERE DO THE HAPPY LIVE?

stories and essays

Foreword

ORTHODOX VISION OF THE WORLD

Russian people are Orthodox. And whoever is not Orthodox, in that his Russianness becomes doubtful. For many, this is already a common place since the time of Dostoevsky. But what does it mean to be Orthodox? It's not given at birth. No, Orthodoxy must be learned, educated in Orthodoxy. But as?

Of course, to go 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 obligatory to read Holy Scripture, testing yourself with patristic wisdom, for with your understanding you can read such heresies that it would be better not to take those books into your hands. It is necessary to comprehend the doctrinal foundations of Orthodoxy, the 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 transforming the necessary into the external, the formal, which does not take possession of the fullness of our being. One 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, by the Son of God Himself, he was placed lower 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 become not 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. In fact, their punishment was a great boon, 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 another topic.)

However, one cannot comprehend the complexity of life with one's own experience. The sea of ​​life is too immense and boundless for one person. But you can use for your own good the spiritual experience of your neighbors, both good and negative. Therefore, those who collect such experience bit by bit and make it public property do a great job. It is especially valuable if everything collected receives Orthodox, that is, true, illumination and interpretation.

I confess that it is always with great apprehension that I undertake to read works in which the author sets such a goal for himself. For Orthodoxy is often understood externally: it seems that it is worth remembering the name of God, piously touched - and that's enough. And what comes out is mannerism, lisping, false piety, sugary exaltation, deliberate cloying. Orthodoxy does not tolerate exactly this, rolling eyes and picture poses are contraindicated for him. Those works where a word is not said in simplicity, but all with a "pious" grimace, only harm the cause, tearing away souls that do not tolerate falsehood.

The book of Natalia Sukhinina to anyone who reads it with indifference will give 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. Here the most valuable experience is collected, revealing not speculatively, but on living examples - being with God and without God.

Su khinina teaches Orthodoxy. Not dogma, of course, and not church canons - there are special books for that. She teaches the Orthodox comprehension of life on simple everyday examples. And this is simply necessary for the reader, since worldly experience is unobtrusive, but sometimes more conclusive than the most reasonable edifications.

Who, for example, does not know the truth of St. Seraphim of Sarov, “Acquire the spirit of peace, and around thousands will be saved”? You can talk long and hard about it. In Sukhinina, this is revealed on a negative example, in an everyday situation recognizable by everyone (the story “The Last Flowers from Our Garden”): an unpeaceful spirit, despondency - poison everything around them, make neighbors unhappy, filled with the spirit of malice. And there is not a single mention in vain of God's name, 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 obvious to doubt it.

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 outside. And teaches love, which begins with sympathy for even the most unattractive person. Teaches in humility to forgive when it is so difficult to forgive.

Every believer knows: God helps him in all life circumstances, in trials, turmoil. It is only necessary with faith to seek such help. And if doubts prevail? But read about the true stories that happened in the lives of the most ordinary people - is this not a living testimony?

You read the book and involuntarily strengthen your conviction: with faith it is good and easy to live (not in the ordinary sense, but in the spiritual sense), without God it is painful and hopeless. Russian people have known for a long time that without God it is not up to the threshold. And all these stories are another confirmation of this.

And involuntarily one side argument comes to mind, which, probably, was not included in the author’s calculation: how criminally those who still fight against faith, who speak with hatred about Orthodoxy, think and behave. What do they doom a person, the entire nation, to, trying to drive into the minds of everyone their depressingly vulgar stereotypes about the self-sufficiency of a person, about pluralism, about consumer ideals? Those who are hysterical should start talking about the need to teach children the basics of Orthodoxy, dooming the people to degeneration and death. The statistics are frightening: we are in first place in terms of suicides among the youth. And do not deceive yourself: in unbelief, in godlessness, this will become more and more aggravated. What do those who fight with faith achieve? Don't know what they are doing? Someone in their own complacency and stupid self-confidence really does not know, but someone ...

A person is led through life, protecting from falls (and we often resist this - and we fall anyway), the providential will of God. One should not, however, assume that this simple thought is primitively simple. It just often requires a genuine feat of faith, because the Orthodox requirements for a person are sometimes severely paradoxical and unacceptable at the level of everyday consciousness. In this sense, the story “A sad flutist at a merry bakery” becomes a kind of test for testing our faith. Our whole being opposes the choice that the participants in the told story humbly made, obeying the will of the elder. But after all, the spiritual wisdom of the elder is only a consequence not of his own arbitrariness, but of the spiritual comprehension of Providence. To oppose Providence is to always doom oneself to the coming disaster. It's easy to say, but go 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 where our good is. Providence determines everything according to the laws of eternity, and from eternity, no matter how wise, it is always clearer. Not accepting this with our own limited mind, we get burned, being in a lack of faith. And if we accept, even in spite of our inner protest, we get something for which we may have long lost our hope (the story “Dress overgrowth”).

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 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, on the other hand, skillfully masters the form, concisely builds the narrative, capaciously selects the most accurate and expressive details, clearly builds the composition of the story, correctly chooses the right intonation.

The mastery of verbal drawing can be judged at least by the following 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 with embers. She quickly, with the gait of a hurried, very businesslike person, entered the church gates, solemnly crossed herself on the domes and minced to the front door. At the door she made three more low bows and entered under the temple vaults. And the work began with the elbows. Elbows were sharp, she herself was nimble, and therefore slipped quickly through the crowd. Forward to the salt, in the center

In the limited space of the text - nothing superfluous. But how visibly the description is given... We not only see the appearance of a person, but already guess the character, correlating it with what we ourselves know from experience. And like an unexpectedly and expressively created word: it 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 will inevitably agree with this.

Mikhail Dunaev,

Professor of the Moscow Theological Academy

PURE GOLD EARRINGS

Mary is seven years old. She walks, or rather, runs in the first class. Why is he running? Don't know. Probably because she can't walk. The legs carry themselves, thin, dexterous, agile legs, they barely touch the ground, tangentially, almost in a dotted line, forward, forward ... Maria is black-eyed and sharp-eyed, coal gimlets look with curiosity at God's world, rejoicing at the bright colors of earthly existence and sadness from inexpressive colors. Does she like her name? She loves 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 she was called to where it’s interesting. Maria lives in an Orthodox family, she has three older sisters and no younger ones. The family loves her, but they don't spoil her. Maria herself understands that pampering will not lead to good and learned from the cradle that one should be content with little. She was content until that unforgettable day came.

She jumped through the puddles, and the knapsack gently pounded on her back, that's fun, so fun: they didn't ask her in mathematics today! And at home today - pies! Maria went to school, and her eldest sister Lena put the dough:

- You come home from school, and they are hot...

There are such days. Everything is going well, even jumping through puddles easily and gracefully, now I’ll run away ... And - I got up. And the black gimlet eyes lit up with delight. A beauty walked towards Mary. Her ashen hair flowed over her shoulders, her gait is light and independent, in her eyes there is a generous condescension to all human weaknesses put together. And in the ears - earrings! Insanity, not earrings! Twinkling, shuddering lights in the sun. Maria even thought they were ringing. Like spring droplets - tinkle, tinkle ...

The girl's heart began to beat under the blue jacket, on a synthetic winterizer, louder than this tinkle, tinkle ... The sun faded. The taste of the expected pies became out of place and coarse. The beauty walked past, gracefully bypassing a large puddle sparkling in the sun. And Maria stopped in front of a puddle in impotence - not to jump over. Lightness in the legs was replaced by lead weight. She dragged herself home and with a flourish launched her knapsack into a green furry hare, peacefully sitting on the sofa and staring indifferently at the wall calendar with views of the winter Toronto. The hare humbly subsided under the weight of Mary's tricky textbooks. And she herself, as she was in a jacket, curled up next to the hare, turned to the wall and wept bitterly. Mom came and sat 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 beside her. The youngest of the older sisters came, frightened:

- Well, what are you, Mash, what are you?

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 ones, made of pure gold.” But you will never buy them for me…” and she roared again, bitterly smearing her tears over her unfortunate 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 on the right tactics and wise strategy. Of course, the family budget will not be able to handle earrings for Maria. And why does a little girl need such pampering? Three daughters have grown up without these whims, and Masha will get by, you need to talk to her strictly. To whom? Dad? Big sister? Mom? Mom.

“You know, this is a very expensive thing and we cannot afford it. And if you see a mink coat on someone, do you also want to? This is not good, we are Orthodox people, luxury is not good for us. You grow up, you learn, you go to work...

Maria was horrified by the long way to her cherished dream. Go crazy - grow up, learn. I wanted earrings now. Bright lights, golden drops burned through the heart, and in sweet languor it ached and murmured against maternal logic.

- A hundred years will pass. And now I want! Don't buy me anything, neither boots for the winter, nor a sweater, well, buy earrings...

- Stop whining. Look at the fashion took - to demand. You won't get any earrings.

The jumping girl was saddened, saddened. And she had to meet with the beautiful temptress? And here’s what’s interesting: 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.

- Buy it...

- Masha, stop it.

“Well, I don’t need winter boots.

- How much can you say about one thing?

- Oh please...

Received a slap from the youngest of the older sisters. I cried. And - again for his own.

The decision came unexpectedly. She realized that she would never pity those who were persistent in their hard stubbornness at home. We must go the other way. And the path was determined by her.

Sunday was gray, heavy, slushy.

- I'm going for a walk.

- In such weather? But not to long.

Running, without looking back, to the train. I got up in the vestibule, buried my nose in the glass, if only not the controllers. She only has four stops. She is in Sergiev Posad. In Lavra. To St. Sergius.

A huge queue to the Trinity Cathedral to the shrine with the relics of St. Sergius. She stood in the tail, a small, black-eyed reed girl with the most serious intentions. She will ask the Reverend for earrings. They say he is a great prayer book, he hears everyone, he consoles everyone. And she is Orthodox, baptized, her mother takes her to church, takes communion, she even tries to fast. Does she, an Orthodox Christian Mary, have no right to ask the Reverend for help? Rain is coming. The woman in front put 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 - earrings ... The Reverend will not even have time for me, there are so many people, and everyone is asking - about serious things!

But as soon as she climbed the step in front of the cancer, she forgot about everything except the earrings. The children's knees were knocked down by pure sparking prayer. The eyes were dry, but the heart was tremulous.

At home they were worried. But Maria resolutely went to the kitchen and asked for food. The family looked at each other and let go. And the next day she went to the Lavra again. Right after school without coming home. There were fewer people, and she quickly found herself in front of the holy shrine. Again she asked - stubbornly and persistently. Third time - failure. Maria in the Lavra was discovered by a friend of Lena's elder sister.

- You are alone? Do they know at home?

Well, of course she did. “Do you know, your Masha ...” Maria received for self-will in full. She was stubbornly silent when her family asked why she went to the Lavra. Finally, she could not stand it and shouted:

- Yes, I asked the Reverend for earrings! You don't buy me. Earrings!

Long pedagogical conversations began. Mom said that one should ask the Reverend for diligence in studies, he helps those who are weak in the sciences. And you, Masha, don't you have something to ask the Reverend? Are you good with math, for example?

And again Maria became sad. Mom's truth shamed her, is it up to the earrings to the Monk Sergius, if from all over Russia they go to him about tests, exams, tests?

And it was evening, quiet and warm. A sunny day managed to warm the earth and it now gave away what it had accumulated to the gentle twilight, which arrived in time for the shift. 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 softly.

A small, cozy box fell into Maria's palm. And in her...

- Earrings ... Mom, earrings! Did you buy? Expensive? But I don't need anything, boots for the winter...

- No, daughter, this is not my gift. This is what St. Sergius gave you.

At night, when the shocked Maria, having carefully hidden the cherished box under her pillow, was sleeping, the hushed household listened to the story...

Mom was in a hurry towards the train and a friend caught up with her. Have not seen each other for a long time, how and what, how is the house, how are the children?

Oh, don't ask. We have a military environment at home. Maria does this. I saw someone's earrings on the street and - I want these and that's it. Gold, not any. And persuaded, and punished, nothing helps. So what did she come up with? She began to go to the Lavra and pray at the shrine of St. Sergius so that he would give her earrings!

The friend stopped in amazement.

- Earrings? Did you pray to the Reverend? Wonders...

A quiet friend walked her 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 Mashke.

The door closed, and the confused mother was left standing in the vestibule with earrings in her hands. She reproached herself all the way for her tactless story. Went the next day to give. But she doesn’t take it: it’s not from me, from St. Sergius.

The husband of this acquaintance, Natalia, is a deacon of one of the churches near Moscow. A lot of time has passed, and he still has not been ordained a priest. And they would have to decide on their arrival, to improve life. And Natalya went to ask for help from St. Sergius. Also, like Mary, she stood in a long line, also knelt before the holy shrine. Help, saint of Christ! And suddenly, in prayerful zeal, she promised:

- I'll donate my gold earrings to you, help ...

Soon Natalya's husband was ordained. He became the rector of one of the churches in the Moscow region. It's time to deliver on the promise. She came to the Lavra, walks in confusion: where does she go with these earrings? You can’t leave it on cancer, it’s not supposed to be passed on to someone, but to whom? She walked and walked, but never figured out how best to thank St. Sergius with her golden earrings. She left the Lavra, and there she met Maria's mother. And I couldn't believe my ears:

- Our Mary goes to the Lavra so that the Reverend would give her earrings ...

She took off her golden droplets-lights. With the blessing of the Reverend. And Natalya cannot break that blessing.

But Maria was not surprised at the especially expensive gift, the child's heart opened to meet the holy elder and sincerely hoped for his help. Prayer is 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 a life in God that has been adjusted for thousands of years.

Mary's ears are not pierced. And her mother is afraid to allow her to wear earrings to school. It is indeed risky. While they were pondering how best to proceed, Priest Maxim called. The 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 are in serious need of restoration. I want to ask you to pray that the Lord would give us the strength to work for the glory of God. And as soon as we restore the frescoes, I immediately bless you to wear earrings. Agree?

“Bless me, Father Maxim,” answered Mary, the servant of God, humbly.

She really wants this to happen as soon as possible. And every evening he rises 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 that, too, the wonderful Providence of God is clearly visible. Saint Sergius is a servant of the Trinity from his birth until his blessed death. By prayers all the Trinity monasteries and churches of Russia live and grow stronger. And he will not leave this one without his spiritual guidance, especially since there is a special prayer book for the temple, a little girl with a beautiful name Maria. Black-eyed Thumbelina, who will really suit earrings made of the purest gold in the world.

PICNIC BY THE DEER RIVER

The sunflower turned out to be bolder than its notorious counterparts: they huddled together on a sunny hillock, and this one boldly lifted his freckled nose right at the curb. And he stands like a soldier, at attention, he does not bend his back even in front of the coolest foreign cars.

- The beauty! exclaimed Mother Barbara.

- Beauty, - confirmed our driver Volodya.

“Beauty,” I agreed.

We got out of the car to take a picture with the sunflower. Mother carefully hugged him, pressed him to her monastic dress, and looked into the lens through large glasses sad eyes framed by a black apostle.

I will take this photo to Australia...

Do not appease the sadness that rolled up to mother's heart. To cheer her up, I begin to philosophize:

- Here a sunflower lived on the side of the road, and on you, made a dizzying career and already went to Australia. This is what it means to be in the right place at the right time.

We drive on, talking about the fate of the careerist sunflower. And Mother Siberia laid under our wheels an even tablecloth of homespun, but very good roads. And now I have a photo card in front of me: mother and a sunflower. And there is neither one nor the other nearby. Mother flew to Sydney, and the sunflower with her to the envy of those timid losers who remained on the Siberian hillock. It makes me sad to look at the photo. But sadness is good, it brings back good memories.

Phone call to my apartment. A middle-aged woman clearly and slowly pronounces the words:

- I'm Mother Barbara. Many years ago we met with you in Jerusalem. I was abbess in the monastery on the Mount of Olives, you came to us ...

I remember feverishly. Mother Barbara? Yes, yes, eleven years ago, when I first came to the Holy Land, I really went to the Monastery of Olives for a couple of hours, I really met the abbess there, we talked a little. But eleven years have passed.

- Do not be surprised. By chance I saw a post signed by you. I thought, suddenly remember. The editors gave you your phone number.

- I came to Russia from Australia, I would like to see ...

All my plans were instantly adjusted for 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 is too prosperous, calm. There was a family dinner, the first one was served. But then excited neighbors came running; in two hours the train was asked to pass - you need to leave. For a couple of weeks, no more, the city is restless, anything can happen.

Her father was a Cossack ataman. Indeed, anything could happen. They got up from the table, not recognizing the taste of Sunday soup. In what we were (two weeks is not a period, we can manage) hurried to the station.

And to this day, these two weeks drag on. Parents spent two years in torment, deprivation, incredible suffering to get to Harbin. The Chinese land has sheltered many unfortunate, persecuted Russians. It also became a haven 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 mother increasingly began to repeat to her growing daughter:

- Probably, I can’t visit Russia anymore, but you must definitely see it ...

Then there was monastic tonsure with the name Barbara, monastic obedience to the glory of God, hegumenism 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 resurrecting from the darkness of godlessness.

- I was afraid to go. Twenty-eight hours of flight, but that's not the point. The main thing is how they will meet me, whether I can see what my late mother wanted to see.

It turns out that Mother Varvara is not sitting in Moscow:

- I want to see the depths. Was in Ukraine. In the Pskov region, Novgorod. I really want to get to Solovki, but especially to Siberia.

And I'm flying to Siberia the other day, 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 staying with them and invited me to stay with them. I tell my mother about this and remember that my Moscow acquaintance once studied in Australia.

- His name is not Volodya by any chance? - asks my mother and looks at me intently.

“Volodya,” I murmur, already realizing that something important is about to happen.

- Volodya, Volodya ... - mother rummages in a notebook, - they gave me the phone of one Volodya, but I call, but the phone does not answer.

A familiar set of numbers. Phone of my Volodya.

- He won't answer. He is in Minusinsk, with his parents, and in three days I fly to him ...

“I brought him a bow from a priest in Sydney. And it hasn't been delivered yet...

- Mother, we must fly to Minusinsk! With me on the same flight. We must fly to Siberia! After all, you so wanted to see the Russian hinterland! - 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, his parents.

“I'm sure they'll be happy. And give my regards...

The plane took off. Night Moscow spread out

under us a huge black spot. Mother Varvara is sitting next to her in an armchair. Lord, bless us on the long journey!

I look at the photo and remember. Maybe 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 that forbids two Orthodox hearts to be sad: no kilometers between us, no continents, no time zones, but prayer. 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, were talking to 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 - from under the glasses in thin streams. And when the Siberians, having heard 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.

I'm sorry, mother. The people didn't mean to offend you. For them, Australia is exotic with parrots and kangaroos, and a Russian man from Australia is also exotic for them. And about the fact that you are Russian every minute your eyes screamed, and your inquisitive mind did not want idleness:

What is this tree, maple? Does not look like it. And this rye is earing? Yes, yes, rye, I see. What are people selling in buckets? Chanterelles! Whole buckets, how interesting! Look, horse! And the boy sleeps in the cart, what an adorable baby. A herd of cows... Big, but why are they all red?

Matushka soaked up Russia greedily, like a traveler longing for a well. I remember when we went to rest at the house of the priest Father Vasily in the village of Ermakovskoe, my mother asked permission to look at their garden. She returned quiet and asked me:

- Please take a picture of a potato field behind the house, huts. 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, but it smells like! Did you cook it yourself?

Nastya poured us a full plate. Mother was still surprised, and we were surprised at mother - well, what a miracle, the girl cooked soup?

- In Australia, children can't cook soup?

- Yes, from bags they can. I threw it in boiling water and it's ready, but the real one is unlikely.

We compared a lot - with us, with them. They give birth a little, they don’t want to, and after all, they didn’t come up with anything to help their mothers. Press the buttons in time and no problems. True, we have large priestly families, especially in the villages. But the urban Orthodox have now also come to their senses, giving birth, baptizing. And our churches are crowded, especially on holidays. Mother is like a sponge, absorbs everything, remembers everything, puts everything into a deep memory box. And Volodya's name day will definitely fall into it, into this piggy bank. Name days turned out to be noble, with homemade wine, gifts, pies. Volodya's mother, Lyudmila Ivanovna, undertook to cook pies, with blueberries, cabbage, and eggs. Mother volunteered to help. Does every hostess 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 I do so much. How long do you knead the dough? And so am I. How do you bake pies? Oh, and I'm exactly the same! Two housewives are busy at the stove, two Russian women. They have different life experiences, different mentality, different destinies. But they are Russians, and for them the concepts of hospitality, cordial disposition to their neighbor and the secrets of pies are the same. The name day is gone.

And tomorrow early in the morning we go to the Sayans.

“He who has not seen the Sayan has not seen Siberia,” said Volodya's father, Vadim Petrovich.

But my mother and I thought that we had seen Siberia a little. 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, like longed-for shores, beckoning with a saving firmament.

“Look, there is a sleeping Sayan,” Volodya points towards a long mountain range.

Indeed, the giant frozen in stone lies on his back, arms folded obediently on his chest, legs extended. His sleep is deep and long, for how many centuries neither the cold Siberian winds, nor the roll of thunder have awakened him, he is indifferent even to this Godly beauty. Sleeping Sayan is the highest point of the mountain pass. Mother gathered a bouquet of bright pink willow-herb, yellow St. John's wort flowers, honey-smelling discreet grass.

Natalia Evgenievna Sukhinina

WHERE DO THE HAPPY LIVE?

stories and essays

Foreword

ORTHODOX VISION OF THE WORLD

Russian people are Orthodox. And whoever is not Orthodox, in that his Russianness becomes doubtful. For many, this is already a common place since the time of Dostoevsky. But what does it mean to be Orthodox? It's not given at birth. No, Orthodoxy needs to be learned, brought up in Orthodoxy. But as?

Of course, to go to church: whoever puts himself outside the church is inevitably outside the faith - whoever cares 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. do not take. It is necessary to comprehend the doctrinal foundations of Orthodoxy, the 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 transforming the necessary into the external, the formal, which does not take possession of the fullness of our being. You can become a bookkeeper, a proud Pharisee - and that will be of little use. After all, the Pharisee was very pious, fulfilling even more than what was required, and yet, by the Son of God Himself, he was placed below 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 become not 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. In fact, 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 the experience, but that's another topic.)

However, one's own experience of all the complexity of life is not to comprehend. The sea of ​​life is too immense and boundless for one person. But you can use for your own benefit the spiritual experience of your neighbors, both good and negative. Therefore, those who collect such experience bit by bit and make it public domain do a great job. It is especially valuable if everything collected receives Orthodox, that is, true, illumination and interpretation.

I confess that it is always with great apprehension that I undertake to read works in which the author sets such a goal for himself. For quite often Orthodoxy is understood externally: it seems that it is worth remembering the name of God, piously touched - and that's enough. And what comes out is mannerism, lisping, false piety, sugary exaltation, deliberate cloying. Orthodoxy does not tolerate exactly this, rolling eyes and picture poses are contraindicated for him. Those works where a word is unspoken in simplicity, but all with a “pious” antics, only harm the cause, tearing away from themselves the souls that do not tolerate falsehood.

The book of Natalia Sukhinina to anyone who reads it with indifference will give 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. Here the most valuable experience is collected, revealing not speculatively, but by living examples - being with God and without God.

Su quinina teaches Orthodoxy. Not dogma, of course, and not church canons - there are special books for that. She teaches the Orthodox comprehension of life on simple everyday examples. And this is simply necessary for the reader, since worldly experience is unobtrusive, but sometimes more conclusive than the most reasonable edifications.

Who, for example, does not know the truth of St. Seraphim of Sarov, “acquire the spirit of peace, and around thousands will be saved”? You can talk long and hard about it. In Sukhinina, this is revealed by a negative example, in an everyday situation recognizable by everyone (the story “The Last Flowers from Our Garden”): a non-peaceful spirit, despondency - poison everything around them, make neighbors unhappy, filled with the spirit of malice. And there is not a single remembrance 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 obvious to doubt it.

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 teaches love, which begins with empathy for even the most unattractive person. Teaches in humility to forgive when it is so difficult to forgive.

Every believer knows: God helps him in all life circumstances, in trials, turmoil. It is only necessary to seek such help with faith. And if doubts prevail? But read about the true stories that happened in the lives of the most ordinary people - is this not a living testimony?

You read the book and involuntarily strengthen your conviction: with faith it is good and easy to live (not in the ordinary sense, but in the spiritual sense), without God it is painful and hopeless. Russian people have known for a long time that without God there is no doorstep. And all these stories are another confirmation of this.

And one side argument involuntarily comes to mind, which, probably, was not included in the author’s calculation: how criminally those who still fight against faith, who speak with hatred about Orthodoxy, think and behave. What do they doom a person, the whole nation, to, trying to drive into everyone's consciousness their depressingly vulgar stereotypes of self-sufficiency of a person, about pluralism, about consumer ideals? Those who are hysterical should start talking about the need to teach children the basics of Orthodoxy, dooming the people to degeneration and death. The statistics are frightening: we are in first place in suicides among the youth. And do not deceive yourself: in lack of faith, in godlessness, this will become more and more aggravated. What do those who fight in faith achieve? Don't know what they are doing? Someone in their own complacency and stupid self-confidence really does not know, but someone ...

A person is led through life, protecting from falls (and we often resist this - and we fall anyway), the providential will of God. However, one should not assume that this simple thought is primitively simple. It just often requires a genuine feat of faith, because the Orthodox requirements for a person are sometimes severely paradoxical and unacceptable at the level of everyday consciousness. In this sense, the story “A sad flutist at a merry bakery” becomes a kind of test for testing our faith. Our whole being opposes the choice that the participants in the told story humbly made, obeying the will of the elder. But after all, the spiritual wisdom of an elder is only a consequence not of his own arbitrariness, but of the spiritual comprehension of Providence. Resist Providence - always doom yourself to the coming disaster. It's easy to say, but go and try when it touches you. After all, we are judged by everything from our limited temporal space, and everything seems to us as if we know better than anyone where our good is. Providence determines everything according to the laws of eternity, and from eternity, no matter how wise, it is always clearer. Not accepting this with our own limited mind, we get burned, being in a lack of faith. And if we accept, even in spite of our inner protest, we get something, for which we may have long lost hope (the story "Dress Overgrowth").

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. Who will read - he will see and understand everything. Lastly, you need to tell your wife about the undoubted artistic merits of the proposed book. This is very important: a bad form can make any good intention meaningless. Sukhinina, on the other hand, knows the form skillfully, concisely builds a narrative, succinctly selects the most accurate and expressive details, clearly builds the composition of the story, correctly chooses the right intonation.

The mastery of the verbal drawing can be judged at least by the following passage (the story "The Evil Old Woman with a Blue Reticule"):

“She was small, nimble, with a small wrinkled face, deep-set eyes, which burned the surrounding world with embers. She quickly, with the gait of a hurried, very businesslike person, entered the church gates, solemnly crossed herself on the domes and minced to the front door. At the door she made three more low bows and entered the sub-temple vaults. And the work began with the elbows. Elbows were sharp, she herself was nimble, and therefore slipped quickly through the crowd. Forward to the salt, in the center

Writer Natalya Sukhinina is one of the nominees for the Patriarchal Literary Prize. The heroes of Sukhinina's works are the most ordinary real people (each has a prototype), with whom, it would seem, sometimes incredible things happen. Not external miracles, but miracles of inner rebirth...

In an interview with Pravmir, Natalya Evgenievna spoke about why she decided to write a children's book for the first time in her life, why she has been upset by what is happening on Forgiveness Sunday, and what topic she will never write about ...

- Now it is popular to discuss whether there is such a thing as Orthodox literature?

I'm not very inclined to think that this concept exists, because we don't call The Captain's Daughter, for example, "Orthodox literature", right? Although the work is imbued with a Christian, Orthodox spirit.

If there is some kind of moral lesson in a literary work of art, if there are some deep reflections about a person’s place in life, then this is probably what can be called Orthodox literature, but in a global sense. In essence, not in form. So there is no need to drive everything into some kind of framework, try to separate it, bring it under some kind of paragraph.

We have extremes, there are Orthodox cafes, Orthodox hairdressers, Orthodox real estate agencies.

Although, it would seem, wherever they work honestly and with the fear of God, this is all Orthodox work. It is the same in literature: if a writer writes with the fear of God, with the understanding that he will have to answer at the judgment of God for every word written, then this will probably be Orthodox literature. And church themes, external attributes that indicate faith, do not play a role here.

- Are there topics that you will never take up, no matter how much you would like to?

Many years ago, by the grace of God, I had a spiritual father, Archimandrite Georgy (Tertyshnikov), God rest his soul. I then worked at the Russian House, and Father Georgy read every note of mine. Everything that came out of me - everything came out as if with his blessing. Because I was terribly afraid that I could exceed my authority somewhere.

And then he told me: "Remember: there is no topic for you." That is - do not climb where you do not need to. And for me it is the law. Although it seems that everything can be beautifully written: a person approaches the Chalice, candles are burning ... But - you can’t. I will never allow myself to talk about Communion.

Actually, talking about it is scary. The only reasoning is reverent silence.

And you can’t explain in words, even to children, what Communion is. This is what is self-understood. Growing up in an atheistic family, no one explained to me what Communion is. But at one moment I understood, with my heart, and not after reading some books, explanations. And, thank God, I still understand.

We need to be reverent about this topic. When they show Orthodox films, broadcast services and demonstrate what is happening in the altar - I think this is wrong.

Daniel, born at a creative meeting

Your new book, which tells about the lives of the saints, is for children. Why did you decide to address an audience that is unusual for you?

There was a need to take on a children's theme, but I was afraid for a long time. Having already written nine books, I decided that I would still try to make the tenth book for children. Although it is still scary, it has only recently come out, there are not many reviews.

- When writing this book, did you have to change something in the approach to work?

Certainly. After all, these are the lives of the saints. The most difficult thing was to select the lives, because not everything can be told to children yet: a lot of terrible torments and sufferings are shown in the lives, and all this may be incomprehensible to children. Children need to be brought to this in a very dosed manner.

Well, I had to not just retell the lives in children's language, but to introduce young readers into the book, to make the story entertaining. The author's text provides such an opportunity. For example, if I am talking about the holy righteous Procopius, which will also talk about falling stones, I first say that I have a collection of pebbles at home, and among these stones there is a special stone that was presented to me in Veliky Ustyug. And further - already about St. Procopius.

- The book is dedicated to the boy Daniel. Who is it?

Once, during my creative evening, a woman sitting in the hall went into labor. She was taken to the hospital, and soon the boy Daniel was born. When he was about two years old, he came to my creative evening with his mother with his own legs. He went up on stage, such a serious kid, with a tie. And I made a promise to him in front of everyone (there were 500 people there): "I will publish a children's book, it will be dedicated to you." Now she has fulfilled her promise.

- All the heroes of your works have real prototypes. Do you know their future fate?

I have a story called “The Time of Picking Figs”. About a man who was in prison for murder. In prison, he became a believer, became a church member.

For good behavior he was given leave, during this leave he comes to the temple to the priest, tells (not in confession, of course) his story. Batiushka told it to my friend, who, unable to bear it, told me. I immediately wanted to write about her.

I called the priest to ask permission to write the story that he first heard, to which he answered first: “And by what right are you going to write, in general, who blessed you?” I answered: “Father, I’m sorry, I didn’t introduce myself. But I write on Orthodox topics.”

He asks: “And your last name is by any chance Sukhinina?” Having received confirmation, he continued: “Do you know that I have a box of chocolates for you for a year already? I,” he says, “I want to give it to you all for your books.” Then I understand that I have a chance. I say: “Father, allow me, please!”.

And he allowed. And then, later, I met in the courtyard of the temple with the hero of my story. He also gave his consent and did not even want the name to be changed in the book: "I want to be prayed for, that's how I am."

Six months pass, a phone call: "Do you remember, we were sitting in the courtyard of the temple." I say: “Of course, I remember you very well. What do you remind me, I'm worried like you are now. Where are you now?" He says: “In the monastery. But I don't have the blessing to say which one." I say: “Well, you don’t have to. What are you doing over there?" “I,” he answers, “is a worker, I work in the kitchen.”

After some time, he calls me again and says: “Natalya Evgenievna, I’ll tell you something now. I work somehow in the kitchen, I clean the fish, it's hard, it scratches my hands. And the woman who is in charge there began to scold me: “What are your hands, where do they grow from? Well, what kind of man are you? There are real men, I read about one in a book. And he begins to tell my story described by you. Some time passes, she comes running with bulging eyes and says to me: “What did they tell me! They say this guy is in our monastery!”

Director on her knees

Please remember the stories that have not yet been included in your books and which characterize modern people.

If we talk about good examples, then there are a lot of them. I remember when we stood in line at to say goodbye to the deceased. They stood for five hours. It was just a wonderful queue, everyone there loved each other, everyone helped each other. Debunking the allegations, suggestions that the Russians got drunk, lost faith.

I observed the following picture: not far from a clearly not poor man in a leather coat with a huge bouquet of roses, a poor grandmother was standing. She kept lamenting that she would not make it in time, and she needed to get on the last train to get home, to another city. And then this man said: “Granny, don’t worry, you will come to me, you will spend the night with me.”

That is, all this is good in people, and when necessary, it awakens. This is our genetics.

And there are many such moments. I had to travel a lot, I was in the North. The depth is so far away that even a mobile phone does not take. The village behind Kotlas, from which you still have to go and go.

I was told about a local woman - a former director of an oil mill. Being the boss, she behaved on a grand scale: she offended people, fired, did what she wanted with them. Lived, of course, comfortably.

And so, she came to God. Once she went through all the houses, in front of every person offended by her, fell on her knees and asked for forgiveness. Now she bakes prosphora in the temple, I saw her. I think I'll write a story about her later.

What do you dislike about modern life?

I am very worried about a certain conventionality of modern life. Young people say such a word - "type". Here we have - like you believe, like you love, like you start a family. There is some falsehood in this. Life is invented, and here we are, like, living. We know that there is some set of life conventions, and we spend energy on overcoming obstacles to these conventions in order to have some kind of status. It's the "type" that worries me the most. Still - insincerity hurts.

Unfortunately I am facing this. There are times when I really see that I am being used for their own purposes. And at the same time, everything is packed into some such beautiful words, into assurances of friendship. And I, as a sincere person, often fall for this. And then it hurts a lot.

On the other hand, how to be here? Trust no one? This is the other extreme. And how to understand right away who to believe, who not, I still have not learned, I don’t know. Human insincerity in relationships worries me a lot. Let it be better they be bad, but - openly, sincerely.

- What mistakes, in your opinion, do modern Christians make?

The biggest thing that just kills is . We are mired in this hypocrisy and we ourselves know it very well. Lately I've just been getting tired of what's going on in . Almost theater.

"God bless you, forgive me." “God will forgive, and you forgive me,” strangers say to each other.

Or I'm standing in line for confession. In a strange temple, I don’t know anyone at all. And now the woman standing in front of me turns to face me, bows and says, “I'm sorry!” Why? What are you guilty of before me, I see you for the first and last time. Some games are coming...

But when you need to ask for forgiveness from someone to whom you are really guilty, it gets stuck.

- The most interesting and significant recent meetings?

Oh, there are so many meetings, glory to You, Lord. I travel a lot, I am invited to meetings with readers in different parts of the country. And during these trips I see an amazing, wonderful life. Especially our hinterland - it keeps something important, real.

Of the brightest recent meetings, I can name a meeting with the abbess of the Nikolsky Monastery in the city of Privolzhsk - Abbess Anatolia. For me, talking with her, a surprisingly bright person, has become a real holiday. Now I know that she is praying for me, it gives me strength...

And from those meetings that took place a long time ago and which help to go through life - a meeting with Alexander Gennadievich Petrynin, director of the Center for Psychological Rehabilitation and Correction of Khabarovsk. We have known each other for more than 30 years, and I rejoice in his success, I am glad that he still has the strength to save "difficult" children.

For me, his habit, in the midst of enormous employment, a large number of cases, is very valuable, to call, just say: “Natalya Evgenievna, I love you,” and hang up. And I know that we are together.

In general, I am happy in friends whom I love very much and who are always ready to support me.