Father Andrey Lemeshonok: You can’t keep up, you’re always late… Yes, you’re late. When you strive to be attentive to another person, to empathise and understand him , your heart becomes a constant wound. All of us must define our boundaries. We mustn’t overextend ourselves, yet we can’t afford to become indifferent. We might not achieve much, but we should accomplish something. It’s a perpetual quest: how can we help?
This quest constantly confronts you with your own helplessness and confusion. It’s a challenge for a proud soul. And yet, despite your flaws, when you genuinely wish to show compassion towards someone, a spirit emerges. Unexpectedly, absolutely unexpectedly. Unpredictably.
We can’t cling to our current understanding or settle on it. That would be foolish. Today is one way, tomorrow could be entirely different. How different? We don’t know.
Living in this state constantly is exhausting, and you need to rest. So, if you can take a break, do so. The strawberries are in season now, aren’t they? And the weather’s quite pleasant. It’s perfectly fine to rest. I’ll be taking a break soon myself, even though I don’t really want to. Right now, I don’t want anything at all.
When you’re constantly living through these tragedies, you can’t just stand by and speak from the mind alone. Speaking from the mind is empty; it’s all superficial. Speaking from the heart is painful; it’s profound. God is teaching and nurturing you, but you fiercely resist this teaching because you pity yourself too much. Your pride and your ego crave results.
But it’s not up to you. You have to do something; you need to act. If you don’t want to act, you don’t have to. It’s your choice: if you want to dig, dig; if you don’t, then don’t dig. You can choose not to dig and not do anything at all. But if you’ve come to God, then something in your life needs to change.
Yet we’re still on the journey. I believe we haven’t truly reached God yet. Speaking for myself, I’m still on the path. I’m re-evaluating everything now and realising what a mad state I was in. And God helped me and even helped others through me. But who am I? God knows what He’s doing.
However, we can’t contain God’s freedom within ourselves. We can’t accept it because we’re not free; we’re bound by sin, by the world, even by the weather. But at some moment of encounter or touch, there seems to be a touch of freedom, a sense of completeness. Then everything becomes trivial again, superficial, just rubbish.
God brought us into the church, and He keeps us here. No matter how much you might want to break free sometimes, He holds you tight. I remember a time in my youth — many years ago now, over forty years ago, maybe 45 — I desperately wanted to break free, young and foolish as I was. But God held me firmly. No matter how much I fought Him, He prevailed. It takes many years in the church to understand that there’s no need to break free.
Don’t struggle — you’ll only make things worse for yourself. Accept things as they are, because we don’t truly understand what they are. We miss the most crucial aspects and judge our lives, and the lives of those around us, quite superficially. To judge more deeply, you’d need to live their lives, and that requires strength.
Young people have that vigour, but as you get older, you lack the energy. You end up feeling sorry for yourself. Strength would come from God if you didn’t pity yourself so much. When you wallow in self-pity, you’re left with no strength, nothing at all. So, it won’t get any easier.
But I find solace in words I once heard from an elder. Whenever I’d complain to him, saying, “Father Nikolai, I can’t bear it anymore; there’s so much hypocrisy, everything in the Church is so human, so coarse,” he would tell me, “It will get even harder, but don’t worry. You are fortunate.” Now I understand why I am fortunate. Although I haven’t fully embraced this happiness yet, I do realise it’s true.
The thing is, we don’t live up to what people think of us. We don’t match their expectations. Yet we can’t admit this to ourselves because we have an image to uphold. There’s this sister who is seen as spiritual and prayerful. She’s not yet a believer, but whether she likes it or not, she has to become one because people say, “Sister, pray for me.” And that’s a good thing.
We go through certain circumstances, time passes, and what we understand now might completely change later on; everything will be perceived differently. And when we enter eternity, we’ll likely see everything in an entirely new light; our whole life will appear different. What we wanted and strove for might turn out to be trivial nonsense. Conversely, what we fought against might prove to be the most necessary and important thing because it kept us grounded and sober-minded. It could be like that. Overall, it’s grand, infinite, and unfathomable.
Today we commemorate the Fathers of the First Ecumenical Council. It was so long ago, yet their words and spirit shaped our Orthodox Church. We live by it now, though we probably don’t fully understand it yet. The Body of Christ — He ascended and He is within us and everywhere, wherever there are those who need Him. As for those who don’t need Him… that’s their choice.
Yes, I long to be a free person, not dependent on my own flesh, which can ail, nor on people who might even hate me. Among our sisters, there’s a lot of rudeness — I’ll be addressing this at our monastic meeting — unacceptable rudeness. Because if we serve God, we must control ourselves. We should be accountable for our words and mindful of what we say. Sometimes that mindfulness slips away. It's a temptation and it greatly distresses me. But if someone admits their fault — “Yes, I got carried away; I said something wrong” — then everything is clear and understandable. But if they don’t acknowledge their fault and insist they’re right, then it becomes bewildering. What do you want? For the person to fall ill? You don’t want anyone to fall ill.
So, think, search, and don’t live by some outdated templates that have long needed changing. Seek God, pursue God. But remember, it’s a journey. When you’ve become accustomed to everything and you know exactly how things should be done here and there, you stop growing, you stop evolving. This applies to relationships with each other, with those near and far, and with God. People often ask, “What more should I read for God to hear me?” You can read anything you like, but saying a few heartfelt words to God is a significant effort. So let’s strive to find those words.
We have Trinity coming up, our beloved kneeling prayers. There’s truly a cosmic depth in those prayers; they encompass everything. They always inspire, even the most lifeless soul. After that, we’ll take a break. We’re already tired.
At our gatherings, perhaps one-fiftieth of the sisters attend, maybe a bit more. Certainly not one hundredth, but definitely one-fiftieth. Yet I’m glad that people are working in various directions, some better, some worse. I believe we are still making progress. We hope that God will continue to sustain us in this temporary world. We still have things to accomplish. We have work left to do. I trust that the young new sisters and the experienced ones — let’s call them wise rather than old — will positively influence our future efforts and our service. Maybe that’s aiming too high.
Who could have predicted that from a dilapidated cowshed on our property would emerge such a powerful complex, almost a rehabilitation centre? Who could have said that? That cowshed housed sick people, alcoholics, and drug users. They’re still sick; they’re still alcoholics and drug users. But even so, we see that God…
Mother Martha showed me last time; they have an excellent agronomist there now. I used to criticise them: “Mother Martha, when will it be time for you to step down? There’s no progress. What’s going on? Stagnation.” But now I see it’s not stagnant at all. They demonstrated their methods, how everything works there. It’s fantastic. The strawberries! Six varieties! I’ve never tasted such strawberries before — never! So delicious! And they manage everything so well: the pigs live in an enclosed space where they sleep and eat, especially now that it’s warm. And then suddenly, that little plot of land becomes fertilised naturally. It’s brilliant in its simplicity! Everything great is simple; there’s no need for cunning or complicating things with unnecessary thoughts.
You’re probably tired of hearing me say this over and over again. We have a wonderful guest with us today, Sister Irina, who is very intelligent and deeply spiritual — she’s been to that farm, too. The brothers were impressed and said, “We’re proud.” “Why are you proud?” “Well, we were told we are proud.” They accepted it.
Tell us something; we need to hear it. You can sit higher so you can see everyone. This isn’t my place. I say, why was this done? Because when you speak to someone, you should look them in the eye.
Irina Medvedeva: Alright then, let me grab my handkerchief and I'll humble myself.
Father Andrey Lemeshonok: Grace is given to the humble.
Irina Medvedeva: I found it easy to humble myself around those drug users.
Father Andrey Lemeshonok: They’re good people, really.
Irina Medvedeva: Absolutely. They turned out to be such lovely individuals. There were just a couple of psychopaths among them.
Father Andrey Lemeshonok: But even they have their good sides. Take that young man, Andrei, who’s with you. He’s genuinely a good soul.
Irina Medvedeva: I’ve grown quite fond of him.
Father Andrey Lemeshonok: Yes, indeed. He’s a good lad, and you see, he’s humbled himself.
Irina Medvedeva: Sometimes people need to go through a struggle to truly love each other. Once they’ve forgiven one another, that love becomes genuine and unbiased.
Father Andrey Lemeshonok: Why don’t you turn off your phones? You buy these incredibly expensive gadgets but can’t seem to use them properly.
Irina Medvedeva: What can we do? It’s a sign of the times. Admittedly, a bad one. Yet, there’s some good in it too. We can quickly reach someone who’s gone missing and we’re worried about. That wasn’t possible before. But every step towards comfort makes a person less resilient and somehow spoils their life. Father was saying how hard it is to bear human tragedies. Of course, it’s very tough. Today, when I met with parents, I didn’t expect such a crowd afterwards, with everyone wanting to whisper something in my ear and not just speak, but immediately get advice. They’re ready to jot it down like a recipe for borscht. I haven’t seen their lives, nor their children, nothing, yet they want precise guidance.
Father Andrey Lemeshonok: But through their faith, God gives advice through you. And it hits the mark. He does it through faith.
Irina Medvedeva: I try not to resist and offer some words or suggestions. Though intellectually, as Father rightly pointed out, it’s not a fully reasoned decision; I understand it’s foolishness. How can one give quick advice on the fly without knowing anything about the child or the situation, especially with a queue of others waiting?
Today reminded me of a time I was in Ust-Kut, a Siberian town on the banks of the Lena River, 1200 kilometres from Irkutsk. The area was surrounded by camps and prisons. I stayed at the house of a local priest whose church was rather unique. It used to be a beer hall with a tiny barely visible dome on the roof. Most of the attendees were people who had been released and were living there in the settlement. I remember their faces looked like brown potatoes with furrows. The priest would occasionally visit them. He had built a wooden church at one of the camps and would go there to hear confessions and give communion. Those were tough times. You might have only heard about hunger-induced fainting spells, but I witnessed them there. This was back in 2000, right after Yeltsin’s rule ended.
It was winter, minus 52 degrees Celsius. No heating. I lived in a wooden house with a stove at the priest’s place. But people in new houses would pitch tents in their rooms, crawl inside at night to breathe warmth into the space together, and only then could they sleep. I saw hunger-induced fainting spells firsthand. During a seminar I conducted there, people not only sat and listened after fainting but also asked questions. I was barely holding on, but these people, hardened by the cold in their homes, kept asking more questions.
So, there I was, brimming with impressions after the first day of such a seminar. The priest’s wife mentioned that Father Pavel was currently at the prison chapel. I decided to wait for him before having dinner. Hunger was still prevalent there. Only the priest wasn’t starving because people would bring him something made from flour, some kind of cabbage pie. He had six children. So he arrived, and I remembered him today, he arrived. He had this ginger beard that reached below his waist. I rushed to him immediately because I had accumulated a whole story about how my day went. But he, with an unexpectedly cold tone, distanced himself from me and said in an unfamiliar voice, “Stay away from me, I’m like a rubbish bin.” He had been hearing confessions from criminals. I recalled this today because the stories I heard were simply horrifying in their tragedy, in their apparent hopelessness.
How can one not believe in God? Only a divine miracle can overcome what I was told today. You see, there are already twelve-year-old homosexuals in families. Twelve-year-olds who tell their parents, “I was born this way; it’s my nature.” They’ve already read on the internet that it’s genetic. And now the poor parents ask me, “Is it really genetic?” I say, “That’s nonsense. Does the boy have broad shoulders?” — “Yes.” “And narrow hips?” — “Yes.” I say, “How can it be genetic then? It means he doesn’t have a hormonal shift. It's very rare.” — “Really, is it rare? Is there hope?” And so on.
Then I listened to stories about marital life. It’s just dreadful what’s happening. It reminds me of when Chukovsky once read the memoirs of Blok’s widow, Lyubov Dmitrievna Mendeleeva. She was the daughter of the great chemist Mendeleev. She gave him the manuscript of her memoirs. She outlived her husband by a considerable time. She died, I believe, in 1939, and he in 1920. I read in Chukovsky’s diary: one can’t read it without galoshes. You see, now it’s not even about galoshes but something more like waders. You can’t listen to all this without putting on waders. It’s just some kind of horror. But these are our people, this is our life.
I heard how that priest, who was probably one of the organisers of this conference — I don’t know him personally — he’s quite slim, as they say in the village, delicate, with a close-cropped haircut. How he conducted your meeting after I spoke with you, and someone thanked him profusely for invaluable advice on burnout. I’d like to tell you that you shouldn’t even repeat that word. Do you understand the dreadful association it evokes? That your heart has burned out, that your soul has burned out? Burnout means everything is consumed by fire there. There’s no such thing as burnout. The priest said to rest. What does a person do when they are tired? They simply rest. And then they get up and carry on. There’s no such thing as burnout. These are destructive words. And now they’re even giving advice on how to combat burnout!
Being tired from work… Oh, dear! But what’s so unusual about it? Everyone gets exhausted from their job. Naturally, the soul gets weary too, especially when you’re constantly encountering people, particularly the ill ones, like you do. Each new encounter is another sorrow, another tragedy. Yes, it’s undoubtedly challenging to keep your heart from breaking. One must prevent it from breaking while still showing empathy.
Father Andrey Lemeshonok: They also mention panic attacks...
Irina Medvedeva: What nonsense. Instead of calling it cowardice, they say panic attacks. What is that? These are just fancy words, borrowed from English. I suspect the term “burnout” is also an English import. We never had such a term before. Let me tell you more: all this obsessive talk about the need to rehabilitate people returning from the Special Military Operation (SMO) is quite odd as well. You see, Russia has always been at war, and there was never any talk of rehabilitation.
What rehabilitation? Yes, massage and therapeutic exercises when someone has limb issues — that’s different. What rehabilitation? Society needs to be healthy and properly accept such individuals — not by shedding tears over them but by genuinely seeking out their strengths and finding the right niche for them. That’s real rehabilitation. But in general, we should use that word sparingly. These are military people.
Last night, I didn’t mind staying up late. Usually, I’m terrified of oversleeping because you live according to a different schedule here; you can’t afford an extra half-hour of sleep. I’m always afraid I’ll oversleep, just like in Barto’s poem “Why Did Petya Wake Up 10 Times Today?” But last night, I forgot all about that. I listened to Putin talking with the men who returned from the war and were chosen to forge a new elite. Can you imagine? Such remarkable men and a female doctor among them! I was in tears; it was impossible to listen without crying, and I wept out of sheer joy. We mustn’t despair; we have such intelligent and noble people. It’s just that the scoundrels are more visible, you see? And they stand out precisely because they aren’t one of us, not of our spirit or constitution.
But the military... No one taught them to speak like that. I could tell they were speaking their own words; no one wrote it for them. High-ranking officials get their speeches written for them. These people spoke without notes. You should listen to it. Find Putin’s meeting with these people. What’s it called? The “Time of Heroes” project. They are all geniuses. They simply went to war. A contemporary writer couldn’t pen what they said from their hearts.
And the female doctor, a young beauty — what she said when Putin unexpectedly asked if she had always wanted to be a surgeon since childhood, considering it’s such a tough specialisation, especially for a woman. She laughed like a child and said, “Oh, you know, when I lived with my grandmother in the village, I once stitched up a frog. And even then, I thought it was amazing.” A beauty in military uniform, she was on the front lines. Can you imagine? This beautiful young woman risked her life.
But you know, the men were all like Socrates, eloquent and wise. Of course, they were reserved, as men should be, but every word they spoke was worth its weight in gold. He asked them such challenging questions, yet they didn’t falter: they would think for a moment and then respond thoughtfully. And not once did they mention burnout, even though they had every right to after witnessing such horrors.
I’ve been to Donbas three times over the past decade. Let me tell you, people don’t really talk about it much. The atrocities there were beyond anything Hitler could have imagined. I’ve met many individuals who lived through it. I have firsthand knowledge of what people endured there. And you know what? Not a single one of them spoke to me about burnout. No one complained about their mental health. I expected it; I thought, “Surely, they need rehabilitation, they must be traumatised.” But their consciences were clear, so they dealt with their trauma like normal people — they grieved, then picked themselves up and carried on. Even in their sorrow, they stood up against evil.
People often ask, “What can we do?” They keep quoting Ignatius Brianchaninov: “Do not strive with your feeble hand.” But he was writing about the Apocalypse. I made an effort to look up where and how it was written. And people use this quote to justify their cowardice and indifference. How can one not stand against evil? Of course, with God’s help. But that should go without saying. How can you live peacefully when evil is happening, especially when it’s directed at children?
During my last visit, teachers told me, “You know, we now have inclusive education.” It’s dreadful when unfortunate disabled children are placed in classes with normal kids. Yes, it may be good for their vain parents who can say, “My child isn’t disabled; he’s in a regular school.” But how does the child feel, seeing how the other children succeed and play during breaks while he sits in a wheelchair? But there’s inclusion for you. How do the teachers cope? How do normal children feel when they have to slow down so they can keep up? This is typical Western pseudo-humanism where everyone suffers except the parents of the disabled children. But even that is just vanity; there’s nothing else to it. If they cared more about their children, they wouldn’t be thrilled about inclusion because it only harms them.
There’s something else I want to share with you. Naturally, as Father mentioned, we all wish that through our efforts everyone would be healthy and that we could heal everyone. It’s useful to remember Apostle Paul in this context. He often comes to mind because he’s simply extraordinary, isn’t he? No matter how much you read his words, you’re always amazed at how God created such an apostle. He said, “I become all things to all people so that by all possible means I might save some.” This was said by the greatest of apostles, the greatest of men: “So that I might save some.” Look at the humility, the modest desire. Yet we aim to save millions — those of us who help the sick and those of us trying to be missionaries. Millions…
You know, the Lord said, “Fear not, little flock.” We usually focus on the “fear not” part. But He did warn us that it would be a small flock. We often wish for millions to come to the faith. Yet, we’ve been forewarned that this won’t be the case. On one hand, our vanity dreams of grand achievements, but on the other, we say, “Who are we? We’re just small people…” When it’s time to really stand up and resist, suddenly we become these insignificant figures. It’s like the bleating of sheep. We are Christ’s sheep, not cowardly lambs bleating out of fear. And we often disguise this cowardice as humility. But how can there be humility in the face of evil?
We also love to say that we can’t do anything, that we can’t help people come to church. You know, I think back to ancient Rome, when the Christians were just tiny sects with hardly any rights. And I’m not just talking about the classic image of apostles wandering through towns preaching the Gospel. Who are we to wander through towns? But look at those early Christians in Rome. What rights did they have? We have a thousand times more rights to evangelise! They had nothing except the right to have molten lead poured down their throats or be torn apart by wild beasts. They couldn’t do anything. Compared to them, we have so many rights, and yet they preached through their way of life. They simply lived normally, and humanely. They showcased an alternative way of living, and they conquered Rome and the world. So why should we despair?
Father mentioned that the mind is worth nothing. I wouldn’t put it that way. I’d say that a purely rational mind is worth nothing, but a heart-driven mind is something else entirely. Only that is complete. A mind devoid of heart is incomplete. Speaking from a psychiatric perspective, a highly developed rationality combined with a dead heart is schizophrenia; it’s the main symptom of schizophrenia. Not delusions of persecution or grandeur, not auditory, visual or tactile hallucinations. Those may or may not be present. Moreover, there might not even be a split personality, which seems to define the illness itself. Remember the boy Kai from “The Snow Queen,” arranging the word “eternity” from icy blocks? Gerda cried over him, trying to remind him of their wonderful life at their grandmother’s house and the blooming roses. And he replied in that schizophrenic tone — at least that’s how I always imagine it — saying, “Don’t bother me. The Snow Queen has tasked me with forming the word ‘eternity’ from these ice cubes.” It’s a stunning depiction of schizophrenia. I don’t know if Hans Christian Andersen understood this himself.
Andersen was undoubtedly a genius. I think we underestimate him. He was an extraordinarily brilliant writer. Perhaps he didn’t even realise how accurately he depicted schizophrenia in artistic form, better than any psychiatrist ever could. That vivid portrayal: a mind, but heartless; pure rationality and nothing more. Dostoevsky also touched on this brilliantly, probably without any clinical knowledge because it’s unlikely he was well-versed in psychiatry either.
Remember in Dostoevsky’s “The Idiot,” when Aglaya talks to Prince Myshkin about the mind? She says there are two types: the primary and the secondary. The secondary mind is worthless, but the primary one is always heartfelt — an intelligent heart and a sensitive mind. And speaking of classics, Tolstoy had a favourite proverb that’s quite fitting for us: “Do what you must, and let God decide the rest.” Thank you for your attention for such an extended period. Any questions? Although I must admit, I might not be able to answer all of them.
Father Andrey Lemeshonok: Something about toxic parents, I couldn’t quite hear what the sister said.
Irina Medvedeva: Toxic parents? I’ve never heard that term before. But I can tell you this: parents today are remarkably misled. They were the first victims of the information warfare during the Perestroika era. The initial informational bombs were dropped on them. Now these individuals are parents, making communication with them quite challenging. They are excellent exercises in humility because their level of ignorance and simplification is astonishing. Sometimes, it’s easier to explain something to a five-year-old than to their thirty-year-old mother. But we must try. What else can we do?
And then there are the alcoholics. Two of them attacked me once. Initially, I humbled myself — not out of nobility, but to mask my pride and not show that I was hurt. Later, they completely won me over. Both came up to me and apologised. I thought, “They are a thousand times better than me.” And let’s not even talk about the nuns who work with them — they utterly impressed me with their intelligence and kindness. The alcoholics fear them so much. I noticed they tremble at just a glance from these nuns. It’s a skill to command such respect. One nun told me an amazing story about her passion for volleyball and how she could handle even the toughest man by recalling her twisted serve.
You know, the last thing I want to say is this: we love reading the Church Fathers and calling ourselves and others “a heap of sins.” Of course, that’s true, but we should also consider the justification of humanity. When I was in Donbas, I saw this firsthand. There are people there who are simply unforgettable. Deep down, in every soul, there’s at least a tiny nugget of gold. Thank you for listening to me for so long. Father, now it’s your turn. Oh, look how easily Father ascends the throne — skipping the first step altogether!
Father Andrey Lemeshonok: Well, let’s talk a bit about your field of psychiatry. What I wanted to say about the heart is this: we’ve been interacting with these people for over 25 years now. A person may clearly be ill, and it’s hard to say anything logical to them because their intellect is comparable to that of a five- or six-year-old. But when they sense your genuine care or when you try to love them, that’s when dialogue happens — and it can be quite remarkable. I’ve had moments where these individuals understood my state better than I did myself.
This happened many years ago. After the Akathist service, we anoint them with the oil of Saint Xenia of Petersburg. They all come up to me and say, “Everything will be alright for you. Don’t be despondent.” It was like a revelation for me because I hadn’t shown any signs of distress. Often, you don’t know how to help someone intellectually. Why do I mention intellect? Simply because you’re at a loss; the person themselves doesn’t know what they want or what’s causing their distress. It’s incredibly challenging when they can’t even articulate the question — they just don’t know it. But they are suffering. And the only thing, as I understand it now, is to feel genuine compassion for them, to accept them. They sense this. You might not even say anything particularly wise or clever. But this state of empathy and shared suffering can give them the words through which they find their own way out, some solution. There’s the external life — our interactions, our plans. But when someone sees that they are understood and accepted, no matter who they are, I think that’s when some kind of inner enlightenment or clarity is born within them. And it helps them immensely, even if outwardly you haven’t done anything.
I think it’s important for people to see that you find the strength and time to come here to White Russia. We still hope that we have White Russia here. You see, there’s a very intense struggle right now because many young people are looking towards the West. This all culminated in 2020. By God’s grace, it has calmed down externally, but in reality, it hasn’t.
Irina Medvedeva: I can see it already, as I interact with people now. I even think that’s why there’s no true unification happening because very few here would welcome Great Russia with flowers. It’s still too early. We wish it could happen sooner, but it’s premature.
Father Andrey Lemeshonok: The main thing is to preserve the unity of the Russian Orthodox Church because it is currently the only force, perhaps the backbone of the entire world. There simply isn’t anything else.
Irina Medvedeva: Father, may I share something Father Ilie said? It happened once, about 13-14 years ago. Tatiana Lvovna Shishova and I had a new book out. It was rather ironically titled “The Orgy of Humanism.” Someone brought it to Father Ilie, and his cell attendant called to say he was sending a car for us and requested our presence. He was in Optina Monastery then; he wasn’t yet the patriarch’s spiritual advisor. So, this was 15 years ago. We arrived, and he embraced us, kissed us, said some kind words, and then said in his elderly voice — his voice was already old then — “Remember,” he said, “if globalism triumphs, if they destroy our Church, the Earth will go off its axis.” That’s exactly what he said: “The Earth will go off its axis.”
Father Andrey Lemeshonok: I recall a moment from when we had President Shushkevich before Lukashenko. We had some diocesan anniversary, and Metropolitan Filaret was there. Can you imagine? Shushkevich stood up, raised his glass, and said, “I drink to our Belarusian patriarch.” But the Metropolitan just remained silent.
Well, you see, when someone doesn’t understand and you start arguing with them, trying to explain that it’s not wine but blood, they won’t get it. They’ll just become more upset, and it will only cause harm. Somehow, God covers this. You can see that He does because otherwise, it would be impossible. During that dreadful pandemic, how could you even suggest that you might catch COVID from taking communion in church? But in such cases, it’s best to keep silent and avoid arguments with people. What was the question again?
Irina Medvedeva: Perhaps you could answer this better? How would you put it?
Father Andrey Lemeshonok: Well, we say, “I will not give You a kiss like Judas,” when we partake in communion. Sin dwells within us. Our nature is sinful, but grace also resides in us. Even the great Apostle Paul said, “Two natures live within me.” We too have two natures within us. If someone betrays you, don’t take offence; forgive them. A person might betray out of weakness, but if you don’t harbour anger or ill thoughts towards them, they might repent, and you could gain a friend, I think. People betray for various reasons: some out of fear, some out of foolishness without thinking, and some out of overconfidence like Peter who said he would die but never betray. That’s life. We too betray sometimes without realising it, not so obviously. In a social setting, we might berate someone who treats us well; we might say something true about their flaw, but why mention it? If you have a relationship with someone, why talk about their shortcomings behind their back? That’s also a form of betrayal to some extent.
Irina Medvedeva: May I add to that? I want to say that when a person derives pleasure from doing harm, including betrayal, the question arises: is this a psychiatric pathology or not? That’s what the question was about. Is betrayal a pathology? From my observations, if someone commits an evil act, including betrayal, and rubs their hands with glee, it is pathological. A normal person, of course, commits betrayals and other wrongdoings many times in their life, but they feel unpleasant when they realise it; they feel ashamed. That’s a normal person — just a sinner. But if someone does it premeditatedly as an evil deed and rejoices in it, always look for a clinic. My observations aren’t written in textbooks, but that’s how I see people and understand that this doesn’t happen out of nowhere. Taking pleasure in causing harm is pathological. It definitely is.
Father Andrey Lemeshonok: Yes, but the evil can continue if those who were betrayed respond with more evil. This evil must be interrupted; it must end. We must forgive. “Do you love me, Peter?” Perhaps we are not loved in return, but we understand that people are weak. And if someone is a sadist, it’s a consequence of our sinful nature trying to lead us away from God. God is with us. We have love. It’s the universal remedy for all ailments — physical and mental alike. Everything can be healed by Christ’s love.
When we were told that we could fall ill from an infection and that Christ’s love wasn’t all-powerful, it felt like the end of the world to me. That was the worst part. But God put a stop to it all. It’s truly terrifying. Now, one might wonder how the coming of the Antichrist could even happen. This is the model: people will be forbidden from going out, from socialising; everything will be done online — work, governance, even food delivery. It’s a nightmare.
Irina Medvedeva: The Antichrist wouldn’t even have to do much. He could simply say, “I’ll take away your internet unless you worship me.” And people, already dependent on the internet, would comply. They’re no longer fully human; they’ve become mere appendages to their devices. And so, they would bow down without much resistance. That’s why I mentioned during our conversation, my recent trip to the Arkhangelsk region, the birthplace of St. John of Kronstadt. We need to break free from our craving for comfort in advance. It doesn’t mean we should live like hermit monks — we don’t even know how. But gradually, bit by bit, introduce some healthy asceticism into your life so that when the time comes, you won’t experience withdrawal like an addict. The needle of comfort will lead to withdrawal symptoms otherwise. Why go through that? Better to prepare ahead of time.
The people there are healthy, lively, and have no desire to leave. They’ve never seen asphalt and haven’t lost anything because of it; in fact, they’ve gained greater resilience, endurance, and attentiveness to God’s world from these inconveniences. They haven’t been sucked into the allurements of this world. They kept telling me, “Look at our beautiful land! How could anyone leave this place?” And indeed, it’s incredibly beautiful. Meanwhile, all I could think about was when we’d finally reach some asphalt; I felt like a mental invalid who couldn’t live without modern conveniences. I envied and admired these people.
I realised that to raise patriots who would go to the front en masse if needed, and work diligently on the home front, we must start weaning our children off the needle of comfort now. They are all hooked on it, as are their parents — and all of us, really. If you saw that remote Arkhangelsk area, you wouldn’t be able to take your eyes off it; the people are so healthy, lively, cheerful, and hospitable.
Potatoes and sauerkraut are all they serve guests. They still bake their own plain buns. They’re so healthy and know nothing about so-called healthy living or proper nutrition. They’ve never heard any of that nonsense. And even if they had, it wouldn’t concern them — they have no choice.
Father Andrey Lemeshonok: We should switch to cabbage and potatoes.
Irina Medvedeva: Oh, I felt marvellous during those few days! I travelled by boat and by “bukhanka” — an old, small bus that felt like a Mercedes after navigating the unpredictable waters of the Pinega River and dealing with a horse that nearly overturned the cart in the impassable mud. When I was heading to Verkola Monastery, that “bukhanka” was a lifesaver, pure bliss.
Sister of Mercy Svetlana: When you spoke about guiding children in the right direction, it really resonated with me. I work with kids occasionally, and I often ask them, “What would you do if the power went out across the country for a week?” You might manage a day or two, but after that, it would be tough. They’re always saying, “I’ll ask my mum,” or “I’ll ask Yandex Alisa.” That means they’re looking it up online. But when they need to use their own brains, they get lost. They struggle with logical thinking unless they’re directed. You also mentioned that sometimes it’s easier to explain things to five-year-olds than to adults. That reminded me of an incident with my niece. She came home from nursery and was telling her dad about a quarrel she had and how the teacher made them reconcile. She started recounting how they made up, and her dad finished the story for her. She looked at him in amazement and said, “Dad, you know this too?” He replied, “Of course, we did this when I was a child.” That moment stuck with me.
I went to the hospital after that, and sometimes the patients watch TV when I visit. They start saying, “I want to watch television.” But someone else would say, “But the sister’s here, no TV now.” These little disputes would arise. In one such moment, I remembered my niece’s situation. I sat them down and said, “Let’s make peace now.” They had quite a spat. They looked at me in surprise and said, “How? What do you mean?” But I was in a good mood. I sat them down together and said, “Make peace, make peace and never fight again.” They immediately started smiling, just like children do in nursery. All their anger melted away, and they genuinely made up. I told them, “Now stay peaceful like this.” This childlike method works on adults too, not just in the hospital. I tried it elsewhere with completely healthy adults who were having a conflict, and it worked brilliantly. It still works today. Thank you.
Irina Medvedeva: They say bad examples are contagious, but I’d like to tell you that good examples are contagious too.
