The Gospel of Great Lent
Lent is an absolutely unique period in the church year. Every day, every service is filled with a special meaning. The most important place is occupied by the gospel readings of the Sunday days of fasting and preparatory weeks. We asked different people to read these evangelical passages and tell us how they understand them and what they personally take out for themselves, under the heading "Gospels of the Great Lent." The gospel of the second week of Lent was read together with "Thomas" by the poet Anna Logvinova.
In., 36 inv., X, 9-16.
9 I am the door: he that entereth in me shall be saved; and he shall come in, and go out, and find pasture.
10 The thief comes only to steal, kill and destroy. I came that they might have life, and that they might have it abundantly.
11 I am the good shepherd: the good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep.
12 But the hireling, not the shepherd, to whom the sheep are not his own, sees the coming wolf, and leaves the sheep, and runs; and the wolf plunderes the sheep, and disperses them.
13 And the mercenary is running, because he is a mercenary, and not radiant about the sheep.
14 I am the good shepherd; And I know mine, and they know me.
15 As the Father knows Me, so I know the Father; And I lay down my life for the sheep.
16 I have other sheep that are not of this court, and they must lead me: and they will hear my voice, and there will be one flock and one shepherd.
In Scotland, on some hills, you can see painted lambs - orange, lilac, pink, they are not completely painted, about half of one side. Of course, this is in order to immediately understand who they are. Do I always understand, Whose I am a sheep, yes, almost always, although I'm just a girl.
About fifteen years ago a friend dragged me to the Borovsk monastery. Evening confession, on which I forgot to say the main thing, then washed up the dishes in the refectory for the pilgrims, then at one o'clock in the morning I knock on the door of the women's hotel, and from behind the door they answer me: "Oh, it's you, the unclean tavern?" I'm going in. and I ask: how do you know that I'm a tavern? (in childhood it was one of my top names in the family, Kabachok, Kabachkovy, Marzipan Kabachkov). And the woman says: "We know everything about everyone here."
Sometimes I, of course, think out. I think: here, I was taught a lesson, or here I was checked, and I almost fell through the test. Then over time it always turns out that everything was not right. The logical chain falls apart, a duck appears in the hare, in the duck an egg, in an egg the dinosaur. The truth is not the lessons and not the checks, but only those extremely simple situations when everything was very, very bad, it was hell and then, in the best way, it was adjusted and managed.
When I was asked to comment on this passage of the Gospel of John, I panicked at first, then put it off for later, then ... it became simply thoughtlessly swarming on the Internet. I came across the image of Adam and Eve - some not very pleasant. She began to think about whether there is such a tradition of depicting Adam and Eve with a seal of sin on the face and in the movements of the body. "Google" showed that yes, it seems, there is such a tradition, they are rarely just beautiful, they are weird, and so they were represented by various artists at all times. I began to remember where I still saw the beautiful, and remembered that in the Bible for babies, which I brought back from Africa in 1987X (Africa was a staging post to Antarctica, my father was a meteorologist and went there on an expedition). At home now all the books are packed to the move, and I found Papa's book on the cover: Good Shepherd on the cover. That is, it turns out that you, a thirty-seven-year-old, asked me to talk about the very first image of Christ in the life of a seven-year-old Soviet girl. From the old bookcase, in which this book was in my childhood, my grandfather then made a boat.
In general, when I started to think about this passage, I was thinking primarily about myself. About how they always save me, pick up on how I should go mad and decide to start all the harder - so all the heavy ones immediately swim away like a dumbbell under an unreflected sofa. About how one day I was presented with an icon "Infant Infantry" at the Gostiny Dvor exhibition and on my way home my husband said that the Moscow apartment in which we were going to live and raise our future child "swam away". I remember myself standing in the rain and pressing the icon to my chest and clearly-clearly realizing that it's all very somehow for the better, and to the very best. I still did not know that the next 11 years I will live in Zhostovo and become a completely different person. And that, when in 11 years I suddenly feel myself deified, manned, mechostavlennoy and absolutely completely worthless - my father will call Father Dionisy, the rector of the church in a neighboring village and ask to conduct excursions in the temple. In general, I thought that I was on the account and under supervision, and that I, like a sheep in Scotland, painted a side.
And when I read the passage about the Good Shepherd for the twentieth time, I began to think about how difficult it is to prove to people that you are good. I have no such experience, because I do not do anything scale, but I know people who are doing something significant, with tremendous stress, under the sword of Damocles, directly and honestly - and at the very moment when the feat was accomplished and it was possible to exhale and even, perhaps, to hear words of gratitude, someone comes to plunder sheep, appropriates everything done, falls with slander on the hero - and everyone believes him.
I read that it is not necessary to take the entire text of the Gospel as a transcript, that the disciples recreated the image of Christ and some of the words are their words, but for some reason I want these words about the door and the good shepherd to be a transcript. Because here I understand how it was important for Christ to be believed in Him - also because in this faith in Him too is faith in the Father.
This is a completely inappropriate rhyme, but it came to me, so I'll write it down just in case. I conduct excursions in the museum of Zhostovo trays, usually my excursions are popular with people, and some visitors are even horrified and say: girl, you can not so much like trays, you need to think about getting married, maybe having children (very surprised, when they find out that I have a husband and children). And I understand that I love these trays for one single reason: my mother is the director of the factory, and she actually revived this folk craft from the ashes. That is all that I say good about trays, can be translated with one phrase: "I really love my mother."
I also wanted to say about the door. The day before my grandmother's funeral, we brought her to the Church of St. John the Precursor just before the evening service. I asked one of the women whether to remove the lid of the coffin. She said: shoot, of course, let her listen to the service too. "This is real inclusion," somehow flashed through my mind. Then the parishioners came up to us and their grandmother all the time and asked: "Is this our parishioner?" "The face is familiar, bright," "Our? And where did she stand? ". My grandmother - as well as I - was a girlfriend and, of course, she did not have her own job. But all the same, we were somehow nice in the temple that evening. Thanks to the not very successful removal of the wisdom tooth and swollen cheek, I was unable to work and spend the last two grandmother weeks with her. Basically it was a trial for hospitals, no one knew that everything would end so quickly, but we were together. And in the temple too. And in the morning, shortly before the funeral service, I stood in the inner porch of the temple and sent an SMS with an address to someone from my grandmother's acquaintances. And suddenly a door opened in the painted wall right in front of my nose and from there came a man in secular. The door closed and I considered that there really was a door in the wall, and even a small room could be seen in the lock of the lock. Now, if this happened to me at the age of twenty or even thirty, I would probably be very impressed by this event and would have thought about this door for a long time. But not now. So many times before that, the doors opened, where there is not only the walls of the temple, but even no hopes.