My first task was to get rid of my obsessive hatred. I thought about Maria Vasilievna and her supernatural, as it seemed to me, gift. I remembered the stories of people and how they were saved by the church and faith in God. So I decided to go to church.
Truth be told, as long as people are happy they are not in a hurry to turn to God. They live their lives, not always saintly, and sometimes expiate their sins with good deeds and thoughts.
But when you get into a difficult situation, start having problems with health, or worse, get sick with something incurable, that’s when you begin to look for God. For this people tend to go to church. Where else? Only there you can atone for your sins, get help and hear God’s voice.
I looked for salvation there also. But God and church? They are not the same thing. I do not want to offend any religious people who go to various churches and find comfort there. Moreover, many of them can’t even imagine their lives without church and the people with whom they pray. And very often such people are connected with each other by something much deeper and intimate than belonging to the same Act of Contrition.
I’d been to this particular church before, looked at the icons framed in gold, lit candles for health and for peace. But never had I been so lonely and undeserving as I was now. All the recent events ached in my heart and soul.
I was told for a start, to make a confession so the priest could grant me absolution and bless me in order that I could begin to lead a saintly life.
As a supplicant should, I went to the church early in the morning, without having breakfast, and partook of the entire service.
For my confession, the priest asked me to come close to him, very close. He pushed my shoulders, making me lean over, so that my nose was almost touching his porky belly, and covered me with his vestments. Then he put the Bible on my head. He asked me about something and I answered automatically, could not even hear what, exactly. Hunger had sharpened my sense of smell, and the smell from underneath his robe was so terrible that the only thing I could think of was to get out from under it so I could breathe. Then he gave me a cross to kiss, a cross that had been kissed before me by everyone who came for confession.
So I didn’t experience, I did not feel the main thing which made me go there to that church, that the Lord had forgiven my sins. I would say, on the contrary, I felt humiliated and unworthy of forgiveness, though my thoughts and soul must have been in full repentance. I never visited this church again.
The second attempt was spontaneous. My friend’s father had died and I was helping with the funeral. After the funeral, we went with her to the church for the funeral service and the sealing. With us we brought everything required: some dirt from the grave, bread, eggs, wine, money, and a dozen handkerchiefs.
A woman from the church told us to put everything on the table prepared for the ritual. We had to wait for the priest. Meanwhile, another family arrived for the sealing of their deceased loved one. They probably did not have enough handkerchiefs, so the seller of icons and crosses came from behind her desk, took our handkerchiefs, and started selling them to the newcomers.
The next church I went to shocked me with its cheerfulness. The church members were singing and dancing on the stage, captivating everyone around with rhythm and their good mood. They were stomping their feet and clapping their hands, which didn’t correspond to my inner state. So I realized that I had to cope with all the pain inside of me without a church, and perhaps even without God’s help.