Center for Orthodox Culture of St. Demetrius of Rostov

Publishing house "Kitezh"

With the blessing of His Eminence Micah,

Archbishop of Yaroslavl and Rostov

The name of the Yaroslavl elder Archimandrite Paul (Gruzdev) is revered on Valaam and Mount Athos, in Moscow and St. Petersburg, in Ukraine and Siberia. During his lifetime, Father Pavel was glorified by many gifts. The Lord heard his prayers and responded to them. This righteous man lived a mighty life with God and with the people, sharing all the trials that befell Russia in the 20th century. The small homeland of Pavel Gruzdev - the county town of Mologa - was flooded by the waters of the Rybinsk man-made sea, and the Mologa exile became a migrant, and then a camp inmate, having served a sentence for his faith for eleven years. And again he returned to the Mologa land - more precisely, what was left of it after the flooding - and served here as a priest in the village of Verkhne-Nikulskoye for almost thirty years and three years...

Among all the gifts of Archimandrite Paul, his gift as a storyteller is remarkable: he seemed to heal his interlocutor with the life-giving power of his word. Everyone who communicated with the priest, who listened to his stories, recalls with one voice that they left Father Pavel “as if on wings,” their inner world was so joyfully transformed. We hope that readers of Father’s stories will feel that joyful spiritual power in communication with the Yaroslavl elder. As Father Pavel said: “If I die, I will not leave you.”

GENEALOGY OF PAVL GRUZDEV

The family tree of Pavel Gruzdev is rooted in the ancient land of Mologa. “Once upon a time, a peasant Terenty (Terekha) lived in the village of Bolshoi Borok,” writes Father Pavel in his diary notebooks. “This Terenty had a son, Alexei, who had a crooked wife, Fekla Karpovna.” Among Terenty’s six children (the Gruzdevs in the old days were called Terekhins) there was a son, Alexey Terentyich, and he had a second son named Ivan Alekseevich Gruzdev - this is Fr.’s grandfather. Pavel. “An old man of average height, a small brown beard, penetrating brown eyes and a constant nose-warmer pipe, hair cut into a bowl, old Russian boots, an inferior jacket and an old cap, and work and care from morning to night,” recalls Father Pavel. The family is ten people, but “there was only one plot of land, there was a cow in the yard, there were no horses.” “His wife was Marya Fominishna, a native of Petrov, from the village of Novoye Verkhovye - a stout, physically developed woman, naturally 40 percent deaf, with a wart on her left cheek,” Father Pavel describes his grandmother. “Summer in the field, winter - spinning , weaved, raised grandchildren<...>. These workers had six children." The Gruzdevs' first daughter, Olga, having completed one grade of primary school, went to the Mologsky Afanasyevsky Convent, where her paternal grandmother's sister, nun Evstolia, lived and one aunt, nun Elena, also lived. Son Alexander was born in 1888 “After completing three classes of parochial school,” writes Fr. Pavel, - was sent by his parents to Rybinsk to the shop of a certain Adreyanov, but backbreaking child labor and the inhumane brutal treatment of the owners forced him to flee on foot to Mologa and, without going home, begged to be a boy to Ievlev Alexander Pavlych, who had a butcher shop, where he worked before the revolution, or rather, until 1914." Ancient Mologa shimmers through the thickness of time, like the mysterious Kitezh through the waters of Svetloyar. Mologa, Mologa, and your golden legends now rest at the bottom! Houses and streets, churches and cemeteries, crosses and bell towers are flooded. Where is your holy fool Leshinka, who came to the Ievlevs’ shop and asked the owner: “Masha, Masha, give me a penny”, having received which, he immediately gave it to someone or stuffed it into some crevice? Apparently, from his father - Alexander Ivanovich - preserved Pavel Gruzdev remembers one incident: “My dad and his owner loved to go hunting for ducks at the Holy Lake in the fall, there were tons of them there before. One rainy autumn day, with a lot of game killed, our hunters got lost. It was getting dark, and it was raining in buckets. Where to go? Which side of Mologa? No orientation. But suddenly they saw in the distance, as it were, a pillar of fire rising from the earth, stretching into the sky; and they, delighted, went to this landmark. Two or three hours later, Alexander Pavlych (Ievlev) and his father ran into the cemetery fence of the city of Mologa. Having climbed over the fence, they saw a fresh grave, on which Leshinka was praying on his knees with his hands raised to the sky, this wondrous radiance emanated from him. Alexander Pavlych fell to his knees in front of him with the words: “Lesha, pray for us,” to which he replied: “Pray yourself and don’t tell anyone that you saw me here.” Leshinka's full name is Alexey Klyukin, he was buried in the Mologsky Afanasyevsky Monastery near the summer cathedral, at the altar on the right side.

In 1910, Alexander Ivanovich married a girl from the village of Novoselki, Solntseva Alexandra Nikolaevna. The first-born son Pavel was born in 1912. daughter Olga was born, in 1914 - daughter Maria, and on July 19, 1914, the war began.. “Alexandra Nikolaevna was left with small children and old people, but we had to live and lived, but how? Yes, just like everyone else, - we read in Father Paul's diaries. - I remember that the quitrent was not paid and there was a fine for the firewood that was carried from the forest on the shoulders. So my grandmother and mother were sentenced to a week in Boronishino, in the volost government, in the cold, of course, the grandmother and She took me with her, and there were a lot of us from Borku who were non-payers - about 15-20 people. They locked everyone in a dark room, sit there, criminals. And among us there were very old men Taras Mikheich and Anna Kuzina, both myopic. So they went to the restroom to recover , and there was a kerosene lamp burning, and they somehow broke it. The kerosene flared up, and they didn’t burn out. And in the morning, foreman Sorokoumov came and kicked us all out. It was August 29, 1915-16."

The father fought at the front, and the family lived in poverty and walked around the world. Pavlusha's mother, as the eldest, sent him to beg and collect pieces around the village. And he was four years old. And he fled to the Afanasyevsky Monastery to his aunt.

MONASTERY HONEY

So they came to the abbess to bow. “There’s a thump at your feet!” the priest said. “The abbess said: “So what to do, Pavelko! There are a lot of chickens, hens, let him watch so that the crows don’t take them away.”

This is how it began for Fr. Paul's monastic obedience.

“They grazed chickens, then grazed cows and horses,” he recalled. “Five hundred acres of land! Oh, how they lived...

Then - he, that is, I, Pavelka, has nothing to do - we need to accustom him to the altar! He began to walk to the altar, serve the censer, blow the censer..."

“They worked hard in the monastery,” the priest recalled. In the field, in the garden, in the barnyard, they sowed, harvested, mowed, dug - constantly in the fresh air. And the people were mostly young; they were hungry all the time. And so Pavelka figured out how to feed the novice sisters with honey:

“At that time I was five or seven years old, no more. We had just started pumping honey in the monastery apiary, and right there I was collecting honey on the monastery horse. Only the abbess was in charge of the honey in the monastery, and she kept records of the honey. OK!

But I want honey, and my sisters want it too, but there is no blessing.

We are not ordered to eat honey.

Mother Abbess, bless the honey!

It’s not allowed, Pavlusha,” she answers.

Okay, I agree, as you wish, your will.

And I run to the barnyard, a plan is brewing in my head on how to get honey. I grab the larger rat from the trap and take it to the glacier where the honey is stored. Wait, infection, and immediately take her there.

I smeared the rat with honey with a rag, and I say:

Mother! Mother! - and honey flows from the rat, I hold it by the tail:

She drowned in a barrel!

And I shout that you! The rat had never even seen a barrel of honey. And for everyone the honey is desecrated, everyone is terrified - the rat has drowned!

Take that barrel, Pavelka, and there it is! - the abbess orders. - Just so that he is not close to the monastery!

Fine! That's what I need. Come on, take it! He took it away and hid it somewhere...

Sunday came, go to confession... And the archpriest, Fr. Nikolai (Rozin), he died a long time ago and was buried in Mologa.

Father Nikolai, father! - I begin with tears in my eyes. - Ashamed! So, they say, and so, I stole a barrel of honey. But he wasn’t thinking about himself, he felt sorry for his sisters, he wanted to treat them...

Yes, Pavlusha, your sin is great, but the fact that you cared not only about yourself, but also about your sisters, softens your guilt... - And then he quietly whispers in my ear: “But if I, son , one can, pour another... The Lord, seeing your kindness and repentance, will forgive your sin! Just, look, don’t say a word about it to anyone, but I will pray for you, my child.”

Yes, Lord, yes, Merciful, Glory to You! How easy it is! I’m running, bringing a jar of honey to the archpriest. He took it to his house and gave it to him. Glory to Thee, Lord! A great weight off one's mind".

This story with the monastery honey has already become a folk legend, which is why it is told in different ways. Some say that it was not a rat, but a mouse. Others add that this mouse was caught by the monastery cat Zephyr, or in common parlance - Zifa. Still others claim that Pavelka promised the abbot to pray “for the foul-eaters” when he became a priest... But we convey this story as the priest himself told it, and not a word more!

"...TO THE STAR OF THE CHILD AND THE KING OF KINGS"

Pavelka really loved going to carols on Christmas and Christmastide. They walked around the monastery like this - first to the abbess, then to the treasurer, then to the dean and to everyone in order. And he also comes to the abbess: “Can I sing carols?”

Mother Abbess! - the cell attendant shouts. - Here Pavelko came, he will praise.

“It’s me, Pavelko, about six years old at that time,” the priest said. “They won’t let her into her cell, so I’m standing in the hallway. I hear the voice of the abbess from the cell: “Okay, let him praise!” Then I begin:

Praise, praise,

you know about it yourself.

I'm little Pavelko,

I don’t know how to praise

but I don’t dare ask.

Mother Abbess,

give me a nickel!

If you don’t give me a nickel, I’ll leave anyway.

Wow! And the tsolkovy one, do you know which one? Do not you know! Silver and two heads on it - Emperor Nikolai Alexandrovich and Tsar Mikhail Feodorovich, there were such commemorative silver rubles then. God bless! And then I go to the treasurer - the whole procedure is like this... The treasurer was Poplius's mother. He’ll give me fifty kopecks and some candy to boot.”

“Oh, you were cunning, Father Pavel,” his cell attendant Marya Petrovna interrupts the priest. - No, go to a simple nun! And all to the abbess, treasurer!

The simple ones themselves... you know, Marusya, why! You can’t beg Tsolkov from them, even though you scream all day long,” Father Pavel laughs it off and continues his story:

"From the treasurer to the dean. He sits at the table in a white apostolic coat, drinks tea.

Mother Sebastian! - the cell attendant shouts to her. - Pavelko came, he wants to glorify Christ.

She, without turning her head, says: “There’s a little patch on the table, give it to him and let him go.”

Go away,” the cell attendant was alarmed. - Mother Dean is dissatisfied.

And now, more for the dean’s sake than for me, he is indignant: “Look, how much dirt you caused, how much dirt! The rugs are so clean and washed! Go away!”

He turned around and didn’t even take the coin from her. Okay, I think... Once you die, I won’t worry about you! And I won’t go ring the bell, so you know, Mother Sebastiana! And tears are running down my cheeks... They offended me."

Ringing the bell was also little Pavelka’s obedience. As the priest said: “My labor income is in the monastery.” “For example, a nun with robes dies,” says Father Pavel. “The coffin nun immediately comes - Faina was so crooked - to hide the body of the deceased, and we go with her to the bell tower. It’s one o’clock in the morning or one o’clock in the afternoon, wind, snow or rain with thunderstorm: "Pavelko, let's go." We climb the bell tower, at night the stars and the moon are close, and during the day the earth is far, far away, Mologa lies on the palm of your hand, all, like necklaces, entwined with rivers around. In the summer - barge haulers drag barges along Mologa from the Volga , in winter - everything is white, in spring, during high water, you can’t see the river beds, only the endless sea... Grobovaya Faina ties a manteika around the tongue of the bell, the one that weighs 390 poods. and I am with her - boom! According to monastic custom, no matter what obedience someone is in, everyone must make three bows for the newly deceased. You milk a cow or ride a horse, you are a prince or a priest - make three bows to the ground! All Rus' This is how I lived - in fear of God...

And this manteika hangs on the tongue of the bell until the fortieth day, where only shreds will remain from rain, snow or wind. On the fortieth day, these scraps will be collected - and for the grave. They will serve a memorial service and bury that manteika in the ground. This only concerned the robed nuns, and everyone else was buried as usual. And for that - Pavelko sits on the bell tower all night and day - they will pay me a ruble. Thank God they didn’t die often.”

“AND I RUBBED PATRIARCH TIKHON’S BACK, AND HE RUBBED ME!”

In the summer of 1913, the royal anniversary was celebrated in Mologa - although without the personal presence of the Emperor, but very solemnly. Archbishop Tikhon of Yaroslavl and Rostov, the future Patriarch, then sailed to Mologa on a ship along the Volga. Of course, the main celebrations took place at the Afanasyevsky Monastery. Pavlusha Gruzdev was three years old, but he already knew the path to the monastery well; his godmother, the nun Evstolia, took him with her more than once.

My first meeting with Saint Tikhon, Fr. Pavel remembered it for the rest of his life. The Bishop was kind, blessed everyone in the monastery without exception, and with his own hand distributed commemorative coins and medals issued in honor of the royal anniversary. Pavlusha Gruzdev also got a coin.

“I knew St. Tikhon, I knew Archbishop Agafangel and many, many others,” the priest said. - The kingdom of heaven to them all. Every time January 18 old style / January 31 new style Art./, on the day of Saints Athanasius the Great and Cyril, archbishops of Alexandria, people came to our holy monastery from everywhere, including the priesthood: Father Gregory - hieromonk from Tolga, Archimandrite Jerome from Yuga, always a guest was the rector of the Adrian monastery, hieromonk Sylvester from Church of the Archangel Michael, five or six more priests. Yes, how did they go to the litany, Lord! Joy, beauty and tenderness!

During the Yaroslavl uprising of 1918, according to stories, Patriarch Tikhon lived in the Tolga monastery, but was forced to leave it, moving to the Mologa monastery, which was relatively quiet at that time. Mother Abbess heated a bathhouse for the bishop, and the monastery was a nunnery, so they sent eight-year-old Pavlusha wash with His Holiness

They are heating the bathhouse, and the abbess calls “Pavelko” - that means me, says the priest, “Go with the bishop and wash yourself in the bathhouse.” And Patriarch Tikhon washed my back, and I washed his!

The Bishop blessed the novice Pavelka to wear a cassock, and with his own hands he put a belt and a scarf on Pavlusha, thereby, as if giving him his holy blessing to become a monk. And although Father Pavel took monastic vows only in 1962, all his life he considered himself a monk, a monk. And he kept the cassock, cap and rosary given to him by Saint Tikhon through all the trials.

For more than two weeks, according to Paul, Patriarch Tikhon lived in the hospitable Mologa monastery. “Once His Holiness went around the monastery for an inspection,” the priest says, “and at the same time to take a walk and breathe some air. The abbess was with him, the Rybinsk dean, O Alexander, everyone called him Yursha for some reason, perhaps because he was originally from the village of Yurshino. I run next to the saint, carrying the staff to him. Soon we left the gate and found ourselves in a cucumber field:

Mother Superior! - His Holiness Tikhon addresses the abbess - Look how many cucumbers you have!

And then the dean, O Alexander, was nearby and added a word:

How many cucumbers there are in a monastery, means there are so many fools:

Of these, you will be the first! - the saint noted

Everyone laughed, including Father Alexander and His Holiness himself.

Send the cucumbers to Tolga,” he then gave the order.

Father Pavel told how they pickled cucumbers in barrels right in the river, how they went mushroom hunting. Each business had its own custom, its own special ritual. They go mushroom hunting - sit on a cart, take a samovar and provisions with them. The old nuns and they, the young people, come to the forest, set up a camp, and tie a bell in the center, or rather, a bell like that. Young people go into the forest to pick mushrooms, there is a fire burning, food is being prepared, and someone is ringing a bell so that they don’t get lost and go too far. They collect mushrooms, bring them back to the forest. The old women sort the mushrooms and cook them right away.

And from childhood, Father Pavel was such that he loved to feed people, he also loved to run the household - like a monastery, systematically.

HOW PAVEL GRUZDEV WAS A JUDGEMENT

After the revolution and civil war, the Mologa Afanasyevsky Monastery from a monastery of monastics turned into the Afanasyevsky labor artel. But monastic life went on as usual, despite all the upheavals.

“It was very fashionable to hold meetings back then,” recalled Fr. Pavel 20s in Mologa. - An inspector, or someone else authorized, comes from the city and immediately comes to us:

Where are the members of the labor artel?

No, they answer him.

Where are they? - asks.

Yes, at the all-night vigil.

What are they doing there?

Praying...

So the meeting is scheduled!

We don’t know that.

Well, you will finish your prayers with me! - he will threaten.”

Accused of avoiding “participation in social construction,” the sisters of the monastery tried as best they could to participate in the new Soviet life and comply with all the regulations.

Father Pavel said: “One day they came and told us:

There is a Decree! It is necessary to select judges from among the members of the Afanasyevsk labor artel. From the monastery, that is.

Okay, we agree. -Who should we choose as assessors?

And choose whoever you want

They chose me, Pavel Alexandrovich Gruzdev. We need someone else. Whom? Olga the chairman, she was the only one who had high-heeled shoes. Without this, don’t go to the assessors. It’s okay for me, except for the cassock and bast shoes, nothing. But as an elected assessor they bought a good shirt, a crazy shirt with a turn-down collar. Oops! infection, and a tie! For a week I tried on how to tie it up for the trial?

In a word, I became a judge. Let's go, the city of Mologa, the People's Court. At the trial they announce: “Judges Samoilova and Gruzdev, take your places.” I was the first to enter the meeting room, followed by Olga. Fathers! My dear ones, the table is covered with red cloth, there is a decanter of water... I crossed myself. Olga Samoilova pushes me in the side and whispers in my ear:

You, an infection, at least don’t get baptized, you’re an assessor!

“So it’s not a demon,” I answered her.

Fine! They announce the verdict, I listen, I listen... No, that’s not it! Wait, wait! I don’t remember, he was tried for what - did he steal something, a pound of flour or something else? “No,” I say, “listen, you guy is a judge!” After all, understand, his need forced him to steal something. Maybe his children are hungry!”

Yes, I speak with all my might, without looking back. Everyone looked at me and it became so quiet...

They write a message to the monastery: “Don’t send any more fools to the assessors.” “Me, that is,” the priest clarified and laughed.

"I WAS HUNGRY, AND YOU FEED ME"

On May 13, 1941, Pavel Aleksandrovich Gruzdev was arrested in the case of Archbishop Varlaam Ryashentsev.

The camp where Father Pavel served his sentence for six years was located at the address: Kirov region, Kaysky district, Volosnitsa village. The Vyatka forced labor camps were engaged in collecting firewood for the Perm railway, and to prisoner No. 513, Fr. Pavel - was assigned to maintain the railway line along which timber was transported from the taiga from the logging site. As a narrow-gauge railway lineman, he was allowed to move around the taiga on his own, without a guard behind him, he could go into and out of the zone at any time, and turn into a free settlement along the way. Non-conflict is an advantage that was greatly valued in the zone. And it was wartime, the same time about which they say that of the seven camp eras, the most terrible is war: “Whoever did not sit in the war did not even taste the camp.” Since the beginning of the war, the already impossibly meager camp rations have been cut, and the products themselves have deteriorated every year: bread - raw black clay, “chernyashka”; vegetables were replaced with fodder turnips, beet tops, and all kinds of garbage; instead of cereals - vetch, bran.

Many people were saved by Fr. Pavel is in the camp from starvation. While the brigade of prisoners was led to the place of work by two shooters, in the morning and in the evening - the names of the shooters were Zhemchugov and Pukhtyaev, Fr. Pavel remembered that prisoner No. 513 had a pass for free exit and entry into the zone: “I want to go into the forest, but I want to go along the forest... But more often in the forest, I take a pestle woven from twigs into my hands and go for berries. At first I took strawberries , then cloudberries and lingonberries, and then mushrooms! Okay. Guys, the forest is nearby! Merciful Lord, glory to You!"

What was it possible to carry through the entrance to the camp, Fr. Pavel exchanged bread for bread in the medical unit and fed his comrades in the barracks who were weak from hunger. And they had a barrack - entirely Article 58: monks, Germans from the Volga region, intelligentsia. Met Fr. Pavel in the camps to the elder from the Tutaevsky Cathedral, he died in his arms.

I stocked up for the winter. He chopped rowan trees and put them in stacks. They will then be covered with snow and used all winter. He salted mushrooms in makeshift pits: he would dig them up, coat them inside with clay, throw brushwood in there, and light a fire. The pit becomes like an earthenware jug or a large bowl. He will dump a pit full of mushrooms, get salt somewhere on the tracks, sprinkle the mushrooms with salt, then crush them with branches. “And so,” he says, “I carry it through the entrance - a bucket to the guards, two buckets to the camp.”

Once in the taiga I met Fr. Pavel the bear: “I’m eating raspberries, and someone is pushing. I looked - a bear. I don’t remember how I got to the camp.” Another time they almost shot him while he was sleeping, mistaking him for an escaped prisoner. “I once picked a whole pestel of berries,” the priest said. “There were a lot of strawberries then, so I picked a mountain of them. And at the same time I was tired - either I was walking from the night, or something else - I don’t remember now. I walked and walked towards the camp, and lay down on the grass. My documents, as expected, are with me, but what documents? A pass to work. I lay down, which means I’m sleeping - and it’s so sweet, so good in the forest in the lap of nature, and the pestel with I have these strawberries in my head. Suddenly I hear someone throwing pine cones at me - right in my face. I crossed myself, opened my eyes, and I looked - a shooter!

Ahh! Escaped?..

Citizen chief, no, he didn’t run away, I answer.

Do you have a document? - asks.

“I have it, citizen boss,” I tell him and take out the document. It was always in my shirt, in a sewn-up pocket, right here on my chest, near my heart. He looked and looked at the document this way and that.

Okay, he says, free!

Citizen Chief, eat some strawberries,” I suggest to him.

Okay, go ahead,” the shooter agreed.

I put the rifle on the grass... My dears, it was difficult to gather strawberries for the sick in the camp, but he ate half of them. Well, God bless him!"

"I WAS SICK AND YOU VISITED ME"

In the medical unit where Pavel Gruzdev exchanged berries for bread, two doctors worked, both from the Baltic states - Doctor Berne, a Latvian, and Doctor Chamans. They will be given instructions, an order for the medical unit: “Tomorrow is a busy working day in the camp” - Christmas, for example, or Easter. On these bright Christian holidays, prisoners were forced to work even harder - they were “re-educated” with shock labor. And they warn the doctors, fellow prisoners: “Don’t release more than fifteen people throughout the camp!” And if the doctor does not comply with the order, he will be punished - they may even add time. And Dr. Berne will release thirty people from work and he will carry the list to his watch...

“You can hear: “Who?!” said Father Pavel. “Mother, who, fascist faces, wrote the list?”

They call him, our doctor, bent over as it should be:

“Tomorrow you yourself will go to give three norms for your arbitrariness!”

OK! Fine!

So I’ll tell you, my dear little boys. I don’t understand physical human beauty, but I understand spiritual beauty, but here I understand! He went out on shift with the workers, went out with everyone... Oh, handsome, crazy handsome and without a hat! He stands without a headdress and with a saw... I think to myself: “Mother of God, yes to the Lady, Quick to Hear! Send him everything for his simplicity and patience!” Of course, we took care of him and took him away from work that day. They built a fire for him and sat him next to him. The shooter was bribed: “Here you go! Shut up, you pest!”

So the doctor sat by the fire, warmed himself and did not work. If he is alive, God grant him good health, and if he is dead, Lord! Send him the Kingdom of Heaven, according to Your covenant: “I was sick, and you visited Me!”

HOW FATHER PAUL TOOK A MAN OUT OF THE LOOP

All prisoners under Article 58 in the zone were called “fascists” - this apt label was invented by the thieves and approved by the camp authorities. What could be more shameful when there is a war with the Nazi invaders? “Fascist face, fascist bastard” is the most common camp appeal.

One time o. Pavel pulled a German out of the loop - a fellow prisoner - a “fascist” like himself. Since the beginning of the war, many of them, Russified Germans from the Volga region and other regions, were caught behind barbed wire - their whole guilt was that they were of German nationality. This story is told from beginning to end by Father Pavel himself.

“Autumn is here! It’s crazy raining, it’s night. And I’m responsible for eight kilometers of the railway track along the camp trails. I was a trackman, that’s why I had a free pass, they trusted me. I’m responsible for the route! I’ll advise you and give you an internship, just listen. After all, answering for the path is not an easy matter, if you do anything, they’ll ask you strictly.

The head of our road was Grigory Vasilyevich Kopyl. How he loved me! Do you know why? I brought him the best mushrooms and all sorts of berries - in a word, he received the gifts of the forest from me in abundance.

OK! Autumn and night and crazy rain.

Pavlo! How is the road in the area? - And Grigory Vasilyevich Kopyl was also a prisoner, like me, but a commander.

“Citizen Chief,” I answer him, “the road is in perfect order, I looked and checked everything.” He filled it - a joke, of course.

Okay, Pavlukha, get in the car with me.

The car is an old reserve locomotive, you all know what a reserve locomotive is, it went between camp points. When to clear the rubble, when to urgently deliver a brigade of stackers, an auxiliary locomotive. OK! Go!

Look, Pavlo, you are responsible for the road with your head! - Kopyl warned as the train started moving.

“I answer, citizen boss,” I agree. The steam engine is crazy, you can’t hold the jaws with a bridle, maybe! Let's go. Fine! We drove a little, suddenly there was a jolt! What kind of push is this? At the same time, the locomotive will abandon...

Ahh! So will you accompany me? The linings have come apart on the tracks!

The pads are fastened where the rails are connected at the joint.

Yes, Grigory Vasilyevich, I was checking the road!

“Okay, I believe you,” muttered a dissatisfied Kopyl. Let's move on. We drove another three hundred meters, well, five hundred... another blow! The locomotive abandoned again!

From tomorrow, for two weeks, your ration is not eight hundred grams, as before, but three hundred grams of bread,” Kopyl said sternly.

Well, it's up to you, you're the boss...

We drove eight kilometers to the camp. Everyone leaves, goes to the camp to relax after work. What about me? No, my dears, I’ll go there to see what’s going on. Didn't keep track of the road, damn it! And to run eight kilometers in the rain, and even at night. But well, it’s given to you, your responsibility...

I'm running... Okay! I feel that now is the very place where the push was.

I look - mothers! - the horse is lying in a ditch, both its legs have been cut off... Oh! What will you do? By the tail - and away from the embankment the bastards. I continue running. And I’m roaring, screaming! Night! I'm already wet to the bone, but I don't care. I call on all the saints for help, but most of all: “Reverend Father Barlaami! I lived with you for four years, saint of God! I always wiped your shrine, near the relics! Help me, Father Varlaami, and wipe away my sins, wash with your prayers to our Lord, Savior Jesus Christ!”

But at the same time I continue to run along the road... I see that the horse is still lying down, Lord! Also stabbed to death by the locomotive we were riding on. Oops! To do what? But the Lord had mercy, I was not at a loss and stole this one away from the road. Suddenly I hear some kind of snoring, a groan that seems to be human. And next to that place there was a sleeper cutting - when they were making the road, they installed a motor there and built a roof. Something like a barn; logs were cut into sleepers in it.

Let's run there. Mechanically I ran into this sleeper cutter... My dear ones! I look, and the man, the camp shepherd, is hanging! Hanged himself, you pest! He was herding those horses, a German. What were the Germans like then? He was arrested, maybe from the Volga region, I don’t know...

Yes, Mother Most Pure! Yes, I call all the saints and Michael of Klopsky, Lord! He called on everyone, to the last drop. What should I do? We were forbidden to carry knives, so I didn’t. If they find him, they could shoot him. There they shot for nothing. I could have used my teeth to untie the knot in the rope, because my teeth were all knocked out then. Investigator Spassky left me with only one as a souvenir in the Yaroslavl prison.

Somehow I tangled and confused this rope with my fingers - in a word, I unraveled it. He collapsed on the floor, Lord! I went to him, turned him over on his back, stretched his arms and legs. I feel the pulse - no. Nothing gurgles in it, nothing squishes. So what should we do? Yes, Mother Quick to Hear! Again, all the Saints to the rescue, and also Elijah the Prophet. You are in heaven, I don’t know how to ask, how to please you? Help us!

No, my dear ones, I was already crazy. Died. Lies dead! Basil the Great, Gregory the Theologian and John Chrysostom... he didn’t call anyone!

Suddenly I hear it! God! Here, right at his throat, he coughed. Oh, mothers, it’s functioning... So far, it’s like this occasionally: coh-koh-koh. Then more often. I covered it with mora grass, this was already in August-September, and I ran to the zone, again eight miles. The rain has passed, but I am dry, steam is pouring out of me. I run to the watch: “Come on, come on quickly! I’ll get a trolley, now I’ll get a trolley! A man in the forest, on a stretch, is feeling bad!”

The gunners on duty, looking at me, said: “Well, he’s done his prayers, you saint! He’s got the head!” They think I've gone crazy. Did I look like this or something else? Don't know. They don’t say my last name, but when they call my number, they immediately say “holy”. For example: “The 513th has completely finished his prayers, the saint!”

Let them talk, I think. - OK.

I ran and found the head of the medical unit, we had this Feriy Pavel Eduardovich. I don’t know what nationality he was, but his last name was Ferius. He respected me - no, not for handouts - but for nothing but respect. I address him:

Citizen Chief, so, they say, so!

Okay, let’s run to the trolley, let’s go,” he tells me. We arrived at the sleeper cutter, and this guy was lying there unconscious, but his pulse was functioning. They immediately injected him with something, gave him something and brought him to the zone. He was sent to the medical unit, and I went to the barracks.

A month or a month and a half later, I received a summons: “Number such and such, we ask you to immediately appear in court at the eighth camp.” I arrived at the eighth camp, as indicated on the agenda. There is a trial going on, and I am a witness in court. It’s not me who’s being judged, but that guy, the shepherd from the sleeper cutter, whose horses were slaughtered by a locomotive at night.

As it turned out later, it turned out during the investigation, he simply overslept them. He walked and walked, passed and passed, and fell asleep, and they themselves wandered under the locomotive. And so the court convened, and he was put on trial.

Come on, 513th! - this means me. - Witness! How will you answer us? Because you know, you probably understand. The country is experiencing a critical situation. The Germans are rushing, and he is undermining our defenses. Agree with this, right, 513th? “He” is the shepherd who hanged himself.

I get up, they ask me as a witness, I answer:

Citizens judges, I will only tell the truth. So, they say, and so I took him out of the loop. It was not out of joy that he climbed into it, the noose. He apparently has a wife, “Frau,” which means he probably has children too. Think for yourself, what was it like for him to climb into the noose? But fear has big eyes. Therefore, citizen judges, I will not sign and do not support the accusation you brought against him. Well, he was scared, I agree. I fell asleep - it was night and rain. Maybe he’s tired, and then there’s the steam locomotive... No, I don’t agree

So you are a fascist!

So, probably your will.

And you know, my relatives, they gave him only conditionally. I really don’t know what conditional is. But he was given this opportunity. And then, it happened, I was still sleeping on the bunk, and he would receive his ration of eight hundred grams of bread, and shove three hundred under my pillow

This is how we lived, my dear ones."

Different streams of people poured into the camps in different years - now the dispossessed, now the cosmopolitans, now the party elite cut down by the next blow of an ax, now the scientific and creative intelligentsia, who ideologically did not please the Master - but always and in any year there was a single general flow of believers - “what- then a silent religious procession with invisible candles. As if from a machine gun, they fall among them - and the next ones step in, and go again. Firmness, unseen in the 20th century! " These are lines from "The Gulag Archipelago".

As if in the first Christian centuries, when worship was often performed in the open air, Orthodox Christians now prayed in the forest, in the mountains, in the desert and by the sea.

In the Ural taiga, prisoners of the Vyatka forced labor camps also served the Liturgy.

There were two bishops, several archimandrites, abbots, hieromonks and just monks. And how many believing women there were in the camp, all of whom were dubbed “nuns,” lumping together both illiterate peasant women and abbesses of various monasteries. According to Father Pavel, “there was a whole diocese there!” When it was possible to reach an agreement with the head of the second unit, which was in charge of passes, the “camp diocese” went out into the forest and began worship in a forest clearing. For the sacrament cup, juice was prepared from various berries, blueberries, strawberries, blackberries, lingonberries - whatever God would send, the throne was a stump, the towel served as a sakos, a censer was made from a tin can. And the bishop, dressed in prison rags, - "I divided my garmentsfor myself and about My clothes, metasha the lot...“- stood before the forest throne as the Lord’s, and all those praying helped him.

“Receive the Body of Christ, taste the immortal fountain,” a choir of prisoners sang in a forest clearing... How everyone prayed, how they cried - not from grief, but from the joy of prayer...

During the last service (something happened at the camp, someone was being transferred somewhere), lightning struck the stump that served as the throne - so that it would not be desecrated later. He disappeared, and in his place appeared a funnel full of clean, transparent water. The guard, who saw everything with his own eyes, turned white with fear and said: “Well, you are all saints here!”

There were cases when some of the rifle guards took communion in the forest along with the prisoners.

The Great Patriotic War was going on, which began on Sunday June 22, 1941 - on the Day of All Saints, who shone in the Russian land, and prevented the implementation of the state plan of the “godless five-year plan”, according to which not a single church should remain in Russia. What helped Russia to survive and preserve the Orthodox faith - wasn’t it the prayers and righteous blood of millions of prisoners - the best Christians in Russia?

Tall pines, grass in the clearing, the cherubic throne, the sky... Zekov's communion bowl with juice from wild berries:

"...I believe, Lord, that this is Your most pure Body and this is Your honorable blood... which is shed for us and for many for the remission of sins..."

THE HAPPIEST DAY

Much has been written in the 20th century about the horrors and suffering of the camps. Archimandrite Pavel, shortly before his death, in the 90s of our (already past) century, admitted:

“My dear ones, it was the happiest day of my life. Listen.

Once they brought girls to our camps. They are all young, probably not even twenty. They were called "Benderovkas". Among them there is one beauty - her braid goes down to her toes and she is at most sixteen years old. And so she roars like that, cries like that... “How sad it is for her,” I think, “for this girl, that she’s dying like that, crying like that.”

I came closer and asked... And there were about two hundred prisoners gathered here, both our camp prisoners and those from the prison camp. “Why is the girl roaring like that?” Someone answers me, one of their new arrivals: “We traveled for three days, they didn’t give us bread on the way, they had some kind of overspending. So they arrived, they paid us for everything at once, they gave us the bread. But she saved it, not she ate - it was a day of fasting, or something. And this ration, which for three days - was stolen, snatched from her somehow. She hadn’t eaten for three days, now they would have shared it with her, but We don’t have any bread, we’ve already eaten everything.”

And in my barracks I had a stash - not a stash, but a ration for today - a loaf of bread! I ran to the barracks... And I received eight hundred grams of bread as a worker. What kind of bread, you know, but still bread. I take this bread and run back. I bring this bread to the girl and give it to me, and she says to me: “Hi, no need! I don’t sell my honor for bread!” And I didn’t take the bread, fathers! My dear, dear ones! Yes Lord! I don’t know what kind of honor is such that a person is ready to die for it? I didn’t know before, but that day I found out that this is called a maiden’s honor!

I put this piece under her arm and ran out of the zone, into the forest! I climbed into the bushes, got down on my knees... and my tears were such joyful ones, no, not bitter ones. And I think the Lord will say:

I was hungry, and you, Pavlukha, fed Me.

When, Lord?

Yes, that girl is a Bendera girl. Then you fed Me! This was and is the happiest day of my life, and I’ve already lived a long time.”

"LORD, FORGIVE US FOR BEING ARRESTED!"

In the case of Archbishop Varlaam Ryashentsev, who was the successor of Metropolitan Agafangel of Yaroslavl, Pavel Gruzdev was arrested twice. He received a second term in 1949, as they said then - he became a “repeater”. The prisoners were taken from Yaroslavl to Moscow, to Butyrki, and from there to Samara, to a transit prison.

In Samara prison, Father Pavel, together with other prisoners, celebrated Easter in 1950. On this day - Sunday - they took them out for a walk in the prison yard, lined them up and led them in a circle. Someone from the prison authorities got the idea: “Hey, priests, sing something!”

“And the Bishop - remember him, Lord!” the priest said, “says to us: “Fathers and brothers! Today Christ is risen!" And he sang: “Christ is risen from the dead, trampling down death by death and giving life to those in the tombs...” Yes, Lord, remember that righteous shooter - he didn’t shoot at anyone. Let's go and eat: "Resurrection day, let us enlighten people! Easter, the Lord's Easter! From death to life and from earth to heaven, Christ God will bring us..."

The prisoners were taken from Samara to an unknown location. There were bars in the carriages and no bread for the journey. “Oh, yes, the Solovetsky miracle workers! But where are you, righteous ones, sending us?” They travel for a day, two, three... From the far window you can see the mountains. And again - “with things!” Everyone came out, gathered, and began to take stock. Shout out the new arrivals in alphabetical order

A! Antonov Ivan Vasilievich! Come in.

Number 1 has arrived.

August... Comes in.

B!.. C!.. G!.. Come in! To the zone, to the zone! Grivnev, Godunov, Gribov... Donskoy, Danilov...

And why is Gruzdev not there? - asks Fr. Paul.

No, they answer him.

“Why not?” he thinks. “I’m their worst fascist. They don’t call me! Apparently, now it will be even worse.”

They called everyone, there was no one left, only two old men and him, Pavel Gruzdev.

Boy, are you a prisoner?

Prisoner.

And we are prisoners. Are you a fascist?

And we are fascists.

“Glory to You, Lord!” Father Pavel sighed with relief and explained. “Our people, that means they called us fascists.”

Well, boy,” the old men ask him, “you go to that boss, tell him you forgot three!”

Citizen boss! We are also three prisoners from this party.

We don't know! Move away!

The old men are sitting with Pavlusha, waiting. Suddenly a guard comes out of the checkpoint booth and carries a package:

Well, which of you will be smarter? Old people say:

So give the guy the documents.

Take it. There, you see, about three kilometers away, a house on a mountain and a flag? Go there, they will tell you what to do.

“We’re going,” recalled Father Pavel. “Lord, we look: “monshasy and shandasy” - everything around is not Russian. I say: “Guys, we were not brought to Russia!” We came to this house - the commandant’s office, on written in three languages. We come in and a Kyrgyz woman is washing the floor.

Hello.

What do you want?

Don't yell at us! These are the real documents.

Eh! - she squirmed all over. - Let's leave! Otherwise we’ll call the police, I’ll shoot! Oh, you infection, they will kill you!

We'll come tomorrow at 9-10 o'clock and let's start work!

Went. Where should we go, father? Are you going to go? We ask for prison. Yes, they are dirty! There were no lice. They've got their hair cut! Lord, yes, the Mother of God, and the Solovetsky miracle workers! Where have we ended up? What city is this? Everything is not written in Russian. “There’s a prison,” they say. We approach the prison, I press the bell:

We don't send any transmissions, it's too late!

Honey, take us! We are prisoners!

Did you run away?

Here are the documents for you.

This is for forwarding. Do not accept. Strangers.

We're back in transit again. It's already evening. The sun has set, we need to look for a place to stay for the night. Who will let us in?

Guys, they won’t hire us anywhere!

Our shift is over, let's leave, otherwise we'll shoot!

"Well, grandfathers, let's go." So what should we do? We’re afraid to go into the city; in the countryside I don’t remember where we went straight. The river is making some noise. I would like to drink some water, but I have no strength from hunger. I found some kind of hole, some weeds - a thump in the weeds. Here he fell, here he fell asleep. And I put this piece of paper, the documents, under my head and somehow saved it. I wake up in the morning. The first thing that seemed strange to me was the sky above me, the blue sky. Prison is all, transportation... And then there’s heaven! I think I'm nuts. I'm gnawing on my hand - no, I'm not crazy yet. God! Make this day a day of Thy mercy!

I climb out of the hole. One old man is praying, and the second is washing his shirt in the river. "Oh, son, he's alive!" "He's alive, fathers, he's alive."

We washed ourselves in the river - the Ishim River. The sun has just risen. We began to read prayers:

“Rising from sleep, we fall down to Thee, O Good One, and cry out to Thee, the Mightier, the angelic song. Holy, Holy, Holy ecu God, Mother of God, have mercy on us.

From bed and sleep, Lord, raised me up, enlighten my mind and heart..." We read those prayers, and we hear: bom!.. bom!.. bom!.. The church is somewhere! There is a service! One old man says. “Do you see that one on the horizon?” About a kilometer and a half from our overnight stay. "Let's go to church!"

And it’s not that we were beggars, but what the last step of beggars is - so we were on this step. What can we do - if only we could receive communion! Judas would have repented, the Lord would have forgiven him too. Lord, forgive us for being prisoners! But the priest is eager to give confession. I didn't have a penny. Some old man saw us and gave us three rubles: “Go and change it!” Fifty dollars for everyone, and for the rest they lit candles for the Savior and the Queen of Heaven. We confessed, took communion - no matter where you lead us, even shoot us, no one is afraid of us! Glory to Thee, Lord!"

CASE AT STATE FARM ZUEVKA

Thus began the exile life of Pavel Gruzdev in the city of Petropavlovsk, where on the very first day he and the old monks took communion in the cathedral church of Peter and Paul. Prisoner Gruzdev was sent to Kazakhstan “for eternal settlement.” The regional construction office put Gruzdev on a stone crusher. “They gave me a sledgehammer,” the priest recalled. “In the morning, work starts at eight, and I’ll come at six o’clock, and I’ll meet the quota, and I’ll also exceed it.” Once they were sent, administrative exiles, to the village of Zuevka for harvesting. The Zuevka state farm was located thirty-forty miles from Petropavlovsk, and as if something had happened there - cattle and poultry were left unattended, the crops had not been harvested. But no one tells the truth.

“They brought us in cars to Zuevka,” said Father Pavel. “And what is happening there! My dear ones! Cows are roaring, camels are screaming, but there is no one in the village, as if the whole village has died out. We don’t know who to shout to, who to look for. We thought and thought and decided to go to the chairman's office. We came to him., oh-oh! There was a bench in the middle of the room, and on the bench there was a coffin. Mattushki! And the chairman was lying in it, turning his head and looking sideways at us. I tell my people : “Stop!” - and then to him: “Hey, what are you doing?” And he answered me from the grave: “I am the newly deceased servant of God Vasily.”

And they had such a father, Afanasy, in Zuevka - he got there a long, long time ago, almost before the revolution. And it was this Athanasius who enlightened them all: “Tomorrow will be the coming, the end of the world!” And he tonsured everyone as a monk and put them in coffins... The whole village! They even sewed some cassocks out of gauze and whatever else came into play. And Afanasy himself climbed into the bell tower and waited for the coming. Oh! The children are small, the women are all shorn, they are all lying in coffins in their huts. The cows need to be milked, the cows' udders have been stolen. “Why should the cattle suffer?” I ask one woman. “Who are you?” “Nun Eunikia,” he answers me. God! Well, what will you do?

We spent the night there, worked for a day or two as expected, then they took us home. Afanasy was sent to the hospital. They wrote to the bishop in Alma-Ata - Joseph was, it seems - he declared Athanasius’s tonsure illegal and all the “monks” were cut off. They put on their dresses and skirts and they worked as they should.

But the seeds were thrown into the ground and sprouted. Little kids are running around: “Mom, mom! And Father Luka smashed my face!” Father Luka is not yet five years old. Or again: “Mother, mother, mother Faina took my bun!” This is what happened at the Zuevka state farm."

DIED "ETERNALLY LIVING"

So, day after day, month after month, the 53rd year came. “I come home from work,” recalled Father Pavel, “and my grandfather says to me:

Son, Stalin is dead!

Grandfather, be quiet. He is forever alive. Both you and I will be imprisoned.

Tomorrow morning I have to go to work again, and they broadcast on the radio, warning me that when Stalin’s funeral takes place, “everyone will beeping like a whistle! Stop work - stand and freeze where the whistle found you for a minute or two...” And with me in exile was Ivan from Vetluga, his last name was Lebedev. Oh, what a good man, a jack of all trades! Well, whatever he picks up, he does it all with these hands. Ivan and I worked on camels then. He has a camel, I have a camel. And on these camels we ride across the steppe. Suddenly the horns started blaring! The camel needs to be stopped, but Ivan beats him hard and scolds him. And the camel runs across the steppe and doesn’t know that Stalin is dead!”

This is how Stalin was seen off on his last journey by the cassipole Pavel Gruzdev from flooded Mologa and the jack-of-all-trades from the ancient town of Vetluga Ivan Lebedev. “And after Stalin’s funeral we were silent - we didn’t see anyone, we didn’t hear anything.”

And now it’s night again, about one in the morning. Knocking on the gate:

Is Gruzdev here?

Well, night visitors are commonplace. Father Pavel always has a bag of crackers ready. It turns out:

Get ready, buddy! Come with us!

“Grandfather roars, grandmother roars... - Son! They have already gotten used to me for so many years,” said Father Pavel. “Well, I think I’ve waited! They’ll take me to Solovki! I wanted everything to go to Solovki.. No! Not to Solovki.” . I took the crackers, I took the rosary - in a word, I took everything. Lord! Let's go. I see, no, they are not taking us to the station, but to the commandant's office. I go in. We are not allowed to say hello, they only greet real people, and we are prisoners, "fascist face ". What can you do? Okay. I walked in, my hands like this, behind my back, as it should be - after eleven years I’ve gotten used to it, I’ve gained experience. You’re standing in front of them, let alone talking - breathing, blinking your eyes, and you’re afraid.

Comrade Gruzdev!

Well, I think it's the end of the world. Everyone is a “fascist face”, but here is a comrade.

Sit down, feel free, - that means they invite me.

Okay, thank you, but I’ll wait, citizen boss.

No, have a seat!

My pants are dirty, I'll get them dirty.

Sit down!

Still, I sat down as they said.

Comrade Gruzdev, why are you serving your sentence?

So he’s probably a fascist? - I answer.

No, don't prevaricate, you're serious.

I don’t know for sure. Here you have the documents for me, you know better.

It was a mistake,” he says.

Glory to You, Lord! Now they will take me to Solovki, probably by mistake... I really wanted to go to Solovki, to worship the holy places. But then I listen.

Comrade Gruzdev, here is a certificate for you, you suffered innocently. Cult of personality. Tomorrow go to the police with a certificate. Based on this paper, you will be issued a passport. And we are secretly warning you... If anyone calls you a fascist or anything else similar, you, Comrade Gruzdev, report to us! We will bring that citizen to justice for this. Here's our address.

Oh oh oh! - He waved his hands. - I won’t, I won’t, citizen boss, God forbid, I won’t. I don't know how, dear...

God! And as I began to speak, the light bulb above me was white and white, then green, blue, and finally became pink... I woke up some time later, with cotton wool on my nose. I feel someone holding my hand and saying: “I’ve come to my senses!”

They did something to me, some kind of injection, something else... Thank God, I got up and began to apologize. "Oh, sorry, oh, sorry." Just, I think, let me go. After all, I'm a prisoner, it's awkward for me...

Okay, okay,” the boss reassured. - Now go!

• What about eleven years old?
• No, Comrade Gruzdev, no!

“They just gave me an injection below my waist as a souvenir... I stomped.” It took two days to get a passport - “I still have it alive,” as Fr. Paul. On the third day, Gruzdev went to work. And their foreman was such a comrade Mironets - he did not accept Orthodox Christians and was himself of a very evil disposition. The girls from the brigade sang about him: “Don’t go to that end, Mironets will beat you up!”

Yeah! - Comrade Mironets shouts, just seeing Gruzdev. - Hanging around, praying with the nuns!

Yes, swearing on what the light covers.

Your priestly face! You go again! There, in the Yaroslavl region, you did harm, you bastard, you organized sabotage, and here you do harm, you damned fascist! You're ruining our plan, saboteur!

No, citizen boss, I didn’t wander around,” Gruzdev answers calmly. - Here is the supporting document, but I need to see the director of the Regional Construction Office, excuse me.

Why do you need a director, you fool? - Comrade Mironets was surprised.

• Everything is stated there on the paper.
• The foreman read the paper:

- Pavlusha!..

So much for Pavlusha, thinks Gruzdev.

The conversation in the director's office turned out to be completely discouraging.

A! Comrade Gruzdev, dear! Sit down, don’t stand, here’s a chair prepared for you,” the director of “Comrade Gruzdev”, already aware of his affairs, greeted him like the best guest. - I know, Pavel Alexandrovich, I know everything. We got an error.

While the director is crumbling into small beads, Gruzdev is silent and says nothing. What can you say?

“We are renting out a residential building in a day or two,” continues the director of the Regional Construction Office, “there is also a contribution from your Stakhanovist work. The house is new, multi-apartment. There is an apartment for you too, dear Pavel Alexandrovich. We have taken a closer look at you over the years, and we see that you are an honest and decent citizen. The only problem is that he is a believer, but you can close your eyes to that.

What am I going to do in your house? - Gruzdev is surprised at the director’s strange words, and he himself thinks: “Where is all this going?”

You need to get married, Comrade Gruzdev, have a family, children, and work! - The director happily concludes, pleased with his proposal.

How to get married? - Pavel was taken aback. - After all, I am a monk!

So what! Start a family, kids, and remain a monk... Who is against that? Just live and work!

No, citizen boss, thank you for your fatherly participation, but I can’t,” Pavel Gruzdev thanked the director and, upset, returned to his place on Krupskaya Street. They won't release it from production! No matter what you say, I’m eager to go home... Daddy and mom, sisters - Olka and the punks, Tanya, Leshka, Sanka Fokan... Pavlusha writes a letter home: “Daddy! Mom! I’m no longer a prisoner. It was a mistake. not a fascist, but a Russian man."

“Son!” Alexander Ivanovich Gruzdev answers him. “We never had a thief in our family, nor did we have a robber. And you are not a thief or a robber. Come, son, bury our bones.”

Pavel Gruzdev goes again to the director of the Regional Construction Office:

Citizen boss, I should go to my aunt and mother, because the old ones can die without waiting!

Pavlusha, you need a challenge to go! - the boss answers. “And I don’t have the right to let you go without a summons.”

Pavel Gruzdev writes to his relatives in Tutaev - so, they say, and so, they won’t let you in without a call. And his sister Tatyana, married to Yudina, worked as a paramedic-obstetrician all her life. She was on duty one night at the hospital. The Lord inspired it in her: she mechanically opened the desk drawer, and there was a stamp and hospital forms. Sends a telegram: “Northern Kazakhstan, city of Petropavlovsk, Regional Industrial Construction Office, to the boss. We ask you to urgently send Pavel Gruzdev, his mother is dying after a difficult birth, she gave birth to twins.”

And the mother is already seventy years old! When Pavlusha found out, he thought: “I’ve gone crazy! Or Tanka is playing tricks on something!” But they call him to the authorities:

Comrade Gruzdev, get ready to hit the road immediately! We know everything about you. On the one hand, we are happy, but on the other hand, we mourn. Maybe I can help you with something? Maybe you need a nanny?

No, citizen boss,” Pavel replies. - Thank you very much, but I’ll go without a nanny.

“As you wish,” the director agreed.

“Now you can joke,” the priest recalled this incident. “But then I had no time for laughter. In this age, you’ll spin, both on your back and on your side!”

"AND THE COLORADO BEETLE CREEPS AROUND THE BED"

Father Pavel saw so many different people and events during the years of his camp wanderings that he became like an inexhaustible storehouse - sometimes you are amazed at what happened to him! Father himself said that all his spiritual experience came from the camps: “I saved up for eleven years!” And when Archimandrite Paul became an illustrious elder, many noticed that his spiritual guidance, his prayers were something special, for which there was no example in the lives of past times, this is our life, modern holy Rus'...

And miracles happened - sometimes so casually, near the garden bed. An employee of the Ministry of Internal Affairs, an official representative of the law, spoke about one such case.

“One day we went to see Father Pavel - a bright sunny day, August. The village of Verkhne-Nikulskoye is located 1.5 km from the highway, and we drove along the road that the locals call BAM, it’s more or less dry there, and you go through potato fields, passing store, to Father Paul's guardhouse, i.e. you make a kind of circle. While I was driving, I paid attention to the quality of the road, to what was around - that is, I remembered more than my passengers. And so, moving through the so-called BAM, I noticed that the potato fields were covered with Colorado potato beetles - everything was red, like grapes. So much so that I even thought that I could grow Colorado potato beetles and make kharcho soup from them. And with such a playful mood I came to Fr. Pavel. We were received as dear guests. And so at the feast, in the conversation - like potatoes? like onions? in the village they always talk about agriculture - they started talking about the dominance of the Colorado potato beetle. And Father Pavel says: “But I don’t have a Colorado potato beetle.” beetle." He had two plots of potatoes - between the gatehouse and the cemetery, 10x10, and already in the church fence - like a mini-monastery. But I could clearly see that there were Colorado potato beetles all around - even at the neighbor’s across the street. And suddenly: “I don’t have it.” I'm like a detective - ha ha! - I doubted it. Everyone at the table had already eaten, no one listened to anyone else, I thought: “No, now I’ll find Colorado potato beetles. This can’t happen! Of course, he’s lying!” And I went out - it was light, August twilight - to look between the guardhouse and the cemetery of Colorado beetles, I’ll find a few and catch them! He came and started crawling on all fours between the rows of potatoes. I look - not a single larva, not a single beetle! Can't be! It’s red all around, but here... Even if there were Colorado potato beetles on the site before our arrival, there should be holes eaten through the tops. I've looked all over - there's nothing! Well, this can’t be, it’s unnatural! I think there is everything in the second section. I, being an opera, i.e. a person who always doubts everything, looks for enemies and knows that there are enemies - I think I will find! Nothing!

I came and said: “Father, I was just now in that potato plot, in this one - there really wasn’t a single Colorado potato beetle or larvae, but in general there were no signs that they were there.” Father Paul, as a matter of course, says: “Yes, you walked in vain. I know prayer.” And again I think to myself: “Hmm, a prayer! Why is he saying that! You never know what kind of prayer!” Yes, that’s what I was, Thomas the Unbeliever, although I didn’t even find a hole on a single potato leaf from that filth. I was put to shame. But the Colorado potato beetles migrated directly, they crawled..."

Father Pavel loved poetry and songs so much that for any occasion he had a poetic parable or a comic poem in stock, and if not, he composed it himself. About a month after the “police check,” Father Pavel composed a song about the Colorado potato beetle:

The potatoes are blooming, the onions are turning green.

And the Colorado potato beetle crawls into the garden bed.

He crawls without knowing nothing about

That Volodka the agronomist will catch him.

He will catch him and take him to the village council.

He’ll put it in a jar and pour it with alcohol.

The potatoes have faded, the onions have already turned yellow.

The Colorado potato beetle is running wild in the jar.

"LET YOUR DASH GET HEALTHY!"

“Great was his prayer,” they say about Father Paul. “Great was his blessing. True miracles.”

“At the service itself, he stood like some kind of spiritual pillar,” they remember the priest. “He prayed with all his soul, like a giant, this small man, and everyone was present as if on wings at his prayer. That’s how it was - from the very heart.” Voice loud, strong. Sometimes, when he performed the sacrament of communion, he asked the Lord in a simple way, like his father: “Lord, help Seryozhka there, something is wrong with his family...” Right at the throne - help this one, and that one.. "During prayer, he listed everyone as a souvenir, and his memory, of course, was excellent."

“Dasha, my granddaughter, was born to us,” says one woman. “And my daughter, when she was pregnant, celebrated her birthday on the Assumption Fast with drinking and partying. I tell her: “Fear God, you’re pregnant.” And when the child was born, they determined that he had a heart murmur, very serious - there was a hole in the breathing valve. And the girl was suffocating. Even during the day, back and forth, she cries, and at night she generally suffocates. The doctors said that if she lives to be two and a half years old , we will have the operation in Moscow at the institute. It was impossible before. And so I kept running to Father Pavel: “Father, pray!” But he didn’t say anything. When I come, I’ll say it, and he doesn’t say anything. Dasha lived for 2.5 years "They send us a call for an operation. I run to the priest. “Father, what should I do? The call for surgery came, should I go or not? And he says: “Take communion and go.” Here they go. They are there in the hospital, and I’m crying, and I keep running to the priest: “Father, pray!” And then he says to me so angrily: “May your Dasha get well!” And thank God, Dasha recovered through his prayers.”

“The Lord heard Father Paul’s prayer faster than others,” recalls one priest. “Whoever comes to him, who is in pain, the priest will simply knock on the back or pat his ear: “Okay, that’s it, you’ll be healthy, don’t worry.” "And he himself will go to the altar and pray for the person. The Lord will hear his prayer and help this person. Of course, I can’t say clearly - he was limping, approached Father Paul and immediately jumped up. This is not always obvious. The man was grieving - "he was grieving, but he prayed to Paul, confessed, took communion, talked, asked for his prayers, and so everything gradually eased up. A week will pass, and he is already well." “Prayer works everywhere, although it does not always work miracles,”- written down in the notebooks of Fr. Pavel. “You must get up to pray hastily, as if there were a fire, and especially for monks.” "Lord! Through the prayers of the righteous, have mercy on sinners."

IS IT EASY TO BE A NOBICE?

A lot of clergy were cared for by Fr. Pavel, and over the years more and more, so that Verkhne-Nikulskoye formed its own “forge of personnel,” or “Academy of Fools,” as Fr. joked. Paul. And this was a real spiritual Academy, in comparison with which the capital’s Academies paled. The spiritual lessons of Archimandrite Paul were simple and memorable for life

“Once I thought, I could be such a novice that I could unquestioningly fulfill all my obediences,” says the priest’s pupil, a priest. “Well, I probably could! Whatever the priest says, I would do it. I’m coming.” to him - and he, as you know, often responded to thoughts with an action or some kind of story. He, as usual, sits me down at the table, immediately Marya begins to heat something up. He brings cabbage soup, pours it. The cabbage soup was surprisingly tasteless . From some kind of concentrate - and I just took communion - and lard floats on top. And a huge plate. I ate it with great difficulty. He. “Come on, give it some more!” And he rushes with the rest in the pan - poured it all out for me - eat , finish eating! I I thought I was going to be sick. And I confessed with my own lips: “I cannot fulfill such obedience, father!” So he exposed me.

Father Paul knew how to make a person feel a spiritual state - joy, humility... “One day on the eve of the “Worthy” - he had a lot of clergy - he said to me: “Father, today you will be a sacristan!” - recalls one of the priests. - “Here this robe is the most beautiful, put it on, and give it to others." And, probably, I still had some kind of vanity: “Look, what a beautiful robe!” And literally a few minutes later - Father Pavel was at home, and I was in church, he somehow felt my state - he flies - “Come on, take off your chasuble!” And Father Arkady came from Moscow, he came to us, “Give it to Father Arkady!” It struck me like lightning from head to toe - I was so humbled. And in this state I felt like I was in heaven - in some kind of reverence, in the joyful presence of something important, i.e. he made me understand what humility is. I put on the oldest robe, but I was the happiest during this service ".

I met Archimandrite Pavel (Gruzdev) when I already had an elder - a spiritual mentor, also Father Pavel, named Troitsky. By that time I had been living under his leadership for many years. And therefore, naturally, Father Pavel (Gruzdev) did not become the same leader for me as for dozens of other people.

We met through Archpriest Arkady Shatov. One day Father Arkady invited me to go to the village of Verkhne-Nikulskoye, to visit Father Pavel. I remember the day: it was on the day of the feast of the icon of the Mother of God “It is Worthy to Eat,” and this, as you know, is a revered holiday in the Verkhne-Nikulsky Church.

This wonderful icon was brought to the Trinity Church in the village of Nikulskoye from Holy Mount Athos, where it was painted by Athonite monks specially commissioned from Russia. It was a copy of the Athonite icon, made in the traditions of the Holy Mountain.

And for the first time I came to Verkhne-Nikulskoye. How did I see Nikulskoye then? A very small village, quite remote; a rather dilapidated church, it seemed to me, even With lopsided crosses. We approach the church fence, when suddenly an elderly priest, small in stature, with a very simple Russian face, comes out to meet me, quickly and somehow joyfully approaches me, stretches out his hands and loudly and quite simply says to me: “Volodka!” Then he hugs me and kisses me - as if we have known each other for twenty years.

And then I see that in the same way he greets all the other priests, whom he also meets for the first time. And of course, from the very first seconds of our acquaintance, we establish the easiest, simplest and closest relationships. And no difficulties in communication, no questions...

That day we served the Liturgy together. Then Father Pavel still saw a little, and later completely lost his sight. It was not easy to serve him, and I wondered to myself how he could serve alone? After all, he never had a deacon or a knowledgeable assistant.

When priests from different places came to visit the priest - Yaroslavl, Moscow - he was very happy, even somehow spiritually delighted, it was noticeable.

That day, the priest and I served a prayer service for the water. During his lifetime, the priest himself led it - and sang loudly. For this holiday, people came to Verkhne-Nikulskoye from different places, sometimes from very far away.

The path around the temple was decorated with grass and flowers here and there. The holiday began with a prayer service, then the Liturgy was served, and after the Liturgy there was a procession of the cross. All this was unforgettable!

After the service, the priest invited everyone to his hut at the temple to share the joy of the festive meal with his guests. And this meal was also unforgettable!

Father Pavel, as I said already, was very simple. And I would dare to say that he was a fool. For example, he completely consciously and intentionally violated generally accepted verbal etiquette, using what is now called profanity. What were the reasons for this? I don’t know for sure, but I can assume: by doing so, he seemed to show us that no external norms are for him a subject of respect and veneration, that the essence of people and phenomena is always deeper. And it was this depth of feelings and thoughts that firmly connected him with the people around him.

The priesthood that came to the priest was not only spiritually more or less experienced, but also occupied a certain, rather prominent position in church circles. Famous capital priests, abbots and archimandrites, even bishops. But the priest addressed everyone extremely simply: “Kolka!.. Seryozhka!.. Volodka!.” He called the abbess of the large monastery by name, without calling him mother. And this was very useful for all of us: he humbled people. But, as I understand it, it was not the clergyman who humbled him as such, but the person clothed with high clergy. At the same time, he seemed to deliberately forget about the dignity to which this or that clergyman was elevated. He addressed everyone as if they were some boys or girls in front of him...

And this had a wonderful effect on people, I would say sobering. All these dignitaries, who at their posts are constantly surrounded by respect and, at least to a small extent, are spoiled, from the words of Father Paul came to that usual, normal, already forgotten state of soul, when a person understands perfectly well that he is, first of all, - dust and decay, and even if there is something good in it, it is from God! Do not rise up| - this was, it seems to me, the main thought of Father Pavel in such cases...

Father Paul himself, having the high rank of archimandrite, was simple to the highest degree, because he dedicated his entire life to God. His life was a real confession, because for his faith he endured both persecution and exile. But I cannot remember that the priest even once spoke about any of his merits. Vice versa! He spoke about himself so derogatory, even disdainfully, so emphasized his thinness, poverty, wretchedness, spoke so mercilessly about his lack of education - that next to him it was impossible for anyone, not a single person to rise up, show off his merits and represent something of himself . And from this, of course, friendly, cordial, and trusting relationships were established between people around Father Pavel. Any person who came to him had to leave all his ranks, titles, ranks and dignity in front of the church fence. I’m talking about imaginary virtues, because true dignity begins with simplicity. And the first greeting: “Petka!.. Vaska!.. Volodka!..” - returned a person, burdened by earthly vanity, to his real essence, freed him from the heavy burden of conventions.

I had to visit Father Pavel more than once. Most often I came to the feast of the icon of the Mother of God “It is Worthy to Eat,” June 24, new style. And each time, Father Pavel was invariably full of love, surrounded all the guests with care, and rejoiced at the guests as much as he enjoyed the holiday itself. Sometimes he even said so directly: “The Muscovites gave me this holiday!” Although, in fact, people came from all over, and he received everyone with an open soul...

Of course, he talked a lot. He talked about his childhood, about his youth spent in the Khutyn monastery near Novgorod, and recalled the years of imprisonment and exile. His stories were, like himself, simple in appearance, uncomplicated, and yet very instructive for every listener.

Father loved to sing, sang in church during services, and very often addressed his cell attendant during meals: “Manka! Start singing!” Of the many songs that I heard, I especially remember one, which Father and Maria called “Vetka”. "Maria! Let’s sing about the branch.” And they started singing... Our children learned this “Branch” by heart and now they often sing it in chorus at home. This song cannot be called cheerful. It talks about how a branch broke off from a tree, and the elements carried it across the waters into a raging sea. And in this sea, of course, she is destined for death. The meaning of the song is obvious: people who have lost their foundations and roots are destined for death in the troubled sea of ​​life. Because the elements of life consume everyone and spare no one...

I remember how Father Pavel came to Moscow to visit Father Arkady Shatov. Once I was with Father Arkady when the priest came to him. We had a wonderful conversation then. And at this very time, temptations related directly to Father Paul began to appear in Moscow parishes. Temptations were of this kind: many Moscow priests began to go to the priest for advice. Parishioners of Moscow churches followed them. Father Paul's fame and authority grew quickly; many people perceived him as an elder, so people came to him with spiritual questions.

And such an incident happened in my parish at that time. One parishioner who came to me to confess, came out of obedience, so to speak, because I could not bless her for what she was going to do... And then she went to Father Paul to complain about me. And then she returned and said that Father Pavel answered her: “Get away from him, go away!” He meant me, Priest Vladimir. To be honest, this answer really surprised me - why? After all, Father treats me so well! And in a conversation with this parishioner, he gives me, it turns out, the most unflattering description!

The question remained, and I experienced it quite painfully. And on my first visit to the priest, I asked him what he meant? And he answers me with such a disarmingly simple smile: “Volodka! Why don't you understand? After all, this woman will torture you! So let him go where he wants from you! After all, it was I who saved you from her, and not the other way around!”

These were some of his ways of influencing people. They probably could have confused someone. Because in such actions there was an element of foolishness, and foolishness is not easy for unspiritual people to understand...

Very often what the priest predicted came true. For example, once he was visiting my house in Moscow, and just at that time, a very revered ascetic, one might say an old woman, Agrippina Nikolaevna, was visiting us. And the priest, in a conversation with her, said: “You, mother, will die when white flies begin to fly in the yard.” And although Agrippina Nikolaevna lived for several more years after that conversation, she actually died on the second day after the Intercession, on the first snow, when snowflakes of some unprecedented size were flying around the yard, looking like fairy-tale flies...

But foresight is foresight, and what struck me most about my father was the simplicity, humility, love and meekness with which he endured all his life’s difficulties and adversities. And he had a lot of adversity. Firstly, blindness, which progressed literally every year towards old age and made him completely helpless in everyday life. Then - poverty, on the verge of poverty. When he lived in Verkhne-Nikulskoye, he sometimes did not have money to buy firewood for the winter. And the food? What about other life needs?

And then, on top of everything else, the vault in the main chapel of the Trinity Church collapsed! The temple had long been in need of repairs, because its foundation was constantly being washed away by the waters of the Rybinsk Reservoir, causing enormous damage to all temple buildings. But, of course, there was no money for this repair, for the restoration of the temple. But in the way these vaults collapsed, God’s mercy and care for His chosen one are also visible.

Here is how it was. The priest himself washed the floors in the main chapel. Suddenly a large splinter stuck into his hand. The pain was such that the priest threw the rag and left the church. And at that very second the vault of the dome collapsed. Multi-ton blocks of stone broke through the floor, and in the very place where Father Pavel stood a few seconds ago! When he returned to the temple, he saw clouds of settling dust and a pile of stone in the very place where he had just stood... There was a hole in the dome, through which a clear blue sky could be seen. And miraculously, no one was hurt!

To restore the dome, a lot of money was needed, but of course there was none. Then the priest somehow closed the passage between the main and side aisles and began to serve in the side aisle. He served summer and winter, serving almost completely blind. He served until he was completely exhausted - that’s how he loved his church, his parish. That's how he loved worship.

Then the priest had to submit to the Providence of God and move to Father Nikolai Likhomanov in Tutaev, also known as Romanov-Borisoglebsk. Father Nikolai settled the priest in a cell near the church, and here he was, of course, provided with everything, examined, and well-groomed, since Father Nikolai took great care of him.

But then another problem arose: many times more people began to come to him than there were in Verkhne-Nikulskoye. Because getting to Tutaev is much faster and easier. The priest tried to receive everyone, although his cell attendant, Maria, tried to limit these visitors, who were not easy for the elder.

This is the image that remains in my memory. The image of a spiritually-bearing elder, outwardly simple and even acting like a fool, an image of his merciful love, fiery faith, fervent prayer. He was very fond of one parable, which he often told in temple sermons.

The parable told about one woman to whom it was revealed that on the specified day the Lord Himself would appear in her house. And she, captivated by this joy, put aside all matters and decided to accept the Lord with the honor due to Him.

She cleaned and washed the whole house, prepared the best food and drink for the appointed day, and, having prepared everything, began to wait for the wonderful Guest. There's a knock on the door. He opens it - and there is an ordinary beggar woman, hungry and cold, with an outstretched hand. “There’s no time for you today! - the hostess answers. “I’m waiting for the distinguished Guest, there’s no time to talk to you!” And she closed the door.

A little time passed and there was another knock. He opens it, and this time there is a hungry boy outside the door, asking for bread. “No time for you today! - she says. “Come tomorrow, but now there’s no time!”

And so she waited all day, and turned away everyone who came to her, citing the fact that she was very busy. But then the day ended, and the hostess lost hope, and with hope, patience. And then she prayed: “Lord, why don’t you go? After all, I prepared so much, waited so much!” And then she hears a voice answering: “But I tried to come to you many times today, but you didn’t even let Me into your house.”

And the priest told this parable, so popular, so simple and intelligible, to the people loudly, with tears in his eyes, and it was clear how these simple words penetrated deeply into the heart of everyone standing in the church. They penetrate, reminding people of mercy, love and compassion for their neighbors.

Another incident comes to mind. Father was just visiting Moscow, in our house. This was a long time ago, even before all the restructuring. And we performed some kind of service at home - either Unction or a prayer service, I don’t remember exactly. And after the service, at which we had Father Pavel, we decided to sing a chant that sounded like a hymn everywhere in those days - “Russian Land.”

Our children, who sang in the church choir, performed this chant. They sang loudly and well. And Alyosha Emelyanov, who by that time was already studying, it seems, at the Seminary, sang loudest of all.

Father Pavel was moved to tears and repeated to us several times: “Take care of Alyosha!.. Take care of Alyosha!.. He will be a great man.”

And so it happened. Alyosha became Father Alexy and everyone's favorite priest. His flock loves him very much, he has many spiritual children. He became the rector of the hospital church and works hard in a variety of fields. And Father Pavel even then presciently noted this boy, a future priest, a servant of the Church.

But there were also other kinds of memories about the priest’s relationships with people. Thus, Father Pavel recalled one priest who, during the time of persecution of the Church, handed over many believers to the NKVD, denouncing them. During interrogations or as an agent - I don’t remember this.

Many people suffered through him, including Father Pavel himself. And so Father Pavel had already become a priest, even an archimandrite, and that priest continued to serve in one of the parishes. And Father Paul never noticed any visible repentance in all his behavior.

And then one day, when the entire priesthood gathered for a general Diocesan meeting, Father Paul considered it necessary to publicly say these menacing words to this old priest: “Earring! The Last Judgment is coming!" Of course, the priest did not want this man to die; on the contrary, he wanted to remind him of repentance: “We will go to the Judgment soon!” And so, when the priest told us about this incident and said these words, for some reason it seemed to me that he was saying this not only for that unfortunate priest who killed many people, but it seemed to me that he was reminding all of us of God’s Last Judgment, to everyone who was nearby. There was such faith in his voice, such conviction that this could not only be a story about the past. No, he reminded each of us that the Judgment of God was coming soon, and everyone would have to answer for all their actions, words and thoughts. And it doesn’t matter that we all have different sins, what’s important is that everyone will have to answer, and God’s Judgment will be for everyone.

I still have memories from Father Pavel. Once we came to him shortly after the vaults of the temple in Verkhne-Nikulskoye collapsed. The temple was covered with bricks and plaster. The priest could no longer get anything out of this rubble, and they couldn’t clear it out for a long time. And then we asked him to take everyone something from these ruins as a souvenir. Father allowed us to do this.

I received one candlestick, which Father Pavel himself gave to me. This candlestick was all crushed and twisted by blows. I gave it for restoration, it was straightened, and now this candlestick reminds me of Father Paul, of the Trinity Church in Verkhne-Nikulskoye and of that wonderful time when we gathered from everywhere for the feast of the icon of the Mother of God “It is Worthy to Eat.”

Of course, I visited my father and Tutaev. Was at his funeral service and burial. Father Paul's funeral clearly showed his true place in the Church. They were so solemn, so many priests gathered, led by Archbishop Micah of Yaroslavl and Rostov, such a huge number of believers from all over Russia prayed, that it was clear: we were not burying an ordinary clergyman, but a rare, amazing, beloved and revered elder!

• Ambrose of Milan: speaking in the name of Christ
• About our life with Father Gleb. Part 4: The ministry of a priest
• How Pavel Gruzdev was a judge
• Word from Patriarch Alexy II about Father Gleb Kaled

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SOURCE:

Father Pavel Gruzdev. The guiding star of the soul of a simple priest

Archimandrite Pavel (Gruzdev) (January 10 (23), 1910, Mologsky district - January 13, 1996, Tutaev) is an amazing elder of the Russian Orthodox Church. From an early age he lived at a monastery, during the years of revolutionary turmoil he served and worked for the good of the Church, and from 1938 he wandered through prisons and exile. Having retained his childlike soul, meekness and love for his neighbors, he became especially revered by believers at the end of his earthly journey: people came to him for spiritual advice, for a warm word of encouragement.

To the saints who are on earth, and to Your wondrous ones - all my desire is for them.

(Ps. 15:3)

One day I learned that a very venerable old man was staying in the house of a priest we knew. I went to the Shatovs with a strong desire to see once again in my life the chosen vessel of God’s grace. Sometimes we even meet somewhere, among the bustle of the world, with holy people, but their spiritual height is not revealed to our eyes. It’s like we look at a person through dirty, dull glasses. He seems to us insignificant, vicious, like everyone else around us. To see God's fire warming the soul of a neighbor is a gift from the Lord. Having received this gift, having seen the fire of the Holy Spirit in the heart of another person, I want to show people this Light, to say: “Look, in our age this person was born and raised, in the age of general apostasy from God, from faith. Being for many years among fallen people, among thieves, bandits, in a concentration camp, without a church, in hard work, this man managed to preserve in his pure heart Love for God, Love for people - that is, the holiness of his soul.”

Only twice for an hour did I sit at the bedside of the already weak and sick Father Pavel, but what I heard from him figuratively remained in my memory. I will try to describe this colorfully, so that the Name of the Lord may be hallowed in our souls.

God brought me to meet Father Arkady’s family confessor, Father Pavel Gruzdev.

When the First World War began, Pavlik was only four years old. His father was taken as a soldier. The mother was unable to feed her large family, so she sent two children to beg.

Hand in hand with his six-year-old sister, Pavlik walked from house to house, asking for alms for Christ's sake. So barefoot, ragged children trudged from village to village, rejoicing at the crusts of bread, carrots and cucumbers that the poor peasants served them. Tired and exhausted, the children reached the monastery, where their elder sister lived as a novice (junior rank). The pitiful appearance of the children touched the sister's heart, and she kept the children with her. Thus, from early childhood, Pavlik learned the life of people who dedicated themselves to God.

The boy diligently performed the work assigned to him. In the winter he brought logs of firewood to the stoves, in the summer he weeded the garden, drove the cattle into the fields - in general, he did everything that was within his power. He grew up, became stronger, and by the age of eighteen he was doing all the hard physical work in the monastery, since he was the only man there.

Then the revolution broke out. Like thunder and a storm it swept across Russia, breaking the old way of life, destroying everything around. Monasteries were dispersed, churches were closed, clergy were arrested. Pavel also had to leave the monastery that had sheltered him since childhood. He came to the monastery of Varlaam Khutynsky, located near Novgorod. Here he was dressed in the ryasophore (monastic rank) with the blessing of Bishop Alexy (Simansky), the future Patriarch. But four years later, that is, in 1922, the Soviet government dispersed this monastery too. Pavel began working at a shipbuilding factory called “Khutyn”. Paul remained a deeply religious believer, visited the temple, and was there as a psalm-reader. Such people were disliked by the Soviet authorities, so in 1938 Pavel was arrested. But since no guilt was found against him, he was released, and in May 1941 he was arrested again. If not for prison, Pavel would have ended up at the front, since the Great Patriotic War had already begun in June. But the All-Seeing Lord saved the life of His servant, for he preserved him for those years when faith would awaken again in Rus', when the people would need shepherds calling for repentance.

In the transit prison, Pavel endured both hunger and dirt, and then endured the long journey to the Kirov region, near the city of Perm. There was a prison camp called “VUTLAG”. Here, near Vyatka, Pavel was destined to work on the railway for six whole years, that is, the entire war.

Gruzdev Pavel’s indictment was article 58, but three more letters were added to it - SOE, which denoted “socially dangerous element”. Under Soviet rule, this was the name given to believers who could support the persecuted Church by example of their honest, religious life. There was no guilt behind these people, but they were kept in concentration camps, isolating society from them. Pavel was also included in the ESR.

The camp authorities knew that Gruzdev had not committed any crime; he was submissive to fate, meek and hardworking. Therefore, Paul was not “under escort”, but enjoyed relative freedom. He could leave the camp without guards and do whatever he wanted. But his duty was to monitor the serviceability of the railway track for six kilometers. If there was deep snow, other prisoners were assigned to help Pavel. He had to give them shovels, crowbars, brooms and oversee the cleaning of the section of the road entrusted to him. To do this, Pavel had to come to the “track” an hour earlier than others, receive tools, and take everything to the road.

In the fall, on the Feast of the Exaltation of the Holy Cross (September 28), it suddenly became colder and deep snow fell overnight. Pavel spent the night alone in a squalid closet under the stairs. Raising his head from the pillow stuffed with hay, Pavel saw snow and hurried to the highway, not having time to eat the bread he had received for the day. Returning to his closet, Pavel did not find the piece of bread he had hidden. It was stolen. The thin soup did not satisfy my hunger. Pavel felt very weak. However, he shouldered a bag of tools and went to check the railway. He tapped the rails, tightened the nuts, and he himself sang prayers to the holiday: “Save, Lord, Thy people and bless Thy inheritance...”

His loud voice, which at first boomed through the endless forest, soon weakened, and his legs began to give way from hunger. Paul cried out to the Lord, asking Him not to let him fall and freeze. If it weren’t for the deep snow, then in September he could have hoped to find lingonberries and blueberries in the forest... “Lord, send me at least something to eat,” Pavel asked. He stepped off the embankment and went deeper into the forest. Pavel approached the huge fir trees, the branches of which bent to the ground under the weight of snowdrifts. But the snow had not yet settled closer to the trunk. Parting the branches, Pavel bent down and climbed into the damp semi-darkness. Then he saw before him a huge family of excellent porcini mushrooms, strong and juicy. Paul rejoiced, thanked God and collected these wonderful gifts of nature into a bag. He immediately returned to his closet and, having lit the stove, cooked the mushrooms God had sent him with salt. “So I became convinced that God’s mercy was upon me,” Father Pavel told us. “Another time I walked my section of the path to the end, checked everything carefully and reported to the boss about the serviceability of the path. It was an autumn day, cold, sometimes raining, sometimes snowing, and it was getting dark quickly. The chief invited me to travel back to the camp with him on a steam locomotive, to which I readily agreed. Our locomotive is rushing through the darkness of the night, and suddenly - a shock! But nothing, we rushed on, only my boss got angry:

Is the path okay if we jump like this? I'll reduce your bread! And suddenly - a secondary shock! The boss became furious:

I'll put you in a punishment cell!!!

“I don’t know anything,” I answer, “everything was in order during the day.”

And when we arrived, I ran back along the tracks: we need to find out what kind of shocks there were, because the train will go, God forbid, what happens. I see a horse lying headless on the tracks. God gave me strength, I barely pulled the corpse off the rails to the side, and continued on. I noticed places where there were tremors. So what: another horse with its legs cut off lies on the rails. That's it! This means that the shepherd was gaping. I pulled this carcass aside and went to the barn where the shepherd was supposed to be. All around was the darkness of the night, the wind, the rain. And I hear some wheezing. I enter the barn, and there is a shepherd hanging there. I rather climbed up and cut the rope with my tool. The body crashed to the ground. Let me shake him, turn him over, hit him on the heels. No pulse! But I don’t stop, I pray: “Help, Lord, since You sent me here at the last moment.” And now blood gushed from the nose and ears. I realized: a dead man wouldn’t bleed. I began to feel my pulse again. I hear the shepherd’s heart beating. Well, I think now you’re alive and breathing, lie down and rest, and I’ll go. I ran to the medical unit and reported. Immediately the trolley with the paramedic went to the place where I indicated. Saved a man. Three weeks later I was summoned to court as a witness. The shepherd was a civilian."

They demanded that Father Pavel confirm the judge’s opinion: the shepherd is an enemy of the people, “contra,” and deliberately killed the horses.

No,” answered Father Pavel, “the shepherd was tired and fell asleep from exhaustion; he must be excused.” He himself was not happy about what happened, he wasn’t even happy about his life, that’s why he went into a noose, to which I am a witness.

Yes, father, you are at the same time with him, you both need to be sued! - they shouted at Father Pavel. But he stood firm in his opinion.

Shepherd was given five years “conditionally”, that is, he remained free on the condition that this would not happen again. From that day on, Father Pavel would occasionally find an extra piece of bread under his pillow.

It was the shepherd who thanked me, even though I told him that I had enough, I don’t need it,” this is how Father Pavel ended his story.

It was bitter for Father Paul to see how people, under the weight of suffering, lost their sense of mercy and did not believe in it.

“And I wanted to get at least some news about my people,” said Father Pavel. “And so, when a new round of prisoners arrives at the camp, I run and ask: are there any Yaroslavl ones among them?” One day I saw among the new arrivals a young girl who was crying bitterly. I approached her and asked with sympathy what she was so worried about. But she just really wanted to eat, she was weak from hunger, and she was very upset that some hooligan snatched a loaf of bread from under her arm and disappeared into the crowd. And no one took pity on her, no one dared to hand over the thief, no one shared bread with her. And these people were transported from Belarus for long days and for the last three days on the way they were not given bread. So everyone became emaciated, angry, and hardened in heart. I ran to my closet, where I had hidden a piece of the half-eaten ration, brought and served the bread to the girl. But she doesn’t take it: “I,” she says, “don’t sell my honor for bread.” “I don’t demand anything from you,” I say. But she doesn’t care! I felt sorry for her to the point of tears. I gave the bread to a woman I knew, from whom the girl accepted it. And I myself fell on my bed and sobbed for a long, long time. I’m a monk, I didn’t know feelings for a woman, but who believed in that!”

And the unfortunate girl was among the prisoners, nicknamed “spikelets”. In the early 30s, collective farm fields were harvested using machinery. The needy, hungry peasants returned to the empty fields after harvesting. They picked up the ears of grain that accidentally fell on the sides of the car into bunches and carried them home. In the village, these peasants were arrested as “those who encroached on collective farm property.” If the ears of corn had rotted in the field, no one from the authorities would have regretted it. But the hearts of the authorities were so hardened that mothers were torn from their children for a bunch of ears of grain, children were taken from their parents, poor old women were sent to prison, and then all those “offending in the field” were taken to distant lands, into exile for many years. The guilt of these people was that, out of hunger, they were ready to collect ripe grains from the ears and, after grinding them, bake themselves bread cakes.

While serving his sentence in the camp, Pavel helped the prisoners in any way he could.

He subsequently told us:

The paths I took went through the forest. In the summer there were almost no berries there. I’ll put on a mosquito net, take a bucket and bring strawberries to the camp hospital. And he brought two buckets of blueberries. For this they gave me a double ration of bread - plus six hundred grams! I stored mushrooms for the winter and fed everyone with salted ones.

I asked my father:

Where did you get the salt for the mushrooms? He replied:

Whole trains loaded with salt passed us. Salt lay in huge lumps along the railway track; there was no need for salt. I dug a deep hole in the forest, coated it with clay, filled it with brushwood and firewood and burned the walls so that they rang like a clay pot! I’ll put a layer of mushrooms at the bottom of the hole, sprinkle it with salt, then I’ll plan a layer of poles from young trees, put the poles, and then more mushrooms on top, so by the fall I’ll fill the hole to the top. I press the mushrooms on top with stones, they give their juice and are stored in brine, covered with burdocks and tree branches. Food for the long winter! I also stored rowan berries - these are vitamins. A layer of rowan branches with berries, a layer of spruce branches - so I’ll make a whole stack. Rodents - hares, gophers - are afraid of spruce needles and do not touch my supplies. But it was difficult to store rose hips: in the stacks the rose hips rotted, and in the wild they were pecked at by birds and rodents destroyed them. But I also collected a lot of rose hips for the camps, and blueberries, and lingonberries, but there were no raspberries in that forest.

In a carriage for prisoners, called a “gas chamber,” Father Pavel traveled for two months to the city of Pavlovsk. Among bandits and thieves, embittered, sick, hungry, enduring cold, heat, dirt and stench, time dragged on painfully long for Father Pavel. The only consolation was heartfelt prayer and the company of two priests who were traveling in the same carriage with Father Pavel.

Finally the train stopped. The prisoners were released, lined up, and began to be checked against the lists. They were lined up in columns and taken away under escort. No one knew where, the bare endless steppes stretched all around. By evening the station was empty; three people remained on the platform who were not on the list of criminals. They were two priests and Father Pavel. They turned to the authorities with a question:

Where should we go? We don’t have documents, there are other people’s places all around.

Go to the city yourself and ask the police there,” was the answer.

Father Pavel said this: “Night has come. There is impenetrable darkness all around, the road is not visible. Tired from two months of shaking in the carriage, intoxicated by the fresh air after the stuffiness and stench on the train, we walked slowly and soon became exhausted. We went down into some kind of hollow, fell on the fragrant grass and immediately fell into a deep sleep. I woke up before dawn and saw the starry sky above me. I haven’t seen him for a long time, I haven’t breathed fresh air for a long time. Bright streaks of dawn appeared in the east. "God! How good! How wonderful it is for the soul to be surrounded by nature,” I thanked God. I looked around: in the distance the night fog was still covering everything, and nearby a strip of the river was shining. On a hillock, Father Xenophon is kneeling and praying to God. And my other companion went down to the water and washed his clothes. And how dirty and ragged we were - much worse than beggars! We happily washed ourselves in the river water, washed everything off ourselves, and laid them out to dry on the grass. The sun has risen and caresses us with its hot rays. “The day will come, then we’ll go to the city to look for the police there,” we think, “and while everyone is still sleeping, we’ll pray to God.” And suddenly we hear: “Boom, boom!” — the sound of a bell floats down the river.

There's a temple somewhere nearby! Let's go there, because we have been without Holy Communion for so long!

It's dawn. We saw a village, and in the middle of it was a small temple. Our joy could not be expressed! One of us had three rubles. We gave them away for candles and for confession; we didn’t have a penny left. But we rejoiced: “We are with God, we are in church!” We stood for mass, took communion, and approached the cross. They paid attention to us. As everyone began to come out, they surrounded us and questioned us. There were a lot of people, because it was a big holiday. We were invited to the table, they began to treat us, they gave us pies and fruit... We ate melons and cried with joy and tenderness: everyone around us was so affectionate and friendly. They encouraged us, they found out that we were exiles, and they felt sorry for us, it was all so touching...

Then we were taken to the authorities - the local police. Having learned that the priests were with me, everyone in the offices asked for blessings, folding their hands and kissing us. Instead of passports, we were given certificates according to which we had to live in the vicinity of Pavlovsk and go to the office to register. One of us was so weak and frail that they told him: “Well, you’re not capable of any work, you can barely stand on your feet. Go to church, to the priests...” This priest returned to the temple to help there, but he soon died, he was already martyred. And Father Xenophon went with me to the city, where we began to look for work.

I was hired as a worker at a quarry to use a machine to crush stone for construction. The work is hard, but sometimes I fulfilled two norms. The salary was more than a hundred rubles, so it was possible to live. I dressed decently and paid twenty rubles per corner to the old people with whom I lodged. I lived with them like a son, helping them with all the housework: covering the roof, digging a well, and planting lilacs around the house. It was impossible to drink water from the well - there was only salt, they drank river water from Ishim. And in the city they sold water using coupons. An order came for everyone to receive plots of land and have their own household plots, moreover, of at least three hectares (three thousand square meters). Huge field! I cultivated it, sowed wheat, watermelons, and melons. My old people had grandchildren in the city, so my owners thought of getting a cow. I didn't mind. We went to the market. The Kirghiz sold the cow cheaply, muttered and criticized it in his own way: he eats a lot, but has almost completely stopped producing milk. I looked - the cow had big sides, not skinny, so we bought it. They brought us, put us in a barn, but didn’t sleep at night - our cattle were noisy. The hostess waited for dawn (well, where can you go to the barn in the dark!). In the morning he opens the barn, and there are two calves jumping around the cow. So God blessed our family, we immediately began to eat milk and meat. That’s why the cow didn’t give milk to the Kirghiz - she didn’t have long to calve. We thanked God, began to live and live and help others.”

In 1956, Father Pavel Gruzdev was rehabilitated, that is, found not guilty of anything. Thus eighteen years of his life passed through prisons and exile. He did not forget the Lord, he prayed and did not lose heart, but helped people as best he could. The old owners with whom he lived in Kazakhstan loved Pavel like a son. When Father Pavel wanted to return to his homeland in the Yaroslavl region, the old people did not let him go; they did not want to hear about his departure. Father Pavel spoke about his escape like this: “I asked the old owners to visit relatives whom I had not seen for many years. I didn’t take any things with me, I traveled light, so the old people believed me. So all my belongings remained with them, because I never returned to Kazakhstan. The proverb is true: where you were born is where you come in handy. My native land, the sweet nature of the forests - all this was close to my heart, and I settled in the vicinity of the Tolga Monastery.

In the 60s it was difficult to find a person who knew the church service well. And since Father Pavel was a monk - he could read, sing, and sacrifice in church - he was not left without work in his homeland. The local bishop soon ordained Father Paul as a priest and gave him a parish. And Father Pavel served in the Yaroslavl region for about forty years! A simple, sympathetic, reverent priest - he was loved and respected by his flock. The rumor about him spread far, and the people began to venerate Father Paul as an elder of holy life. People from many cities reached out to him, seeking advice, consolation and guidance in the faith.

In the 80s, the priest suffered from eye pain and came to Moscow for treatment. He stayed with his spiritual children, at whose apartment I heard from Father Pavel the stories given here about his life. May they serve to strengthen faith, as an example of the Lord’s care for the Russian people. In those difficult years, when faith in God seemed to have faded and love among people had cooled, the Lord protected the pure soul of His servant Paul in distant lands, amid hardships, labors and trials. And the Lord (long before “perestroika”) helped the soul of this simple priest to shine as a clear guiding star for the Russian people, exhausted in unbelief and suffering.

Published based on the book by N.N. Sokolov. "Under the shelter of the Almighty." M., 2007.

- 5 -

ChapterI

“I see a strange and glorious sacrament...”

“And an old man lived here with us,” the temple employee told me in a half-whisper.

We stand in the vaulted twilight of the Resurrection Cathedral in front of the miraculous icon of the “All-Merciful Savior”. The face of the Savior breathes from under a layer of blackened drying oil - warm currents of air emanate from the huge icon, the flames of candles fluctuate. When Father Pavel was still serving in the Nekouz outback, Bishop Nikodim once undertook to intercede for him with the local commissioner for religious affairs so that Fr. Pavel Gruzdev to the Tutaevsky Resurrection Cathedral, closer to people and to their native places.

What are you doing? - The commissioner grabbed his head. - Gruzdeva? To the Cathedral? There is a miracle-working Savior there, and Gruzdev is a miracle worker, they both will break the woods! Let Gruzdev live in Nikulskoye.

This is how I live,” sighed Fr. Paul, remembering the troubles of Bishop Nicodemus. - This is how I live, this is how I act like a fool. And now the end is approaching.

Father Pavel even chose a place for himself in the cemetery near the Church of the Holy Trinity in Verkhne-Nikulskoye - next to the graves of nun Manefa from the Mologsky Monastery and Baba Yeni (Evgenia), who lived in his house as “blessed Enyushka”. But the Lord judged differently: for the last three and a half years (from June 29, 1992), “Gruzdev the Wonderworker” lived in close proximity to the “All-Merciful Savior” - in a small one-story house at the Resurrection Cathedral. And the miraculous Savior looked at the coffin with the body of the deceased elder - funeral

- 6 -

fell just on the celebration of Seraphim of Sarov, whom Fr. Pavel - January 15, 1996.

“We saw each other for the last time on Christmas,” recalls the priest’s spiritual son. - It was so hard for him... “Are you feeling bad?” “Yes, it’s bad, it doesn’t matter anymore...” And on the eve I sang such a song, I have never heard it anywhere and never - it is so touching and the words that, they say, the time has come, and I am dying. Like a swan song...

“And I see that the priest is beginning to fade away,” says another spiritual child. “But I thought they would treat him in the hospital.” And he predicted his death - not for me, no, I couldn’t, when my father died, my legs were paralyzed, the light went dark... I came to him in the hospital, sat down, and he: “Give me your hand.” I say: “Father, my hands are icy from the street.” “What can I do, I won’t warm your hand!” This was already the last... And the priest’s hands are like two down jackets, they are so soft, you can’t explain. They were not small, they became small, when they later opened it in the church, we went to say goodbye, and his hand was long and small, like those of saints.

And before they took Fr. Pavel to the hospital, he said to one priest: “You will arrive on Saturday (January 13), and where will I be?”

Shortly before his death - Father Pavel was already lying there - he asked the priest from Norsk:

“How old have I been since I was 10?” “I think: he was born in the 11th year, not the 10th,” recalls this priest. - I counted and said: 85. He got angry and shouted: “Go away!” And at the threshold he orders after him: “Come to the funeral!”

“You will remember me on the thirteenth,” Father Pavel said back in Berkhne-Nikulsky to his spiritual daughter from Moscow.

- 7 -

“He put his hands on my shoulders and pressed me lightly: “Pray for me!” - speaks. And I realized that this was the last time he was saying goodbye to me... It was three months before his death,” says Father’s old friend, she was close to one famous bishop, and Fr. Pavel jokingly called her “Your Honor.”

“The last month was hard for the priest; he hardly received guests,” recalls the rector of the Resurrection Cathedral. - When we come to him, the priest gets up, has dinner, and talks with us. He remembered everything from the camp - he would sing something, tell something... He held on. I came to him on the eve of Christmas to congratulate him. The priest was cheerful, cheerful, and sang the kontakion:

The Virgin is giving birth today to the Most Essential,

and the earth brings a den to the Unapproachable.

Angels and shepherds praise,

The wolves travel with the star:

For our sake, a young boy was born,

eternal God.

I came back on holiday. On the second day he got worse and was taken to the hospital...”

The attending physician was still surprised: “I myself don’t believe in God, but when I leave Father Pavel’s room, I don’t feel my varicose veins, it’s so light.” And when Father Pavel, who had already lost consciousness, was placed in intensive care, the day turned out to be such that there were no calls anywhere, no arrivals of patients. And young nurses came into Father Pavel’s room to, in their words, “get some fresh air.” An 86-year-old old man was lying there, and an extraordinary freshness emanated from him. On the morning of January 12, the hospital called the Resurrection Cathedral and said that the priest was ill... After the service, the rector of the cathedral, Fr. Nikolai with the second priest Fr. Sergius went to the hospital

- 8 -

nitsu - it was 10.30 o'clock. Father was breathing heavily, sometimes his breathing disappeared for a while, his kidneys were failing. They gave the priest communion - after communion he calmed down - a little later they administered unction. Fr. received Holy Communion for the second time. Paul at one o'clock in the morning on January 13th. And when they gave him communion for the second time - the priest was unconscious, but took it all and swallowed it - such a fragrance began in the room that even those who did not believe in God understood what an extraordinary sacrament was being performed before their eyes.

The next morning - it was ten minutes past ten, Saturday January 13 - the hospital called the church and said that the priest had died...

“And there was a funeral - we’ve never seen anything like this in Tutaev.” The temple is full of people. Thirty-eight priests and seven deacons, led by Bishop Micah, performed the funeral service for the priest. A simple, freshly planed coffin, and in it lies the priest, covered with a mourning veil - both body and face - only his hands in white priestly bands are open and folded on his chest. How much work they have done in their lifetime - the simplest and crudest, how many blessings they have given out, and here it is, the last kiss. .. And such freshness emanates from the coffin, “like in a pine forest.” Some people hold back tears, others cry openly. The priest is carried out of the temple - in front, drowning knee-deep in loose snow, the priest carries a large wooden cross.

What they did to me

holy baptism rite,

then they put it on my chest

my dear little cross.

From then on he became my protection,

Since then he has always been with me,

and hidden on my chest,

My cross is always near my heart.

- 9 -

Will my chest feel tight from suffering?

can I wait for some joy,

the soul strives for the Almighty,

and I kiss my cross.

Trusting in God's mercy

and with a feeling of faith and love

I don’t take off my cross anywhere,

I pray before him even on the way.

When will my days be interrupted?

the hour of fatal death will strike,

my eyes will close forever,

My cross will be with me.

And on my way beyond the coffin

will shine before me,

I will go with the cross before the enemy’s power,

my cross will be my wall...

The day is cloudy, it’s a long way from the Resurrection Cathedral across the Volga to the Leontievsky cemetery, where in a tight fence - next to his father and mother - a dug grave awaits the priest. Father’s cell attendant Marya Petrovna, who had been caring for him for many years, cries, but she is still in tears and does not forget to give the command at the burial, waving her hand: “Where is the song?” Women's voices begin to sing: “Eternal memory, eternal peace...” Poplars raise their branches to the sky, and Tutaev boys sit between the branches. And in general there are many children whom the priest loved very much.

“When he gives communion to the children, he always brings out an apple, or candy, or cookies from the altar,” they remember Father Pavel in Verkhne-Nikulskoye. - Or he’s walking down the street, egging on the kids: “Come on, let’s race!” One, two and run to the church!” And they run with the priest, only their heels sparkle.” And shortly before the death of Father Pavel, a pilgrim came to him in Tutaev with her five-year-old granddaughter. Father Pavel was already completely blind at that time, but he saw through everyone. “I’m hurrying my granddaughter home: get dressed quickly to go to grandma’s

- 10 -

Let’s go to Tyushka.” And she told me: “I’ll get dressed quickly, just give me a big green pear for it.” - “Okay, okay, you’ll have a pear.” We arrive: “Bless you, father, I’m with my granddaughter.” He put his hand on her head and shouted to the cell attendant: “Marya, bring us a big green pear!” And where did the pear come from?”

“Our father was cheerful,” parishioners say about him. And Metropolitan Juvenaly of Moscow and Kolomna notes the same trait: “Father Paul was very cheerful, despite the fact that the time was difficult for priests... He retained the joy that only faith in God can give. And indeed, he lived such a life that only faith gave him the strength to overcome persecution, hardships, and illnesses that visited him.”

The whole life of a Christian is a path to the Heavenly Fatherland, to the bosom of the Father and Mother. I thought about this often. Paul:

Reflection of a monk. I cry and sob

1. Where and how will I live and how long will I live?

2. What will be the end-of-life illnesses of old age or, God forbid, sudden death?

3. Who will surround you at the death, administer unction, and read the funeral service?

4. What will I see when I depart from this world? What will be the outcome? What will the mortal cup be?

5. How long will the soul remain near the body?

6. Will they bury the mantle in the coffin and where?

7. Who will perform the funeral service, will there be singers?

8. How will God help you get through terrible ordeals?

9. What will happen next? Who will remember?

- 11 -

The priest fervently and reverently prayed for his death:

« Lord Jesus Christ our God, the time of my life is shortening, I am approaching the gates of death. I fear and tremble at the hour of death, at this fiery baptism, for I am a great sinner. My heart is afraid of catching evil spirits seeking my destruction. I am horrified by the passage of airy ordeals and Your righteous judgment, on which the Imam will give his word for all those who have sinned in my life. This unknown country frightens me, and in it will deprive me of my departure from this world. Lord, lover of mankind, not wanting the death of a sinner, but having turned to him, I live to be him, have mercy on me who turns to You, number me among Your chosen flock, and grant me the grace to have a Christian death in my life, painless, shameless, peaceful. Behold, many sinners, before this hour of death I fall before You with the hope of Your saving suffering and death on the cross, I bring tearful repentance for all my sins and iniquities, voluntary and involuntary, known and unknown, and I pray to You, as the prodigal son of a child-loving Father, Forgive all my sins and iniquities, and mercifully extinguish me with the fire of Your Holy Spirit, so that they will not be remembered at the end of my life. Forgive, Lord, all the insults and griefs that I have inflicted on my neighbors and those I know. Have mercy, Lord, on all those who hate and offend me, and who have done evil to me, so that I may depart from this life in peace with all people. To her, Lord, is the consolation of my life, grant me the rest of my life to remain in purity and honesty, and to end it in peace and repentance. Before my death, O Merciful Lord, vouchsafe me, a sinner, to receive the Most Pure and Life-Giving Mysteries, Your Most Holy Body and Blood, so that, purified and sanctified by the communion of these heavenly Mysteries, I may be able to face my last hour of death fearlessly. Yes, with You, the All-Good Lord,

- 12 -

We will keep you and protect you from all misfortunes and temptations. By Thy almighty power, deliver me at that hour from the attack and violence of evil demons, protect me from them by the army of Thy saints Angel, O Almighty my Creator, then strengthen and pacify my weak soul through the intercession of the Most Holy Theotokos and Thy Saints, grant me permission to peacefully pass through the airy ordeals with firm hope in You, my Savior. Hey, Master Lord, do not deprive me of Your rich mercy and intercession, but in the terrible hour of death, accept my soul into Your hands and let the light of Your face greet me. For even I, many sinners and unworthy, by Your mercy, will be deemed worthy in my future life with You, the source of all good, to offer You prayers and praises with all the saints forever and ever. Amen".

How calmly, how peacefully the priest lies in his last wooden refuge, as if in a light boat sailing to other shores... He alone knows the secret of what is happening and sees to the depths what for us is only a thin surface layer: why the snow is so purple, and the cross is so high and black, why are the long nails so softly slanting into the light lid of the coffin, and the yellow lumps of clay scattered so that they hurt the eyes... Then the grave will be cleaned up, and the merciful snow cover will equalize its rights with others, but for the orphaned For those close to Father Paul, this grave enclosure will always be a special and prayerful place, and many hidden sacraments will still be performed here.

He is still with us. Even more than that, says his spiritual daughter. - On the fortieth day, a priest from Pereslavl came to us and called us to the cemetery. And I cried: “Father, I can’t get there, I barely get home from work and immediately go to bed, my legs are bad.” And he: “Let’s go, let’s go.” And indeed, it’s a miracle, we went to the mo-

- 13 -

I walked to the priest and back, I wasn’t even tired, I didn’t even notice how I got there. And from that time on I felt easier and easier, but I thought that I would never recover...

In the dark pre-Christmas evenings, when these lines were being written, a poem suddenly came from Father’s manuscripts by itself - like a message left by Fr. Paul about his death. Throughout his life, he carefully collected spiritual poetry, tales and traditions, proverbs, sayings, riddles, jokes - he collected bit by bit folk wisdom, which he laid as the basis of his faith. “We’ll come to him,” recalls one elderly priest, “we think he’ll tell the whole truth now. And he’ll tell a joke or some kind of fairy tale...” So in the poem about the death of the village priest, it was as if the priest foresaw his death.

Death of Father Zakhar

Midnight. The blizzard howls and makes noise in the field,

in a small village everyone has been sleeping for a long time.

The streets are deserted, near the houses

it sweeps up whole snowdrifts again.

Occasionally a distant howl

sounds wildly in the silence of the night.

The dogs, when they hear him, will suddenly start barking

and they will fall silent again. Only snow around

like dust rushes, obscuring the light,

sweeping away the trail thickly on the road.

The village went to bed early today,

Tomorrow is a great day, Christmas holiday.

In an old house that has already grown into the ground

and stood under the roof of centuries-old birches

- 14 -

next door to the temple - dilapidated, like it,

a faint light is visible from the windows.

There the lamps are burning near the holy icons,

and their quiet light illuminates the house.

The rooms in it are small, with low ceilings,

but everything is in order, cleanliness all around.

A whole row of icons there in the holy corner,

on a small table set right there

a book bound in leather lies,

nearby a cross in a frame glistens in the fire.

Folded neatly near the epitrachelion,

and gold dust sparkles on it.

There is a whole row of pictures on the wall,

They all hang decorously in order.

All the bishops are visible from the darkness

Philaret has strict features.

Next to him is Innocent, and behind him is Plato.

looks majestically, immersed in thought.

There are two monks here, a view of the monastery,

Yes, two heroes passed through the war.

Two old sofas, a table and a row of chairs

They all stand modestly, huddled together, along the walls.

Mirror in the wall - more for beauty,

than for the toilet - yes there is a clock in the corner

have been ticking angrily for forty years now,

but they still have no peace and no replacement.

It's about time! Father Zakhar himself,

their owner is also very, very old.

After all, when he took the place here,

I bought this watch in the first year.

“Old - we are old,” - the pendulum knocks,

“That’s right, that’s right, that’s right,” he rumbles in response.

lying on a couch, a fat gray cat,

that he had lost track of his years.

In a cramped little room, slightly consecrated

light from a lamp, placed on the chest

withered hands, the old man lay

- 15 -

on the poor bed, he did not sleep that night.

He had known few sweet dreams before,

and now he is also very ill.

He hasn't gotten out of bed for two weeks now,

Apparently, things are heading towards death now.

He doesn’t grieve, he has outlived his time.

But grief - tomorrow he would have served

Divine Liturgy at least for the last time,

yes there is no strength... and from sunken eyes

tears rolled down... Tomorrow is Christmas,

a holy, great day, a celebration for people.

Tomorrow everyone will celebrate the holiday in churches,

Glorify the Virgin and Child in songs.

He's lonely, old and sick,

should lie here on the annual holiday.

And his favorite branch

there will be such a day without service this year.

And the old priest sighed deeply,

plunged into thoughts about his fate.

I remembered how it used to be, he celebrated the holiday,

surrounded by friends, how happy I was

he then, but that’s all long gone,

happiness flew away as if it had never happened.

Old, forgotten, he lives alone,

far from family and one will die.

Relatives! How many tears there were with them,

how much grief and need he suffered for them.

How he loved them so much, helped them all,

and now, in my old age, I no longer need to know.

And he would really like to see them

and, saying goodbye to them, a lot to say.

I would die in the knowledge that my relatives' hand -

not strangers, will close the eyes of the old man.

Every day he waits in vain for them to come to him,

know, and can’t wait, death will come soon.

Outside the blizzard is louder and louder,

coming off, the shutter slams, creaks,

the wind howls angrily and hums in the chimney.

And Father Zakhar cannot sleep,

- 16 -

a vague anxiety suddenly sank into my chest,

The journey of a long life flashed through my memory.

My God! How quickly my life has passed,

and death has already summed up its terrible outcome.

It's scary to look back on your whole life - she

full of various evil deeds and sins.

Good deeds are not visible, but he knew

that it will return to Him who created it,

that he will give the Lord an answer for everything,

where are the excuses? He doesn't have any.

He lived without thinking about his end,

often forgetting about our Creator.

He remembered that in his vain life

He feared God less than people.

God is merciful, He will endure everything,

It’s easier to break God’s law,

than worldly, because people, like the Lord, do not wait,

You will be rewarded for your misdeeds in this life.

And although human judgment is painfully hasty,

Yes, not like God, simple and fair.

He lived his whole life without trial, without consequences,

but I sinned a lot before God.

Because of the benefits he often pleased people,

before whom he was proud, before whom he was silent...

He worshiped the strong as he had a need,

I did not dare to denounce rich sinners.

Even though I had to do this out of duty,

But people are afraid to tell the truth.

Convict, try, you will be left without a piece,

and the family is unfortunately too big.

It’s hard to be an exemplary shepherd here,

Well, he indulges in order to get bread.

True, he was pleased with the arrival of the century

and he loved his parishioners unfeignedly.

He didn’t extort anything extra for his demands.

and he often helped the unfortunate as best he could.

But in times of need, he also sinned.

Once the village innkeeper is a miser Agathon

he decided to marry his son to a rich man,

- 17 -

and then it was necessary to send to the city

sons in training, so he pressed

fist and took an extra five rubles.

And then I wasn’t happy with the money either,

the innkeeper came to his house a hundred times.

They bargained every day until they cried,

how many reproaches are there, how many threats are there

he had to listen from the fist,

the extra premium was no longer sweet.

He threatened to complain to the higher authorities,

and the bishop was strict at that time.

What kind of fear he suffered,

Yes, thank you, Agathon soon gave up.

During his entire service he served for forty years,

He was afraid of gossip and slander like fire.

Thank God I was never convicted

and the rulers were all pleased with him.

Will the Lord be pleased with him?

to whom will he soon go with the answer?

The priest took a deep breath from his heart

and looked at the image of the Savior with faith.

Consecrated by the lamp, the face of Christ shone

and looked at him meekly with love.

My God, great! - the old man whispered

and with a trembling hand he began to cross himself. -

I have sinned greatly, O God, before You,

He was not a good shepherd, but an evil hireling.

The slave was unbreakable and for that you

I'm being punished now, God, my God.

On the day when You shone as a light to the world

and he sent a star from the east as a sign,

on the day when all creation rejoices in delight,

on the day you were born, my God and King,

perform the service as I would like!

But in everything let only Your will be done,

Again he crossed himself here

and forgot... The storm howled outside the window.

- 18 -

Suddenly a loud bell rang,

drowning out the blizzard's mournful moan.

Father Zakhar stood up and began to listen -

The blow was followed regularly by a blow.

The bell sounded wonderfully

and filled my soul with wondrous delight.

He sang about something wonderful, sang about another land,

where there is no sadness, no earthly vanity.

With miraculous power he drew me to himself, beckoned,

The priest forgot about illness, about grief,

fascinated by the ringing, and he was ready

rush immediately to the wonderful ringing.

“Where is this call? - thought the priest.-

We don’t have churches here that ring like this.”

And while he was reasoning with himself like this,

Suddenly someone knocked forcefully on the window.

“Get ready, father, to church as soon as possible.

Do you hear the ringing? The bishop came to us.”

And Zakhar began to rush around in fear,

He put on his cassock and took out his cane.

He went out quickly, the blizzard subsided,

warmth, not cold, flowed in the air.

In the silent silence the bell hummed,

The entire bright firmament was ablaze with stars.

The steep-horned moon on the edge of heaven

fell smoothly behind the neighboring forest.

His temple shone with bright lights,

Who met the bishop there without me?

How could he come at such an unexpected hour?

He will find a lot of chaos with us.

I haven’t been to the temple myself for two weeks,

Vladyka must have known somehow,

that I am old, unfit, and cannot serve

and he wants to remove me from the place.

So, walking to the temple, the priest thought.

“Nothing, don’t be afraid, good bishop,”

someone nearby, invisible, was comforting the old man. -

- 19 -

Who in God's field did not know tiredness,

I was happy with little, I never complained,

who was burdened with labor and grief,

He appoints good places for them.”

So he came up, embarrassed,

to the illuminated temple. Where is the Eminence?

It was empty there

Only the candles near the icons burned quietly,

the incense was smoking, and from all sides,

as if alive, the stern faces of saints

they looked at him - there were many of them,

and from the wide open royal gates

the light shone wonderfully, blinding the eye.

And the old man did not dare to go up to the altar,

my heart sank with fear, my mind became numb.

Who is there behind the throne, all bathed in light,

standing with a book in his hand?

And the words burned in that book with fire,

the priest read them: the heart was immediately in him

beat with joy, he now understood

who was the Lord standing in front of him?

It is He who is great, the Bishop himself,

who are burdened with grief people

and those who have suffered heavy, difficult oppression in life

he lovingly calls everyone to him for repose.

Promises the burden to be good and light,

fear, doubt, sorrow, everything is suddenly far away

remained somewhere, in front of him in sight

a new world has opened... Lord, I'm coming!!!

The priest cried out joyfully and loudly...

It's been a white day in the room for a long time now,

the sun shines brightly through the window,

but Father Zakhar didn’t care.

He lay calm, quiet and motionless,

for him this world was already alien.

Bring, Lord, the same for me.

- 20 -

Father Pavel ended this poem with this request.

He rested on Christmas week 1996 - on the night of the celebration of the Nativity of Christ on January 13 - and it was as if he had revealed a secret, invisible to our earthly eyes, in advance in his old notebook...

“Why, I won’t warm your hand!” - how often do I hear these last half-joking, half-prophetic words of the dying old man, now addressed not only to loved ones and acquaintances, but to everyone who is looking for true warm faith. “Where I was born, I was useful there,” Father Pavel used to say, “but when I die, I won’t leave you.” And everyone who loves and remembers O. Paul still feels his close presence. “Now there are such problems both at home and at work, but you go to the priest, pray, everything is resolved. When you live, there is no one to lay your head on, but you don’t want to leave the grave...” So I, giving up everyday activities, go into the manuscript about Father Paul - “to breathe some fresh air”...

“Lord, bring me the same.” If the Lord fulfilled the request of Fr. Paul, even in the fact that it was on Christmas that he took him to the heavenly abodes, it is believed that the whole mystery of the transition from earth to heaven took place “in the same way.”

This is when my holiday will come,

my last and first feast.

My soul will look joyfully

to this abandoned world.

They will wash me and comb my hair

with a caring gentle hand,

and dressed in new clothes,

as a guest on a big holiday.

With loud solemn singing,

with the shine of wax candles,

- 21 -

in deep and important silence

I will meet friends and family.

Friends will bow low to me,

they will approach me without fear,

forehead with an unfeigned kiss

last and first to be mailed.

When is the street noisy?

everyone will go and cry,

dressed in poor brocade,

I will lie quietly.

Let them lower it in triumph

a lifeless corpse to the grave,

that this world is restless to me:

there is no eternal happiness in it.

My second meeting with Fr. Pavel also happened on Christmas days - just before the year of his death. I remember everything as it is now.

In the early days of New Year 1997, the editorial office of the newspaper where I worked received a letter from the village. October Nekouzsky district. A single mother with two children wrote - there is no work, her ex-husband is not helping, we are starving. The editor gave me the task - to go on a business trip. Where is it? - I’ve only been in Yaroslavl for a year. Looking at the map of the region, I was stunned: wilderness, off-road. How to get there, where to stay overnight? They told me to call the Nekouz administration and ask for a car. I contacted the department of social protection of the population - we agreed that we would go to the village of Oktyabr together with the head of social services. department, her name was Lyudmila Dmitrievna.

On the morning of January 9th we set off. In Nekouz we stopped at a store to buy groceries - we couldn’t go empty-handed. And it’s also Christmas! And so I wanted to buy sweets - I picked up both these and those - and then suddenly Lyudmila Dmitrievna said: “In Verkhne-Nikulskoye, Father Pavel treated all the children to sweets.”

- 22 -

Father Pavel? In Verkhne-Nikulskoye? So is it around here somewhere? Near?

It's about ten minutes by car. We baptized his children. He comes out onto the porch, his hands full of sweets, and all the dear ones - “Truffles”, “Bear in the North” - he treats the children, and they just stick to him!

But I wrote about Father Paul, they told me about him at the Resurrection Cathedral. I just didn’t know that Verkhne-Nikulskoye was nearby. One of these days it will be time for Father Pavel, give me a car to go to him - to where the father lived.

This trip to Verkhne-Nikulskoye seemed to magnetize me to Father Pavel... What Christmas!

«... I see a strange and glorious mystery: the sky, the den; throne of the Cherubim, the Virgin; a manger, a container, in which the incontainable Christ God reclines, and we magnify Him with praise...”

On the way, the still silent driver Sasha tells how from time to time the district authorities turned his car “to the priest.” “Let’s go, we need to have a word,” and Sasha takes the local police chief to Father Pavel. “Ah, Vaska has arrived! - the priest shouts. “Well, come in, come in.” And he stands barefoot. “No matter how he comes out, he’s still barefoot, like Nekrasov’s peasant children, his trouser legs are rolled up to his knees, he even walked like that in the snow in thirty-degree frost.”

On this day, namely Friday, January 10, 1997, snow fell in flakes all morning in Nekouz, and as soon as we set off, the sky cleared to a dazzling blue, so that from afar we saw the high domes of the Trinity Church. What a blessed place! The day before, covering tens of kilometers, we made our way under a low leaden sky through some swamps, fir forests, and here there is a hilly expanse, pine trees, river expanse,

- 23 -

covered with a blanket of snow. And the place is so clean that, according to the driver, there are not even mosquitoes in the summer (“It’s not like in our spruce forests, if you go for cranberries, they’ll eat you”). People have long noticed this coniferous-deciduous difference and put together a corresponding proverb, as if about these places: “In a birch forest you have fun, in a pine forest you pray to God, in a spruce forest you hang yourself.” So this is where the priest prayed to God!

Later, when Father Pavel’s notebooks fell into my hands, in which he wrote down akathists and prayers in clear calligraphic handwriting, letter by letter, and each separately, which in Soviet times could not be found even during the day - the priest wrote according to the old spelling - exclusively in ink and with student pens - I remember, having read the extraordinary, filled with amazing poetry, “Akathist Grateful to the Lord God,” I remembered exactly our visit to Verkhne-Nikulskoye. It was as if Father Pavel himself had composed the lines, when reading which that winter landscape in Verkhne-Nikulskoye appeared before my mind’s eye:

« What is my praise before You? I haven't heard the singing of the cherubs- this is the lot of high souls, but I, Lord, how nature praises you, I contemplated in winter how in the lunar silence the whole earth prayed to you, clothed in a white robe and shining with diamonds of snow. I saw how the rising sun rejoiced over You, and the choirs of birds thundered Your glory. I heard how mysteriously the forest rustles about You, the winds sing, the waters gurgle; how the choirs of the heavenly luminaries preach about You: the Sun, the Moon and all the stars of light with their harmonious movement, in the endless heavenly space! What is this praise of mine? Nature is obedient to You, but I am not, but my Lord, Lord, I still live and see Your love and mercy, I dare to pray and cry: Glory to You, who showed us the light.”

- 24 -

“A hard worker,” is the first word the old ladies of Upper Nikulsk say to me about Father Pavel.

“He served for thirty-two years as if it were one day, our father tried everything for the temple! How much property was left after him: iron, glass, nails, and paints. The church was always full of people. Both day and night he served services, and did not refuse anyone. In the middle of his sleep they will wake him up, he will get up and go to the temple. And people came to him! In crowds. The lodge over there used to be packed. Wherever they were coming from! And from Valaam, and from Moscow, and from Ukraine, not to mention the locals. If only I could get advice from my father.”

“He makes jokes through words. He prepares food for the guests, and he himself says: “Cook, the filling is bald, jump up and eat.” He kept remembering how his mother called him “drybanik,” that is, he fought with his hands in everything. Oh, weirdo! I even baked bread with Marya. I worked at a fish station, so he would come with Father Methodius from Shestikhin and, in order to make us laugh, he would wrap up one thing, then another. A steamer came from Rybinsk, climbed to the very top, crossed the “old galosh” from there and shouted to the fishermen: “Well, guys, swim, you won’t drown! Shit doesn’t sink!” Wherever the priest is, there is laughter throughout the whole village.”

“Maybe he was a bit rude in a rural way, but he didn’t offend anyone,” Anatoly Karpovich Musikhin, a surgeon from the Borkovskaya hospital, told me on my first visit to Verkhne-Nikulskoye. He operated on the priest several times, and their friendship lasted for many years. In the house of Fr. He was a regular at Pavel - he would come, put the kettle on, and host. Father told everyone that he was in the camps with “Musin’s father.” Anatoly Karpovich’s father was indeed repressed, but he did not sit in the same camp as his father - this is what is called “camp brotherhood.” What difference does it make - in the same camp or in different...

- 25 -

Everything was amazing that day, and this meeting with Anatoly Karpovich at the Borkovo hospital, where we arrived from Verkhne-Nikulskoye for literally half an hour, also stuck in my memory. The nurse in the emergency room called surgeon Musikhin for us, and a ruddy, cheerful man in a white coat and a doctor’s cap came out. From the first minutes of the conversation, some kind of trust arose - Anatoly Karpovich took it for granted that a correspondent from Yaroslavl came to his hospital during the working day with a request to tell him about Father Pavel.

“A man of rare soul! I had to meet other priests, but he was special... Everyone came to him with their own pain, and he did not ask who and where. Such generosity - he helped everyone...

We met in 1978,” recalls Anatoly Karpovich, “when I arrived here. Father Pavel is deaf, his voice is loud, he shouts: “You have a new doctor here, show him to me.” I look - a man of about sixty, with a beard. He stood up like this: “Well, check me to see if it hurts.” There is a black ribbon over the shoulders - something monastic - a cross. I checked him: “You are healthy.” Two years later he came to us for gallstones, I operated on him. This was in 1980. He performed several operations on him. The last time I operated on a renal hernia, I came in an hour and a half to two hours later - and the patient was not there..."

Even in the difficult days of his illness, Father Pavel did not lose either the liveliness of his character or his sense of humor, so they came to his hospital room with consolation, and “he himself consoled everyone.” “Parishioners walked like they were in a Mausoleum, I had to ask that not everyone be allowed in.”- he writes from the Borkov hospital to his relatives in Tutaev. “Attendance is three hundred percent, but they don’t let me in, the old women roar, and the neighboring priests rejoice.”- this is from another

- 26 -

letters. “Sending greetings! On the 3rd I went to the hospital, on the 5th both surgeons performed the operation- They didn’t put me to sleep, but they numbed me. 7 stitches, half will be removed tomorrow. Every day there are 4 injections: one in a vein and 3 in the f... y, but let them inject, because you can’t sow turnips on f... s...”

Remembering Father Pavel, Anatoly Karpovich and I laugh, then suddenly tears appear in the doctor’s eyes:

In Tutaev he was operated on, a tube was put in... We came to visit him and washed him in the bathroom. And he stood up and sang: “There was a carriage at the church...”.

Eh, Anatoly Karpovich... In three days we will meet in Tutaev at the time of Fr. Pavel on January 13, and on September 9 of the same 1997, Anatoly Karpovich Musikhin will die in his car - an accident... He once told the priest: “I, Father Pavel, will buy myself a car.” “First buy yourself a coffin and put it in the garage, and then a car!” - Father Pavel shouted at him. He loved Anatoly Karpovich very much and called him “Tolyanushko”. They buried the priest's doctor in the cemetery in Verkhne-Nikulskoye next to dear Fr. Paul with the graves of nun Manefa from the Mologa Afanasyevsky Monastery and Baba Yeni (maiden Eugenia, as she is remembered in the church, she lived with Father Paul for several years, until her death - Enyukha, Enyushka, Father Pavel compared her with the blessed Pasha of Sarov).

Father also looked for a plot of land for his resting place next to Manefa and Enyushka - it is very beautiful there, the place is elevated, there is a view of the bay, where the Sutka River flows into the Ilda and both flow into the Volga, and the cemetery willows grow powerful here, there are them in Verkhne-Nikulskoye called locally “bryat”, “bredina”.

“We will bury you, father, at the church,” they suggested to O. Paul when the conversation came up about his final resting place. “So that tractors can drive over me?” - answered the father

- 27 -

Paul. “And he turned out to be right,” says the rector of the Trinity Church now (he is the third priest after Father Paul, and the Trinity Church is being repaired, and tractors actually drive by the church itself...). The priest found his resting place next to his relatives, his father and mother, at Tutaev’s Leontievsky cemetery, and his beloved Anatoly Karpovich rests not far from the place the priest had chosen for himself. May he rest in peace, and may his soul rest in eternal peace in the heavenly abodes...

That day, January 10, 1997, still seems to me like a Christmas miracle: the dazzling shine of the sun and snow, flowing air currents over the winter expanse, a white church in white snow, a white priest’s house... “Father Paul is a mystery,” they say now in Verkhne-Nikulsky. Where are the origins of this riddle and the roots of this secret? Is it not in an ancient land that went under the waters of the man-made Rybinsk Sea, on the shores of which for almost thirty years and three years he offered prayers to God, acted like a fool, joked and laughed, planted a garden and went mushroom picking, a Mologa settler, a former prisoner of Vyatlag, “a seasoned prisoner and monk” experienced,” as Father Pavel said about himself?

The name of the Yaroslavl elder Archimandrite Paul (Gruzdev) is revered on Valaam and Mount Athos, in Moscow and St. Petersburg, in Ukraine and Siberia. During his lifetime, Father Pavel was glorified by many gifts. The Lord heard his prayers and responded to them. This righteous man lived a mighty life with God and with the people, sharing all the trials that befell Russia in the 20th century.

The small homeland of Pavel Gruzdev - the county town of Mologa - was flooded by the waters of the Rybinsk man-made sea, and the Mologa exile became a migrant, and then a camp inmate, having served a sentence for his faith for eleven years. And again he returned to the Mologa land - more precisely, what was left of it after the flooding - and served here as a priest in the village of Verkhne-Nikulskoye for almost thirty years and three years...

Among all the gifts of Archimandrite Paul, his gift as a storyteller is remarkable: he seemed to heal his interlocutor with the life-giving power of his word. Everyone who communicated with the priest, who listened to his stories, recalls with one voice that they left Father Pavel “as if on wings,” their inner world was so joyfully transformed. We hope that readers of Father’s stories will feel that joyful spiritual power in communication with the Yaroslavl elder. As Father Pavel said: “If I die, I will not leave you.”

MONASTERY HONEY

So they came to the abbess to bow. “There’s a thump at your feet!” the priest said. “The abbess said: “So what to do, Pavelko! There are a lot of chickens, hens, let him watch so that the crows don’t take them away.”

This is how it began for Fr. Paul's monastic obedience.

“They grazed chickens, then grazed cows and horses,” he recalled. “Five hundred acres of land! Oh, how they lived...

Then - he, that is, I, Pavelka, has nothing to do - we need to accustom him to the altar! He began to walk to the altar, serve the censer, blow the censer..."

“They worked hard in the monastery,” the priest recalled. In the field, in the garden, in the barnyard, they sowed, harvested, mowed, dug - constantly in the fresh air. And the people were mostly young; they were hungry all the time. And so Pavelka figured out how to feed the novice sisters with honey:

“At that time I was five or seven years old, no more. We had just started pumping honey in the monastery apiary, and right there I was collecting honey on the monastery horse. Only the abbess was in charge of the honey in the monastery, and she kept records of the honey. OK!

But I want honey, and my sisters want it too, but there is no blessing.

We are not ordered to eat honey.

Mother Abbess, bless the honey!

It’s not allowed, Pavlusha,” she answers.

Okay, I agree, as you wish, your will.

And I run to the barnyard, a plan is brewing in my head on how to get honey. I grab the larger rat from the trap and take it to the glacier where the honey is stored. Wait, infection, and immediately take her there.

I smeared the rat with honey with a rag, and I say:

Mother! Mother! - and honey flows from the rat, I hold it by the tail:

She drowned in a barrel!

And I shout that you! The rat had never even seen a barrel of honey. And for everyone the honey is desecrated, everyone is terrified - the rat has drowned!

Take that barrel, Pavelka, and there it is! - the abbess orders. - Just so that he is not close to the monastery!

Fine! That's what I need. Come on, take it! He took it away and hid it somewhere...

Sunday came, go to confession... And the archpriest, Fr. Nikolai (Rozin), he died a long time ago and was buried in Mologa.

Father Nikolai, father! - I begin with tears in my eyes. - Ashamed! So, they say, and so, I stole a barrel of honey. But he wasn’t thinking about himself, he felt sorry for his sisters, he wanted to treat them...

Yes, Pavlusha, your sin is great, but the fact that you cared not only about yourself, but also about your sisters, softens your guilt... - And then he quietly whispers in my ear: “But if I, son , one can, pour another... The Lord, seeing your kindness and repentance, will forgive your sin! Just, look, don’t say a word about it to anyone, but I will pray for you, my child.”

Yes, Lord, yes, Merciful, Glory to You! How easy it is! I’m running, bringing a jar of honey to the archpriest. He took it to his house and gave it to him. Glory to Thee, Lord! A great weight off one's mind".

This story with the monastery honey has already become a folk legend, which is why it is told in different ways. Some say that it was not a rat, but a mouse. Others add that this mouse was caught by the monastery cat Zephyr, or in common parlance - Zifa. Still others claim that Pavelka promised the abbot to pray “for the foul-eaters” when he became a priest... But we convey this story as the priest himself told it, and not a word more!

"...TO THE STAR OF THE CHILD AND THE KING OF KINGS"

Pavelka really loved going to carols on Christmas and Christmastide. They walked around the monastery like this - first to the abbess, then to the treasurer, then to the dean and to everyone in order. And he also goes to the abbess: “Can I sing carols?”

Mother Abbess! - the cell attendant shouts. - Here Pavelko came, he will praise.

“It’s me, Pavelko, about six years old at that time,” the priest said. “They won’t let her into her cell, so I’m standing in the hallway. I hear the voice of the abbess from the cell: “Okay, let him praise!” Then I begin:

Praise, praise,

you know about it yourself.

I'm little Pavelko,

I don’t know how to praise

but I don’t dare ask.

Mother Abbess,

give me a nickel!

If you don’t give me a nickel, I’ll leave anyway.

Wow! And the tsolkovy one, do you know which one? Do not you know! Silver and two heads on it - Emperor Nikolai Alexandrovich and Tsar Mikhail Feodorovich, there were such commemorative silver rubles then. God bless! And then I go to the treasurer - the whole procedure is like this... The treasurer was Poplius's mother. He’ll give me fifty kopecks and some candy to boot.”

“Oh, you were cunning, Father Pavel,” his cell attendant Marya Petrovna interrupts the priest. - No, go to a simple nun! And all to the abbess, treasurer!

The simple ones themselves... you know, Marusya, why! You can’t beg Tsolkov from them, even though you scream all day long,” Father Pavel laughs it off and continues his story:

"From the treasurer to the dean. He sits at the table in a white apostolic coat, drinks tea.

Mother Sebastian! - the cell attendant shouts to her. - Pavelko came, he wants to glorify Christ.

She, without turning her head, says: “There’s a little patch on the table, give it to him and let him go.”

Go away,” the cell attendant was alarmed. - Mother Dean is dissatisfied.

And now, more for the dean’s sake than for me, he is indignant: “Look, how much dirt you caused, how much dirt! The rugs are so clean and washed! Go away!”

He turned around and didn’t even take the coin from her. Okay, I think... Once you die, I won’t worry about you! And I won’t go ring the bell, so you know, Mother Sebastiana! And tears are running down my cheeks... They offended me."

Ringing the bell was also little Pavelka’s obedience. As the priest said: “My labor income is in the monastery.” “For example, a nun with robes dies,” says Father Pavel. “The coffin nun immediately comes - Faina was so crooked - to hide the body of the deceased, and we go with her to the bell tower. It’s one o’clock in the morning or one o’clock in the afternoon, wind, snow or rain with thunderstorm: "Pavelko, let's go." We climb the bell tower, at night the stars and the moon are close, and during the day the earth is far, far away, Mologa lies on the palm of your hand, all, like necklaces, entwined with rivers around. In the summer - barge haulers drag barges along Mologa from the Volga , in winter - everything is white, in spring, during high water, you can’t see the river beds, only the endless sea... Grobovaya Faina ties a manteika around the tongue of the bell, the one that weighs 390 poods. and I am with her - boom! According to monastic custom, no matter what obedience someone is in, everyone must make three bows for the newly deceased. You milk a cow or ride a horse, you are a prince or a priest - make three bows to the ground! All Rus' This is how I lived - in fear of God...

And this manteika hangs on the tongue of the bell until the fortieth day, where only shreds will remain from rain, snow or wind. On the fortieth day, these scraps will be collected - and for the grave. They will serve a memorial service and bury that manteika in the ground. This only concerned the robed nuns, and everyone else was buried as usual. And for that - Pavelko sits on the bell tower all night and day - they will pay me a ruble. Thank God they didn’t die often.”

"I WAS HUNGRY, AND YOU FEED ME"

On May 13, 1941, Pavel Aleksandrovich Gruzdev was arrested in the case of Archbishop Varlaam Ryashentsev.

The camp where Father Pavel served his sentence for six years was located at the address: Kirov region, Kaysky district, Volosnitsa village. The Vyatka forced labor camps were engaged in collecting firewood for the Perm railway, and to prisoner No. 513, Fr. Pavel - was assigned to maintain the railway line along which timber was transported from the taiga from the logging site. As a narrow-gauge railway lineman, he was allowed to move around the taiga on his own, without a guard behind him, he could go into and out of the zone at any time, and turn into a free settlement along the way. Non-conflict is an advantage that was greatly valued in the zone. And it was wartime, the same time about which they say that of the seven camp eras, the most terrible is war: “Whoever did not sit in the war did not even taste the camp.” Since the beginning of the war, the already impossibly meager camp rations have been cut, and the products themselves have deteriorated every year: bread - raw black clay, “chernyashka”; vegetables were replaced with fodder turnips, beet tops, and all kinds of garbage; instead of cereals - vetch, bran.

Many people were saved by Fr. Pavel is in the camp from starvation. While the brigade of prisoners was led to the place of work by two shooters, in the morning and in the evening - the names of the shooters were Zhemchugov and Pukhtyaev, Fr. Pavel remembered that prisoner No. 513 had a pass for free exit and entry into the zone: “I want to go into the forest, but I want to go along the forest... But more often in the forest, I take a pestle woven from twigs into my hands and go for berries. At first I took strawberries , then cloudberries and lingonberries, and then mushrooms! Okay. Guys, the forest is nearby! Merciful Lord, glory to You!"

What was it possible to carry through the entrance to the camp, Fr. Pavel exchanged bread for bread in the medical unit and fed his comrades in the barracks who were weak from hunger. And they had a barrack - entirely Article 58: monks, Germans from the Volga region, intelligentsia. Met Fr. Pavel in the camps to the elder from the Tutaevsky Cathedral, he died in his arms.

I stocked up for the winter. He chopped rowan trees and put them in stacks. They will then be covered with snow and used all winter. He salted mushrooms in makeshift pits: he would dig them up, coat them inside with clay, throw brushwood in there, and light a fire. The pit becomes like an earthenware jug or a large bowl. He will dump a pit full of mushrooms, get salt somewhere on the tracks, sprinkle the mushrooms with salt, then crush them with branches. “And so,” he says, “I carry it through the entrance - a bucket to the guards, two buckets to the camp.”

Once in the taiga I met Fr. Pavel the bear: “I’m eating raspberries, and someone is pushing. I looked - a bear. I don’t remember how I got to the camp.” Another time they almost shot him while he was sleeping, mistaking him for an escaped prisoner. “I once picked a whole pestel of berries,” the priest said. “There were a lot of strawberries then, so I picked a mountain of them. And at the same time I was tired - either I was walking from the night, or something else - I don’t remember now. I walked and walked towards the camp, and lay down on the grass. My documents, as expected, are with me, but what documents? A pass to work. I lay down, which means I’m sleeping - and it’s so sweet, so good in the forest in the lap of nature, and the pestle with these strawberries in my head. Suddenly I heard someone throwing pine cones at me - right in my face. I crossed myself, opened my eyes, and looked - a shooter!

Ahh! Escaped?..

Citizen chief, no, he didn’t run away, I answer.

Do you have a document? - asks.

“I have it, citizen boss,” I tell him and take out the document. It was always in my shirt, in a sewn-up pocket, right here on my chest, near my heart. He looked and looked at the document this way and that.

Okay, he says, free!

Citizen Chief, eat some strawberries,” I suggest to him.

Okay, go ahead,” the shooter agreed.

I put the rifle on the grass... My dears, it was difficult to gather strawberries for the sick in the camp, but he ate half of them. Well, God bless him!"

"I WAS SICK AND YOU VISITED ME"

In the medical unit where Pavel Gruzdev exchanged berries for bread, two doctors worked, both from the Baltic states - Doctor Berne, a Latvian, and Doctor Chamans. They will be given instructions, an order for the medical unit: “Tomorrow is a busy working day in the camp” - Christmas, for example, or Easter. On these bright Christian holidays, prisoners were forced to work even harder - they were “re-educated” with shock labor. And they warn the doctors, fellow prisoners: “Don’t release more than fifteen people throughout the camp!” And if the doctor does not comply with the order, he will be punished - they may even add time. And Dr. Berne will release thirty people from work and he will carry the list to his watch...

“You can hear: “Who?!” said Father Pavel. “Mother, who, fascist faces, wrote the list?”

They call him, our doctor, bent over as it should be:

“Tomorrow you yourself will go to give three norms for your arbitrariness!”

OK! Fine!

So I’ll tell you, my dear guys. I don’t understand physical human beauty, but I understand spiritual beauty, but here I understand! He went out on shift with the workers, went out with everyone... Oh, handsome, crazy handsome and without a hat! He stands without a headdress and with a saw... I think to myself: “Mother of God, yes to the Lady, Quick to Hear! Send him everything for his simplicity and patience!” Of course, we took care of him and took him away from work that day. They built a fire for him and sat him next to him. The shooter was bribed: “Here you go! Shut up, you pest!”

So the doctor sat by the fire, warmed himself and did not work. If he is alive, God grant him good health, and if he is dead, Lord! Send him the Kingdom of Heaven, according to Your covenant: “I was sick, and you visited Me!”

FOREST LITURGY

Different streams of people poured into the camps in different years - now the dispossessed, now the cosmopolitans, now the party elite cut down by the next blow of an ax, now the scientific and creative intelligentsia, who ideologically did not please the Master - but always and in any year there was a single general flow of believers - “what- then a silent religious procession with invisible candles. As if from a machine gun, they fall among them - and the next ones step in, and go again. Firmness, unseen in the 20th century! " These are lines from "The Gulag Archipelago".

As if in the first Christian centuries, when worship was often performed in the open air, Orthodox Christians now prayed in the forest, in the mountains, in the desert and by the sea.

In the Ural taiga, prisoners of the Vyatka forced labor camps also served the Liturgy.

There were two bishops, several archimandrites, abbots, hieromonks and just monks. And how many believing women there were in the camp, all of whom were dubbed “nuns,” lumping together both illiterate peasant women and abbesses of various monasteries. According to Father Pavel, “there was a whole diocese there!” When it was possible to reach an agreement with the head of the second unit, which was in charge of passes, the “camp diocese” went out into the forest and began worship in a forest clearing. For the sacrament cup, juice was prepared from various berries, blueberries, strawberries, blackberries, lingonberries - whatever God would send, the throne was a stump, the towel served as a sakos, a censer was made from a tin can. And the bishop, dressed in prisoner’s rags, “having divided My garments for myself and cast lots for My clothes...” - stood before the forest throne as the Lord’s, and all those praying helped him.

“Receive the Body of Christ, taste the immortal source,” sang the choir of prisoners in a forest clearing... How everyone prayed, how they cried - not from grief, but from the joy of prayer...

During the last service (something happened at the camp, someone was being transferred somewhere), lightning struck the stump that served as the throne - so that it would not be desecrated later. He disappeared, and in his place appeared a funnel full of clean, transparent water. The guard, who saw everything with his own eyes, turned white with fear and said: “Well, you are all saints here!”

There were cases when some of the rifle guards took communion in the forest along with the prisoners.

The Great Patriotic War was going on, which began on Sunday June 22, 1941 - on the Day of All Saints, who shone in the Russian land, and prevented the implementation of the state plan of the “godless five-year plan”, according to which not a single church should remain in Russia. What helped Russia to survive and preserve the Orthodox faith - wasn’t it the prayers and righteous blood of millions of prisoners - the best Christians in Russia?

Tall pines, grass in the clearing, the cherubic throne, the sky... Zekov's communion bowl with juice from wild berries:

"...I believe, Lord, that this is Your most pure Body and this is Your honorable blood... which is shed for us and for many for the remission of sins..."

THE HAPPIEST DAY

Much has been written in the 20th century about the horrors and suffering of the camps. Archimandrite Pavel, shortly before his death, in the 90s of our (already past) century, admitted:

“My dear ones, it was the happiest day of my life. Listen.

Once they brought girls to our camps. They are all young, probably not even twenty. They were called "Benderovkas". Among them there is one beauty - her braid goes down to her toes and she is at most sixteen years old. And so she roars like that, cries like that... “How sad it is for her,” I think, “for this girl, that she’s dying like that, crying like that.”

I came closer and asked... And there were about two hundred prisoners gathered here, both our camp prisoners and those from the prison camp. “Why is the girl crying so much?” Someone answers me, one of their new arrivals: “We traveled for three days, they didn’t give us bread on the way, they had some kind of overspending. So they arrived, they paid us for everything at once, they gave us the bread. But she saved it, not she ate - it was a day of fasting, or something. And this ration, which for three days - was stolen, snatched from her somehow. She hadn’t eaten for three days, now they would have shared it with her, but We don’t have any bread, we’ve already eaten everything.”

And in my barracks I had a stash - not a stash, but a ration for today - a loaf of bread! I ran to the barracks... And I received eight hundred grams of bread as a worker. What kind of bread, you know, but still bread. I take this bread and run back. I bring this bread to the girl and give it to me, and she says to me: “Hi, no need! I don’t sell my honor for bread!” And I didn’t take the bread, fathers! My dear, dear ones! Yes Lord! I don’t know what kind of honor is such that a person is ready to die for it? I didn’t know before, but that day I found out that this is called a maiden’s honor!

I put this piece under her arm and ran out of the zone, into the forest! I climbed into the bushes, got down on my knees... and my tears were such joyful ones, no, not bitter ones. And I think the Lord will say:

I was hungry, and you, Pavlukha, fed Me.

When, Lord?

Yes, that girl is a Bendera girl. Then you fed Me! This was and is the happiest day of my life, and I’ve already lived a long time.”

DIED "ETERNALLY LIVING"

So, day after day, month after month, the 53rd year came. “I come home from work,” recalled Father Pavel, “and my grandfather says to me:

Son, Stalin is dead!

Grandfather, be quiet. He is forever alive. Both you and I will be imprisoned. Tomorrow morning I have to go to work again, and they broadcast on the radio, warning me that when Stalin’s funeral takes place, “everyone will beeping like a whistle! Stop work - stand and freeze where the whistle found you for a minute or two...” And with me in exile was Ivan from Vetluga, his last name was Lebedev. Oh, what a good man, a jack of all trades! Well, whatever he picks up, he does it all with these hands. Ivan and I worked on camels then. He has a camel, I have a camel. And on these camels we ride across the steppe. Suddenly the horns started blaring! The camel needs to be stopped, but Ivan beats him hard and scolds him. And the camel runs across the steppe and doesn’t know that Stalin is dead!”

This is how Stalin was seen off on his last journey by the cassipole Pavel Gruzdev from flooded Mologa and the jack-of-all-trades from the ancient town of Vetluga Ivan Lebedev. “And after Stalin’s funeral we were silent - we didn’t see anyone, we didn’t hear anything.”

And now it’s night again, about one in the morning. Knocking on the gate:

Is Gruzdev here?

Well, night visitors are commonplace. Father Pavel always has a bag of crackers ready. It turns out:

Get ready, buddy! Come with us!

“Grandfather is roaring, grandmother is roaring... - Son! They have already gotten used to me for so many years,” said Father Pavel. “Well, I think I’ve waited! They’ll take me to Solovki! I wanted everything to go to Solovki.. No! Not to Solovki.” . I took the crackers, I took the rosary - in a word, I took everything. Lord! Let's go. I see, no, they are not taking us to the station, but to the commandant's office. I go in. We are not allowed to say hello, they only greet real people, and we are prisoners, "fascist face ". What can you do? Okay. I walked in, my hands like this, behind my back, as it should be - after eleven years I’ve gotten used to it, I’ve gained experience. You’re standing in front of them, let alone talking - breathing, blinking your eyes, and you’re afraid.

Comrade Gruzdev!

Well, I think it's the end of the world. Everyone is a “fascist face”, but here is a comrade.

Sit down, feel free, - that means they invite me.

Okay, thank you, but I’ll wait, citizen boss.

No, have a seat!

My pants are dirty, I'll get them dirty.

Sit down!

Still, I sat down as they said.

Comrade Gruzdev, why are you serving your sentence?

So he’s probably a fascist? - I answer.

No, don't prevaricate, you're serious.

I don’t know for sure. Here you have the documents for me, you know better.

It was a mistake,” he says.

Glory to You, Lord! Now they will take me to Solovki, probably by mistake... I really wanted to go to Solovki, to worship the holy places. But then I listen.

- Comrade Gruzdev, here is a certificate for you, you suffered innocently. Cult of personality. Tomorrow go to the police with a certificate. Based on this paper, you will be issued a passport. And we are secretly warning you... If anyone calls you a fascist or anything else similar, you, Comrade Gruzdev, report to us! We will bring that citizen to justice for this. Here's our address.

Oh oh oh! - He waved his hands. - I won’t, I won’t, citizen boss, God forbid, I won’t. I don't know how, dear...

God! And as I began to speak, the light bulb above me was white and white, then green, blue, and finally became pink... I woke up some time later, with cotton wool on my nose. I feel someone holding my hand and saying: “I’ve come to my senses!”

They did something to me, some kind of injection, something else... Thank God, I got up and began to apologize. "Oh, sorry, oh, sorry." Just, I think, let me go. After all, I'm a prisoner, it's awkward for me...

Okay, okay,” the boss reassured. - Now go!

What about eleven years old?

No, Comrade Gruzdev, no!

They just gave me an injection below my waist as a souvenir... I drowned." It took two days to get my passport - "I still have it alive now," as Father Pavel said. On the third day, Gruzdev went to work. And as a foreman They had such a comrade Mironets - he did not accept Orthodox Christians and was himself of a very evil disposition. The girls from the brigade sang about him: “Don’t go to that end, Mironets will beat you up!”

Yeah! - Comrade Mironets shouts, just seeing Gruzdev. - Hanging around, praying with the nuns!

Yes, swearing on what the light covers.

Your priestly face! You go again! There, in the Yaroslavl region, you did harm, you bastard, you organized sabotage, and here you do harm, you damned fascist! You're ruining our plan, saboteur!

No, citizen boss, I didn’t wander around,” Gruzdev answers calmly. - Here is the supporting document, but I need to see the director of the Regional Construction Office, excuse me.

Why do you need a director, you fool? - Comrade Mironets was surprised.

Everything is stated there on the paper.

The foreman read the paper:

Pavlusha!..

So much for Pavlusha, thinks Gruzdev.

The conversation in the director's office turned out to be completely discouraging.

A! Comrade Gruzdev, dear! Sit down, don’t stand, here’s a chair prepared for you,” the director of “Comrade Gruzdev”, already aware of his affairs, greeted him like the best guest. - I know, Pavel Alexandrovich, I know everything. We got an error.

While the director is crumbling into small beads, Gruzdev is silent and says nothing. What can you say?

“We are renting out a residential building in a day or two,” continues the director of the Regional Construction Office, “there is also a contribution from your Stakhanovist work. The house is new, multi-apartment. There is an apartment for you too, dear Pavel Alexandrovich. We have taken a closer look at you over the years, and we see that you are an honest and decent citizen. The only problem is that he is a believer, but you can close your eyes to that.

What am I going to do in your house? - Gruzdev is surprised at the director’s strange words, and he himself thinks: “Where is all this going?”

You need to get married, Comrade Gruzdev, have a family, children, and work! - The director happily concludes, pleased with his proposal.

How to get married? - Pavel was taken aback. - After all, I am a monk!

So what! Start a family, kids, and remain a monk... Who is against that? Just live and work!

No, citizen boss, thank you for your fatherly participation, but I can’t,” Pavel Gruzdev thanked the director and, upset, returned to his place on Krupskaya Street. They won't release it from production! No matter what you say, I’m eager to go home... Daddy and mom, sisters - Olka and the punks, Tanya, Leshka, Sanka Fokan... Pavlusha writes a letter home: “Daddy! Mom! I’m no longer a prisoner. It was a mistake. not a fascist, but a Russian man."

“Son!” Alexander Ivanovich Gruzdev answers him. “We never had a thief in our family, nor did we have a robber. And you are not a thief or a robber. Come, son, bury our bones.”

Pavel Gruzdev goes again to the director of the Regional Construction Office:

Citizen boss, I should go to my aunt and mother, because the old ones can die without waiting!

Pavlusha, you need a challenge to go! - the boss answers. “And I don’t have the right to let you go without a summons.”

Pavel Gruzdev writes to his relatives in Tutaev - so, they say, and so, they won’t let you in without a call. And his sister Tatyana, married to Yudina, worked as a paramedic-obstetrician all her life. She was on duty one night at the hospital. The Lord inspired it in her: she mechanically opened the desk drawer, and there was a stamp and hospital forms. Sends a telegram: “Northern Kazakhstan, city of Petropavlovsk, Regional Industrial Construction Office, to the boss. We ask you to urgently send Pavel Gruzdev, his mother is dying after a difficult birth, she gave birth to twins.”

And the mother is already seventy years old! When Pavlusha found out, he thought: “I’ve gone crazy! Or Tanka is playing tricks on something!” But they call him to the authorities:

Comrade Gruzdev, get ready to hit the road immediately! We know everything about you. On the one hand, we are happy, but on the other hand, we mourn. Maybe I can help you with something? Maybe you need a nanny?

No, citizen boss,” Pavel replies. - Thank you very much, but I’ll go without a nanny.

“As you wish,” the director agreed.

“Now you can joke,” the priest recalled this incident. “But then I had no time for laughter. In this age, you’ll spin, both on your back and on your side!”

"LET YOUR DASH GET HEALTHY!"

“Great was his prayer,” they say about Father Paul. “Great was his blessing. True miracles.”

“At the service itself, he stood like some kind of spiritual pillar,” they remember the priest. “He prayed with all his soul, like a giant, this small man, and everyone was present as if on wings at his prayer. That’s how it was - from the very heart.” Voice loud, strong. Sometimes, when he performed the sacrament of communion, he asked the Lord in a simple way, like his father: “Lord, help Seryozhka there, something is wrong with his family...” Right at the throne - help this one, and that one.. "During prayer, he listed everyone as a souvenir, and his memory, of course, was excellent."

“Dasha, my granddaughter, was born to us,” says one woman. “And my daughter, when she was pregnant, celebrated her birthday on the Assumption Fast with drinking and partying. I tell her: “Fear God, you’re pregnant.” And when the child was born, they determined that he had a heart murmur, very serious - there was a hole in the breathing valve. And the girl was suffocating. Even during the day, back and forth, she cries, and at night she generally suffocates. The doctors said that if she lives to be two and a half years old , we will perform the operation in Moscow at the institute. Previously it was impossible.

And so I kept running to Father Pavel: “Father, pray!” But he didn’t say anything. When I come, I’ll say it, and he won’t say anything. Dasha lived for 2.5 years. They send us a call for an operation. I run to my father. “Father, what should I do? I received a call for an operation, should I go or not? And he said: “Give communion and go.” So they went. They are there in the hospital, and I’m crying, and I keep running to Father: “Father, pray! “And then he says to me so angrily: “May your Dasha get well!” And thank God, Dasha recovered through his prayers.”

“The Lord heard Father Paul’s prayer faster than others,” recalls one priest. “Whoever comes to him, who is in pain, the priest will simply knock on the back or pat his ear: “Okay, that’s it, you’ll be healthy, don’t worry.” “But he himself will go to the altar and pray for a person. The Lord will hear his prayer and help this person. Of course, I can’t say clearly - he was limping, went up to Father Paul and immediately jumped up and down.

It's not always obvious. The man grieved and grieved, but he prayed to Paul, confessed, took communion, communicated, asked for his prayers, and so everything gradually eased. A week will pass, and he is already healthy." "Prayer works everywhere, although it does not always work miracles," - written in Father Paul's notebooks. "You must get up to pray hastily, like a fire, and especially for monks." "Lord! Through the prayers of the righteous, have mercy on sinners."

IS IT EASY TO BE A NOBICE?

A lot of clergy were cared for by Fr. Pavel, and over the years more and more, so that Verkhne-Nikulskoye formed its own “forge of personnel,” or “Academy of Fools,” as Fr. joked. Paul. And this was a real spiritual Academy, in comparison with which the capital’s Academies paled. The spiritual lessons of Archimandrite Paul were simple and memorable for life.

“Once I thought, I could be such a novice that I could unquestioningly fulfill all my obediences,” says the priest’s pupil, a priest. “Well, I probably could! Whatever the priest says, I would do it. I’m coming.” to him - and he, as you know, often responded to thoughts with an action or some kind of story. He, as usual, sits me down at the table, and immediately Marya begins to warm up something.

He brings cabbage soup and pours it. The cabbage soup was surprisingly tasteless. From some kind of concentrate - and I just took communion - and lard floats on top. And a huge plate. I ate it with great difficulty. "Come on, come on again!" And rushes with the rest in the pan - he poured it all out for me - eat, finish! I thought I was going to throw up. And I confessed with my own lips: “I cannot fulfill such obedience, father!” So he exposed me.

Father Paul knew how to make a person feel a spiritual state - joy, humility... “One day on the eve of the “Worthy” - he had a lot of clergy - he said to me: “Father, today you will be a sacristan!” - recalls one of the priests. - “Here this robe is the most beautiful, put it on, and give it to others." And, probably, I still had some kind of vanity: “Look, what a beautiful robe!” And literally a few minutes later - Father Pavel was at home, and I was in church, he somehow felt my condition - he flies - “Come on, take off your chasuble!” And Father Arkady came from Moscow, came to us, “Give it to Father Arkady!”

It hit me like lightning from head to toe - I was so resigned. And in this state I felt like I was in heaven - in some kind of awe, in the joyful presence of something important, i.e. he made me understand what humility is. I put on the oldest robe, but I was the happiest during this service."

Archimandrite Pavel Gruzdev is one of the most venerable elders of the Russian Orthodox Church. This man's life was not easy and full of complex problems. However, my father never stopped hoping in God and believing in human kindness.

Childhood in a monastery

The monk was born to a simple village couple. The exact birthday is not known. Some sources say that the real date is August 3, 1911, others call January 1910. However, the man himself celebrated his name day on the day of memory of Pavel Obnorsky, after whom he was named. Now the priest’s birthday is considered to be January 23, 1910.

His family was very poor. In addition to the boy, the parents also raised two smaller girls. My father worked in a butcher shop, so they somehow survived. However, in 1914, the breadwinner was drafted into the army, and he spent many years in the First World War.

Mom did not have anything to feed the children, so little Pavel Gruzdev and his sister begged. They went from house to house and asked for food. Good and poor peasants helped in any way they could: potatoes, bread, vegetables. So the kids came to the Afanasyevsky Monastery. They were recognized by their relatives, who served as nuns there. The women decided that they could take care of the children, so they took them in with them. Thus, the future father Pavel became acquainted with spiritual life.

The path of the righteous

The boy did not idle within the walls of the monastery. In winter he carried firewood to the stove, and in summer he tended cattle and weeded vegetable gardens. He really liked peace, prayers and services. Later he began working as an altar boy. So, within the monastery walls, my childhood passed well and happily.

In 1928, the guy was supposed to be drafted into the army. However, the commission decided that the young man was mentally ill.

Hard times have come. Temples were burned, shrines were looted, and believers were persecuted. The Afanasyevsky Monastery was closed. Therefore, Pavel Gruzdev moved to Novgorod, namely to the Khutyn monastery. However, the man worked in shipbuilding. In his free time, he prayed, helped the sanctuary and kept order.

However, in 1932 this monastery was closed by the authorities. Pavel found shelter in his home. For some time he worked in the cattle yard. And when the territory of their village fell under the reservoir basin, they dismantled the house and transported it along the river to Tutaev.

To prison for faith

They first wanted to deprive the priest of his freedom back in 1938. However, at that time there was no evidence of his guilt. In the new place, the layman continued to go to church and even sang in the choir. He lived at this point with his family until 1941. On May 13, he and a dozen other people were arrested as “socially dangerous elements.” So, Pavel Gruzdev ended up in Yaroslavl prison. If not for these circumstances, perhaps the Christian would have ended up at the front.

The righteous man did not hide his faith, so he was beaten more than once for his Orthodoxy. Then the man had almost all his teeth knocked out and his eyesight ruined. 15 people were kept in a small cell, where there was not even enough air for everyone. Some of his comrades were shot, and Father Pavel was sentenced to 6 years in prison.

The conditions there were terrible: cold, cramped, without proper food. The good layman was mocked by both the guards and other prisoners. He was called a "holy man." Once they tied him to a tree for the night in winter. After this incident, the priest walked without problems. And one day before Christmas, a man asked for a day off to pray for the holiday, promising that he would work overtime later. For such a request, the prison authorities beat him so badly that he lay there for several weeks, fighting for his life.

kind soul

Despite the terrible accusations, the guards knew that the good-natured father Pavel Gruzdev was not capable of meanness and escape. He was appointed as a railway lineman. Father never tired of helping people in prison. I walked towards the tracks through the forest. In the summer I picked buckets of berries there, and mushrooms in the fall. He shared the loot with both prisoners and guards. During the war years, food supply was especially tight, so forest gifts saved more than one life.

One day he was late from work and did not find evening bread in his cell. It was useless to ask for an additional piece. Tired and hungry, he continued to work. And once on my section of the tracks I saw horses hit by a train. It turned out that the shepherd fell asleep from fatigue, and the animals ran away. When the father came to the culprit, he had just put a noose around his neck.

The father pulled the shepherd almost from the other world. Later, the unsuccessful suicide was to be tried as a supporter of the Germans who tried to sabotage the railway. However, the wise old man Pavel Gruzdev stood up for the poor man. Shepherd was acquitted and given a suspended sentence of 5 years. After this incident, my father found an extra piece of bread under his pillow almost every evening.

New hard labor

After the end of the war, the priest was released. At home he continued to live his life. However, he did not enjoy freedom for long. In 1949, the man was again convicted as a criminal dangerous to the system. This time he was exiled to Kazakhstan as a free migrant.

For several weeks the man traveled in a cramped carriage to a new place. And upon arrival there it turned out that he and two other priests were not on the list of criminals. The authorities said that they did not need these people, but to avoid misunderstandings, they advised me to go to the local police. Three men spent the night in the forest. And in the morning Pavel Gruzdev saw the church. The priests immediately went to the temple, lit candles there, and gave all the money they had left to alms. People approached the new arrivals and asked where they were from. When the locals learned the history of the Orthodox, they fed them and gave them shelter.

Life of a priest

Father Pavel settled with a married couple, where they accepted him as a son. He worked as a builder and helped his grandparents with housework.

In 1954, the man was acquitted. However, the couple with whom he lived loved him so much that they did not want to let him go. Pavel said that he was going to visit relatives. But he immediately knew that he would not return to Kazakhstan.

Subsequently, the man was tonsured as a monk and given rank. His kindness and sincerity were known far beyond his flock. People came from all over the area to listen to the sermon of the wise old man.

In 1983 he became an archimandrite. A decade later, the eye disease made itself felt. He left the service, but continued to help with good advice to everyone who asked. During his entire life, the priest did not accumulate anything, he dressed poorly, and ate simply.

Life ended on January 13, 1996. The grave of Archimandrite Pavel Gruzdev is located near his parents’ graves, in the city of Tutaev.

Even today, priests come to the grave for help. And his instructive stories, which were recorded by supporters, still touch and make you believe in the power of the Lord.