The Terebinth Tree: A Story About Orthodox Christians

By Sonya Jason

A community alive in the Holy Spirit, St. Vladimirs Church is a light in the hedonistic days of 1960s Los Angeles. An evangelist at heart, Father Alexei must wage battle against a growing shadow in his tiny parish. Along with a handful of faithful Orthodox Christians, they live the words of Christ: He who endures to the end shall be saved.

• Language: English
• Publisher: WestBow Press
• Release date: Apr 20, 2015
• ISBN: 9781490865089

Sonya Jason

Born in Czechoslovakia of Carpatho-Russian descent in 1924, Sonya Jason went home to be with her Lord in 2012. Author of five previous books, her final years were dedicated to penning a novel about the Church she loved unto death. May her memory be eternal.

Book preview

Chapter 1

T he pastor’s dispirited voice rose above the din in the stuffy meeting room. If that is all … Hopefully he raised his weary gaze to the icon of the Blessed Virgin in the corner. Candlelight flickering from a vigil glass beneath gave it a mysterious glow. It nourished a faint hope that perhaps just once he would be able to close the monthly parish council meeting and get home before midnight.

The raucous arguments had continued unabated for several hours as usual, and the strong undercurrent of hostility was like a fist ready to strike. Father Alexei Leontiev, pastor of St. Vladimir’s Orthodox Church, knew better than to appeal to the better selves of council members or admonish them. Such efforts only aroused more rancor. Still, he found the animosity among these parish leaders a cause for deep pain and he berated himself constantly. How had he failed them? Was he such a poor influence as shepherd? Now, he ran a trembling hand over weary features and got to his feet slowly, the fiery pain of acute bursitis shooting jagged darts through his shoulder.

If that is all then, he repeated, raising his voice as he made the sign of the cross, preparing to end the meeting with prayer as he had opened it.

Only Natasha Williams, the lone woman present, stood up to join him. The seven men at the table remained seated and Gregory Korloff, the ruddy-faced beefy man who was senior warden and council head, shifted his hefty bulk uneasily. He refrained from exchanging glances with Dimitri Korloff, his cousin and younger junior warden.

Father Alexei … Gregory began uneasily, clearing his throat, "there is one more matter. Granted, it’s only a rumor but still …"

Yes, Gresha, what is it?

Some of us have heard, the warden said, choosing his words with care, that you are planning to do an exorcism on Mary Montaigne. His tone was loaded with disapproval and near disbelief.

Father Alexei shot him a warning look, the light in his deep-set brown eyes rekindling with indignation. The Bishop granted permission because the evidence indicates … he started to explain but got no further.

Father Alexei! We’re trying to bring the Orthodox Church into the 21st century and stuff like healings and exorcisms will set it back a hundred years! Mary’s loony, not possessed or anything. Who ever heard of an exorcism in this day and age? This is Los Angeles, and besides, it’s not the Middle Ages. We’ll be called Born-agains or Holy Rollers or something!

When the murmurs of discontent rose to a buzzing-bee hum, Father Alexei slapped his hand down hard on the table. The rebellious sounds ceased at once. His eyes, ringed by dark shadows exuded anger. And when he was really aroused, no one dared cross him openly. Such occasions were rare, but anyone heedless enough to trifle with his righteous indignation was not likely to forget his prophet-like lightning and thunder.

Rescuing souls and prayers for health is the business of the Church! He made an effort to be reasonable and patient. "And Mary is not crazy. In fact, her psychiatrist is not opposed to an exorcism."

Did he recommend it?

Of course not! Father Alexei’s patience snapped. He can’t do that! His professional associates would ostracize him if he did. But he is not against it and he believes it’s worth a try, especially since neither he nor any other therapist has been able to help Mary.

See there? The senior warden leaned back and looked at the other council members triumphantly. There you go again, just like you did changing the music and services into English. You’ll get us into trouble with the Synod of Bishops again.

Translating the Divine Liturgy into English had to be done. In another generation or two the Church would have died without it. And look! Now English is being used everywhere in our Northern Dioceses and it’s bringing in thousands of converts. Even our brethren in the Southern Dioceses have converted their services into their native Spanish, Father Alexei reminded him sternly.

But an exorcism will make us the laughing stock of the whole Church!

Yeah, the junior warden chimed in, only Pentecostals who run around laying hands on everyone are doing them these days.

Father Alexei scowled. The devil works as much today as he ever did, and the soul of this suffering woman is a battleground. The Church is obligated to do all it can to save her. That’s why we exist!

But Father Alexei … Gresha protested before he was interrupted.

There’s nothing further to be said! Now if you’ll excuse me, my wife is waiting up for me and your spouses for you. Thank you all for coming.

The short exchange had energized Father Alexei and he stood erect, lips tight, eyes darting flashes of strong emotion. Between clasped fingers, he held up the heavy cross suspended around his neck and bowed his head in prayer. His expression softened and in an instant, assumed a faraway demeanor. Even the council members joining in audible prayer became noticeably respectful. They crossed themselves and prayed, Our Father, who art in heaven …

Natasha marveled as always how Father Alexei was transported into another realm when he prayed. She glanced sideways, fascinated by his long, thin fingers clasping the cross. She remembered what he had once told them while holding up those same hands.

Only these frail instruments of clay can put into practice Christ’s love. That’s all He has to work through on earth. And we’re not responsible for the hands of others, only our own.

And she never failed to feel a deep stirring in her spirit when he began Divine Liturgy by lifting up those slender hands heavenward and intoning: Blessed is the Kingdom of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit now and ever and unto ages of ages!

The meeting was concluded. They gathered up notes and belongings and followed the pastor out of the building into the night. Silently he locked the door behind them and double checked the alarm. Bidding them an affectionate good night, he strode to his car, eager to be off.

The cars followed his down the long, narrow, driveway forming a caravan-like procession. But Father Alexei suspected that when Gregory and Dimitri reached the bar where they convened after meetings, they would continue the discussion about poor Mary and her spiritual distress. And no doubt he would be a topic of conversation as well. Which one of these would be the one to betray him? Both had shared the cup of salvation with him in Holy Communion. But then again so had the betrayer known as Judas. He emitted a weary groan and wondered how long he could remain a true pastor in this parish, as committed as he had been for the last twenty years.

43735.png

When Father Alexei arrived home, his wife, Nina, was indeed waiting up for him. She was dressed in a long, green wooly robe and her auburn hair, customarily worn in a chignon, was brushed loose and shining and swirling about her shoulders. She had prepared an Irish coffee and a plate of freshly baked cookies and set them on the coffee table.

He took a gulp of the hot, bracing brew and his face broke into an appreciative smile. My, you look pretty, Ninotchka, he commented, realizing the effort she had made to bring his trying day to a pleasant end.

One glance on her part was all she needed to know that her husband was troubled. She retrieved his briefcase, put it in the hall closet and waited until he was settled in his favorite chair before expressing her concern.

What is it this time, Alex?

Gresha loudly took exception to the exorcism I’m planning to do for Mary, he sighed. The others, of course, follow him like lemmings in all his opinions.

Natasha and Jim, too?

No. She’s the only one on the council who didn’t side with him, and Jim, as usual, said nothing.

Nina tapped her foot a moment reflectively before replying. Well, you’re not serious, are you?

Of course I am! I must do what I can to help that poor suffering woman!

This was not the first time they had disagreed but Nina was exceptionally resistant to this exorcism. It could pop the lid off the simmering turmoil in the parish, a turbulence that had built up slowly. But this was the time to be reassuring, she decided, watching her husband enjoy the coffee and cookies. The realization of how much he had aged in the last decade struck her with sadness. The grooves on both sides of his cheeks were now deeply lined and his dark hair and beard flecked with grey. And he was a man in his prime, forty-seven on his last birthday. She steeled herself to assume a nonchalance she did not feel.

It’ll blow over, she said consolingly. And Gregory would be in a tizzy about something else as he usually is.

And yet, there was a return of doubt mixed with resentment, an undefined nagging that increasingly plagued her lately. She would not relish any more chastising letters from the Archbishop or the Holy Synod. She was of the cynical opinion that the Holy Synod of Bishops was not as holy as it pretended or wanted to be. But it was an opinion only hinted at to her husband. Not only would Father Alexei condemn it as blasphemous, he would strongly disagree. He detected holiness and goodness in others, as she told him on occasion, where neither she nor anyone else could, just as he did with every aspect of church life.

They fell into a comfortable silence and her mind drifted back in time. A Church of the living Christ. That was how Alex had described his dream to her not long after their marriage. And so they had left an established and financially well-to-do parish in the Orthodox Holy Land of Pennsylvania. It had meant giving up a three-bedroom rectory, a two-year-old car, and a decent salary to relocate in California and begin the creation of a new parish from scratch. The original mission consisted of less than two dozen individuals of diverse ethnic origins. To Nina, those early California days were still incredible. Carving out something holy in the hedonism of Los Angeles was a challenge her husband had met with flair. St. Vladimir’s Church had increased to two hundred families and growing. And he remained as determined as ever to prove that the vibrant Church begun two thousand years ago was alive and well.

Watching color seep back into her husband’s grayish features, Nina pondered on how serving the living Christ means living side by side with His enemy, the devil. Now she wondered, as she frequently did of late, which spirit was stronger in the parish: the Living Christ her husband embodied or the insidious other, always intent on gaining control. She let out an involuntary sigh.

Startled, Father Alexei looked up at his wife sharply. Oh, I’m sorry Ninousia, he murmured, using another of his pet names for her. You’re as exhausted as I am.

Dead tired, she admitted.

Sometimes I wonder if I did the right thing, her husband said apologetically. I mean, dragging you here where there was no church building, holding Sunday services in a funeral parlor, stuck in that beat-up old trailer for those two years, counting pennies to get by and then almost being tried as a heretic over the English services. He shook his head regretfully. Father Alexei’s expression was contrite. I have so much to make up to you.

Her feelings softened, melting the resentment when recalling those early days. How long it had took to stop missing the comfortable house back East. And it took even longer to become resigned to her husband’s obsession with the Church. At times no one was as important to him, not even her or their children. And how often he would phone home late afternoon to announce that he had invited visiting clergy for dinner when their checking account was empty.

But God always provides, he would insist when she complained before surrendering to his generous ways.

And He did, Nina had to admit, when she realized God had worked through a considerate parishioner who owned a small catering firm. That dear lady had stocked their ancient freezer with packages of frozen hamburger, fruits and vegetables more than once. Needing only a head of lettuce, some biscuit dough and spices, Nina, who had been an interior decorator before their marriage, soon learned to competently toss together an excellent meal and dessert.

Well, I’ll remind you of that promise, you can be sure. Her chuckle became a yawn. Glancing up at the wall clock, she gave a start. It’s after one o’clock! She stood up, stretched and yawned once more.

You go ahead, Father Alexei urged. I’m going to look in on the children, he called to her over his shoulder. He didn’t add that there was still paperwork to review connected with his position of Dean, head of the dozen or so parishes in the Southern California Deanery.

More and more often he arrived home too late to have dinner or even to talk with the children. Now he lingered beside the beds of fair-haired eight-year-old Peter and the dark-haired Pixie he called ten-year-old Tanya.

Dear Lord, I must find a way to do better by these precious little ones, he murmured almost audibly. Heart overflowing with love, he leaned over to softly kiss each forehead and make the sign of the Cross over their heads before he tip-toed out to the business awaiting him.

Business finished, Father Alexei straightened to his full height before the icon and cross mounted in one corner of the bedroom he shared with Nina. Still in clerical garb of black shirt and trousers, faithfully and unhurriedly he crossed himself, made a low bow before the icons and recited the required evening prayers. Now that the day has come to a close, I thank Thee, O Lord, and entreat that the evening with the night may be guileless … He added a few more for specific needs of parishioners as well as his family and friends. Finally, changed into pajamas, he lowered his weary body onto the bed, favoring his aching shoulder.

Nina was already asleep. Looking affectionately at his wife with her head buried in a pillow, he envied her. How healthy she was. Her faith was so pragmatic. She worked long hours and yet, once her nightly prayers were said, she was able to lie down in trust and sleep like a child. In contrast, he tossed and turned, going over events in his busy days or meetings such as the troubling one just ended. Unlike Nina, he knew that tonight there would be little sleep for him.

43738.png

His mind relived the dissension at the meeting. We must build a bigger church, Gregory Korloff, the senior warden, had declared emphatically. He spoke for one or two other council members as well.

And where, Jim Larson, interrupted, will we get the money? The treasurer shook his head balefully.

We can ask parishioners to pledge more, or have bake sales and bazaars.

We already overextend our budget just to operate the present building and parish, Jim said.

Dimitri chimed in to support his cousin Gregory. The Greeks can do it! What’s the matter with us?

This comparison was odious and had given Father Alexei a pounding headache. The last thing he wanted in the world was to cling to ethnic traditions, even though he was the son of Russian immigrants and had spoken Russian before he had learned English. But his dream, still alive but now tempered by reality and time, was to invite all the inner city peoples into the Church, individuals of every race and origin. He yearned to demonstrate to all seekers that the living Christ was as present in this Apostolic Church of today as He was in the beginning and as Father Alexei knew Him to be.

Trying to lie still and not disturb Nina, he acknowledged that his dream was almost as far from actuality as it had been when he started this mission parish. The membership as yet did not include more than a sprinkling of the ethnic diversity he’d hoped for.

His was a restless sleep when it finally came. But even in sleep his higher spirit took over. Out of the murkiness of night, an image appeared of the late Patriarch Ivan. It was through saintly lives like the Patriarch that Father Alexei had witnessed the living Christ shine forth. As he had done so often after such dreams, Father Alexei awakened in puzzlement. It was that question about the light again. Just what was it?

He lay still and pondered. If he could only be certain that what he, Kolya and Yuri had seen that night long ago was real and not imaginary, it would answer so much. The memory of the event was as vivid as if it happened yesterday. The three had been digging graves following seminary classes to earn extra money for expenses. Each was paid ten dollars a grave. It was winter. Digging into the frozen ground was a grueling task and they had paused to rest. A car drove up and stopped near the cemetery entrance. To their amazement, the aged Patriarch climbed out and approached, walking slowly with bent head, while the driver waited. He had passed through the open gate and had made his way to the grave of his brother, the wounded priest who had fled the Russian Revolution with him and died a short time after. The visitor had been unaware of the three seminarians watching from the sheltering shadows of tall hedges.

Look! Look at that! Kolya had gasped, an unlit cigarette dropping from his hand.

There had been faint moonlight, yet a luminescence surrounded the visitor. He seemed to rise above the ground and hover for seconds before descending, apparently undisturbed, still deep in prayer.

My God! Did you see that? Yuri whispered. He levitated! His ruddy face turned a dead white.

Don’t let him see us! Kolya had hissed.

Father Alexei remembered anew how stunned the incident had left him. He recalled saying, Don’t tell anyone. They’ll say we’re crazy. But actually, it was more a concern for the Patriarch and what would be said of him. And of course, all would insist that it was imagined. But was it?

They had remained hidden until the Patriarch returned to his car and drove away. Nervously they had completed their assignment, hastily stowing shovels and picks in the shed, and scurrying out the gate shaken and bewildered.

Since then, Father Alexei often pondered the incident. In time he became convinced that it was most likely imagination borne of fatigue and the ghostly atmosphere of a deserted cemetery in the dead of night. As he later reminded Kolya, it was near midnight and they were seminarians groggy from lack of sleep and long hours of study.

But did Kolya and Yuri sometimes also remember in the witching hours of night? Kolya was now Bishop Nicholas, presently in Kenya, laboring to bring ancient truths and the mystical knowledge of the Church to the struggling people. How he missed Kolya, his lifelong friend, so witty and wise even as a boy when they had sailed down the rivers of Pittsburgh and talked of their destinies. How unlike those dreams were to their present realities!

And Yuri, Right Reverend George Voltick, was chief aide to the current Patriarch, a post in which he influenced major decisions and wielded whatever power there was in the American Church. Tonight, for reasons he could not fathom, the incident was especially poignant. What was it and why had it happened at that particular time? He reached out to the Holy Spirit asking for the truth to be revealed once and for all. Grant me peaceful and undisturbed sleep. Send me Thy Angel Guardian to protect me. Lighten mine eyes that I sleep not in death but raise me at the fit time to glorify Thee. But on this night, as on many others, no answer came.

Chapter 2

T he smoke-filled bar was crowded with exuberant post-movie patrons. Dimitri and Gregory Korloff hunched over a table in the back, drinking beer and talking above the din.

You sure go for Byzantine intrigue, don’t you Gresha?

Gregory laughed. Russians lean that way. Who does it better anyway, unless it’s Catholics plotting to poison the Pope or something? He chuckled at his own inventiveness. But seriously, it’s time to think of getting rid of Father Alexei.

A deep frown crossed the usually placid boyish features of the sandy-haired junior warden. Yeah, you’re right. All that garbage about an exorcism. Too occultish if you ask me.

That kind of mumbo jumbo doesn’t belong in today’s Church. Leave it to the holy rollers. They imagine demons under every table and bed and in every closet!

Sometimes I wonder if he’s forming a cult for himself the way some hang on his every word. Dimitri’s tone was snide. He took a long swig of beer and looked off into the distance, giving it careful consideration. You could be right. All that crap could destroy what we’ve built here.

My sentiments exactly. Now we’ve gotta come up with some way of getting him out of here. We’ve got a good chance to have some say on how we want the diocese to go so let’s not screw it up.

He won’t transfer to another parish. Besides, Nina would raise Cain if he even suggested it. She likes the city and with the kids in school and all, can’t say I blame her. So we have to come up with bait he’ll bite on. But what?

Igor says they’ll be appointing a new bishop for the diocese before too long. By the way, he wouldn’t mind taking this parish for a while himself. It would be a good stepping stone to bishop later.

Your brother, a bishop? The way he chases women?

So he’s not immune to skirts! What man is? Unless he’s a homosexual and with the chancery in San Francisco, he’d better not be so inclined. Igor would make a good bishop.

Dimitri let out a derisive snort. Hey, give me a break! Look, even as priest, he can’t get married again, let alone as bishop. And he won’t exactly leave women alone. We don’t need a scandal.

Gregory set his glass down so hard beer slopped over the sides. Igor’s not a womanizer! He was a loyal husband and he’s a devoted father. We know he can’t get married again as widower but maybe the pomp and ceremony of being bishop would be enough excitement for him. Besides, he knows how to avoid scandals, he’s not that dumb!

Well I did hear a lot of juice.

Old babushka gossip, that’s all. Now let’s see if we can convince Father Alexei to accept something else. How about creating a position of assistant directly under the Bishop? Why not? This diocese is hopeless with what we got up there now.

Dimitri slapped his knee. Did you hear the latest? Archbishop Evgeny got himself invited to Countess Irina’s holiday ball. I hear her estate has a posh guest house. That’s just the place for that wily old fox to hide out and scribble his poetry.

Ever read any of his stuff? Sentimental slop.

He’s a monk. Whatd’ya you expect? Some of them don’t live in the real world.

Talk to Igor. Maybe we can lure Father Alexei out of here. If we just sit on our duffs, we’ll never have the kind of parish we want. But how do we do it?

Right! He’s gotta go. Speaking of which, Gregory glanced at his watch, I’m outta here. If Svetlana wakes up and smells beer on me, she’ll raise Cain.

And you say you’re not against women’s liberation? Dimitri laughingly slapped one hand on his cousin’s shoulder and picked up the check. They left in high spirits, each of their minds beginning to formulate schemes.

43740.png

It was well after midnight when Natasha Williams arrived home from the parish council meeting and was preparing for bed. Sounds from the television in the den seemed far away in the quiet house. She sat before the dressing table, aware that Joseph was engrossed in the late evening news. Her husband reported that both their daughters had called from college earlier and she tried to recall what he said they’d chatted about. Nothing important evidently. Right now it was enough to hear that they were doing well.

But tonight she was unable to concentrate on anything much. Instead, she tried to ward off the frustration which morphed into depression after recent council meetings. Her thoughts were heavy as she brushed her light brown hair ’till it shone. So much futility everywhere. Why on earth did anybody watch the news, she wondered half aloud. The world was a place where only children or madmen felt at home, because they did not perceive the craziness in it. But the Church should be different. And for her it had been different for a time- a place where incredible beauty, stability and trust reigned. What happened to the bliss that enveloped her following her re-entry into the Church? Was she merely getting past a long honeymoon phase or was it the discovery that madmen wanted to take over? Or could they be right, those critics of Father Alexei? Was he a hopeless dreamer impeding progress of the Church in our time? No! No! A strong protest arose inside at the very idea. It was that rare spiritual understanding he gave to her and many others that she relied on in times of need! She had not found the pearl of great price anywhere else in years of searching. It had been that way since he came into her life three years before.

Her mind went back to that day when she first met Father Alexei. It had been a day when the San Fernando Valley sizzled from the Santa Ana winds, desiccating everything in its path. She had made a hurried preparation to attend a fashion show and luncheon. Late and distracted, she’d turned onto the wrong street.

Nestled at the end of a cul-de-sac was the tiny, white wooden church of St. Vladimir, with the sun shooting rays off its golden cupola. Surrounding it were towering eucalyptus offering protection. It appeared to be waiting for her. On impulse, Natasha parked her car and wandered with some hesitation into the shabby adjacent garage-like building that served as the parish office. By then she instinctively knew that the turn had not been the wrong one.

May I help you? asked Gregory, the senior warden, acting as receptionist.

I’d like … she said and stopped. What would she like? What was it she really wanted?

Yes? he urged, studying her with curiosity. It was not every day that an attractive young woman in an expensive dress set off with fine jewelry came to this unpretentious church.

I’d like to see the pastor, she had blurted, surprising herself by her spontaneous words. The man relaxing over an open book at the makeshift desk in the cubicle did not appear surprised. Most visitors, after all, came to see Father Alexei. Is it an emergency?

No, not exactly.

Well, he’s with someone now, but let me check his schedule.

As she waited, doubts, like the restless winds outside, assailed her, oppressive as the heat inside. Idly she watched a lone fly crawl up the wall and disappear into a crevice of peeling green paint. Dread of this act ending in another futile spiritual search cascaded over her in dizzying waves. Suddenly a mental image flashed through her mind. Had it not been to such humble synagogues that Jesus had gone to preach His message of salvation? And had it not been to such poor edifices that the Apostles had sailed or trudged on foot to spread the Gospel? With that, a faint hope arose.

After what seemed to be an interminable wait, Father Alexei emerged with three giggling teenagers, all of them exhibiting vitality and joy. The dark-haired priest of moderate height, emanating an unusual energy that encompassed them all, had the kind of compelling eyes and face that artists would want to paint. He turned to greet her when they were gone.

I’m sorry I kept you waiting. But I was meeting with our youth group leaders and didn’t want to hurry them off. After all, these youngsters are our future.

Father Alexei ushered her into a minuscule pastoral office as though he’d done this many times before. Natasha was aware of the eyes of the senior warden boring into her back as she edged past the clutter in the reception area.

How good of you to come! Father Alexei said when they were seated. Are you a member visiting from one of our Churches?

No … well … yes … oh, I don’t know what I am anymore! The words unleashed long-suppressed confusion. A lake of tears dammed up inside spilled over as her composure crumbled.

As soon as the torrent let up, he handed her a Kleenex and patted her hand as if comforting a child. She looked directly into his eyes for the first time and felt a sharp impact. In consternation she lowered her gaze. It was as though the large, deep-set brown eyes could see into her soul. He had the pronounced Slavic features she was accustomed to. Her own father, although beardless, had the same dark, piercing eyes, high cheekbones and restless energy. But this was different. In one moment, she felt more connectedness with this stranger than she had in her entire life with her father, dead for more than a decade.

Tell me about yourself. Do you have a family?

Yes, a husband, two daughters, both in college.

Are you a member of a Church?

Not now, she’d said haltingly. I guess I’ve tried most of them.

Did the search satisfy you?

I feel like I’ve been living someone else’s life. I’m afraid I’ll die before I live! Her tone was one of suppressed anguish.

Ah, yes, he murmured, the human condition. But tell me, how about Orthodoxy? Somehow you seem to be one of us.

I suppose so, if you consider being baptized in a village church and attending Liturgy a couple of times. I didn’t understand the Slavonic services, so I didn’t go later on, even when I had the chance.

But here, services are in English, he said brightly. You’d have no difficulty following them. He paused. But you said you’ve tried other religions?

Unable to stem the flow of words, Natasha poured out her long, jumbled tale of altar shopping. Father Alexei leaned forward to listen, brows knit in furrows that gave him a sage-like demeanor, although she guessed him to be no older than his mid-forties.

A tedious, tiring journey isn’t it? he interrupted only once to comment.

Exhausting and futile, she sobbed.

How merciful is our God! he’d exclaimed when she finished. You’re obviously a person who has to investigate for herself. But now you’re ready to come home and the Holy Spirit brought you back to where you belong!

Oh, I don’t know, Natasha had mumbled, dismayed at the intimate reference to a vague something called the Holy Spirit.

My dear child, Father Alexei said seriously, God knows you better than you know yourself. You’re not only a woman but you’re a Slav. We don’t have a detached mindset. We feel our joys and sorrow and pain just as Jesus, who was fully human, felt them. How long did you think you could go on cutting off your heart from your head? He made a gesture to indicate the severance. Mind religions and rigid letter of the law Romanism may suit people of less feeling. But not us. You were trying to function with your mind alone and ignoring your heart and, in the process, dying emotionally and spiritually.

That certainly describes it, she agreed, amazed at his astuteness.

Welcome home! And with a beatific smile Father Alexei reached out to grasp her hand. Let us pray and give thanks for your return!

He bent his head, closed his eyes, and prayed fervently with lips barely moving. We, thy thankful and unworthy servants, praise and glorify Thee, Oh Lord, for Thy great benefits which we have received … Natasha pretended to join in, but her emotions were in