The narrator of the present story will tell us about the Divine providence in her life that eventually inspired her to become a part of the Orthodox Church.
I was born in 1971, and my parents had not the slightest wish for their child to be baptized. Baptism was out of the question! My father and mother, members of the Soviet Communist Party, baptizing their child—it sounded ridiculous! I was growing up like an animal and a rascal… As a child, I was keen on pickpocketing, beating up boys and many other things that corrupt the soul. I dread to recall all that. I is as if someone was whispering these ideas to me and each idea was even crazier than the previous one. Moreover, I, a little girl, was eagerly bringing each idea to life. A little devil was growing up...
There lived an elderly woman in our block of flats in the Biryulyovo neighborhood of Moscow. My mom for some reason called her a Baptist. The meaning of this word seemed unclear and vague, and it stuck in my mind as a close association with the clothes and style of Baba [a colloquial Russian word for addressing elderly women] Nyura. She used to wear all black, including her black headscarf that nearly covered her brows. I can’t remember why, but once she rang our doorbell. She must have come to see my mom. I opened the door to see Baba Nyura giving me a book, wrapped in a newspaper. The elderly woman said with love and determination, “Take this, honey, and give it to your mom. And read it yourself! This is the word of God.”
The year was in 1982. An eleven-year-old, I returned instinctively:
“What? I am a young Soviet pioneer, I don’t believe in God!”
“Try to read it anyway. You can give it back to me if you don’t like it.”
I did not insist on having it my way and took the Bible to put an end to this perplexing conversation. I promised to look through it.
Baba Nyura was gone. My curiosity prevailed and I opened the book. The paper had yellowed with age, it had no actual binding, and the font was illegible. I tried to read several lines but failed… I did not understand anything in the book and put it on a shelf; I forgot about it until my mother came home.
In 1984, however, my class teacher told us about the “opium of the people”, mocking the sacrament of Communion. I did not feel like laughing, I do not know why. Hearing the word “church”, I felt something warm in my unbaptized soul. I can distinctly remember Nina Vasilyevna vividly describing the sacrament of the Eucharist, trying to make us laugh. She deliberately underscored that the procedure was unhygienic as throngs of people, all with various illnesses, used the same spoon. Some of my classmates giggled, and I... I remember it as if it was today, I listened to my teacher with interest but felt no disgust. This was a new, mysterious and unknown world that I was as yet reluctant to discover.
In 1985, we moved from Biryulyovo to our new apartment in Krylatskoye. It was in August when I was strolling around to get to know the neighborhood where I would be living. I came across a strange derelict building on the Krylatskie Hills and instantly understood this was a church… It had neither a roof, nor a belfry. The door was locked. The solid brickwork and a bizarre facade convinced that it used to be a church.
There was a hole in the wall, large enough to easily get inside the church. Unbaptized and reckless, I dared not do it despite the fact I really wanted to. I just came up to the wall, lingered for a while gazing at the hole, and strolled back home. Some of the kids would later tell me how they got inside and even found there old coins and church utensils. However, I could not ignore my reverent attitude towards this world unknown to me.
The Church of the Nativity of the Theotokos, 1988
Later I would learn that the church was built in the reign of Ivan the Terrible, who was fond of hunting in that area. This was the Church of the Nativity of the Theotokos. Then, in 1984, I could never imagine that both my father and I would be baptized in this very place in 1993; moreover I would bring my daughter here for baptism in 1999, on the day of the Vladimir icon of the Theotokos.
All these things would happen later. In the meantime, awarded with a silver medal at school, an honors student and a member of the Komsomol, I entered the Department of Journalism at the prestigious Moscow State Institute of International Affairs. The nation was feeling an auspicious wind of change. The churches began opening their doors for parishioners. We could see the noble face of Patriarch Alexiy, but I remained reluctant towards religion, working hard on my studies.
In the third year, we had a course called Foreign Literature taught by Yuriy Pavlovich Vyazemsky, later a famous show host. He gave us a list of a hundred books in early September and said we were to read them by the end of December. The exam was due in January.
The list included the four Gospels, the Revelations of John the Theologian, and some books of the Old Testament; we had to study them all. I had to go to New Arbat Avenue and buy the Bible from the second-hand dealers right in the street. The book was rather expensive, by the way. So I bought it, came back home and opened it on the first page with a kind of exhilaration. I was happy as I could read it legitimately, without fearing anyone or anything. However, there was no miracle. Since I had not read any such books in the period of atheism, nor had known any prayers, the things described in the Bible seemed something weird and unclear, just as it was after my meeting with baba Nyura. Nonetheless, my dread of failing galvanized me into reading further. My soul remained cold. Furthermore, at the very beginning I got into a muddle over the Old Testament names and lives. I came to understand I would definitely have to cheat, as I would never remember everything.
It is worth mentioning that, as a future journalist, I read works by Frank, Florensky, Bulgakov, Lossky, Berdyaev and many other Orthodox philosophers and writers because we discussed them in other courses. For my young communist mind, this heavy flow of religious information was tantamount to a waterfall. It was cutting the ground from under my feet, roaring, absorbing me. It was a flood of previously unknown facts, but I kept on reading, reading and reading… To be honest, I could understand little of what I read. The crucial thing was clear: Everything written in those books was true. Everything was the Truth. There was no doubt. Because so many educated and faithful people could not have been wrong at the same time. They were baptised Orthodox Christians and confessed their faith up to their last days. I never attended church and never believed in God… Therefore, I had to receive baptism to understand them. I began to feel a pang of conscience. It was probably similar to inferiority. How is that possible? All most erudite people were baptised, while I am not. This is how my desire to go to a church and receive baptism emerged.
Yuriy Pavlovich Vyazemsky Prior to the Old and New Testaments exams, I prepared all my cheat sheets. During the exam, I received my question and had half an hour to prepare before I would face Yuriy Pavlovich to give the answer. I answered the first two questions fairly well, but the professor suddenly posed an additional question, “Tell me, please, what is the first commandment?” I instantly remembered where exactly this piece of information was written in my cheat sheet, looked down at the cribs lying on my lap and declared without the slightest hesitation, “Thou shalt not take the name of God in vain”. Yuriy Pavlovich raised his eyebrows with amazement and suggested that I think again, because my answer was wrong. I was perplexed! How could it be wrong? I had found the answer in the Bible. I was a hundred percent sure. I began to insist my answer was correct right during the exam. Yuriy Pavlovich cracked his typical jokes and asked me to name the sixth and the eighth commandments. I was wrong. Again. His numbering was different from mine. I was startled. I had copied my answers exactly from the Bible and failed. And I failed the exam. Professor Vyazemsky said the highest grade he could give me was C because I did not answer the additional question. I strongly disagreed: for three years of my studies, I had never earned even B, and then I received C… For the first time in my life, I had to admit I was to retake it the following week. Luckily enough, Yuriy Pavlovich agreed to it in 1993.
I came back home, opened the Bible and could not believe my own eyes: I had copied the commandments starting with the third, not the first one. But how???? What could have gone wrong? Instantly a thought flashed through my mind: “It is God’s punishment for your indecent attitude towards the holy book. All this is because you are not baptized… Everything would have been different if you were baptized.”
I will never forget this story. The Lord did not allow me to treat His word blasphemously. These were not maxims of a philosopher, these were the COMMANDMENTS, which I was to remember and enunciate with veneration.
A week later, I saw Yuriy Pavlovich again. I sat down right before him and snapped, “Go on, ask your questions. Now I know all Ten Commandments! You may ask me to name the fifth or the ninth, any of them in any order you like.” Yuriy Pavlovich smiled, “Oksana, I had no doubts you would remember them, so I won’t ask you about them. Tell me, please, about Dante’s Divine Comedy, who is in the first circle?” I mentioned only the unbaptized, but forgot the second part, about the “virtuous pagans”... As a result, I received a B. My first B in my three years of studies. I failed to outsmart Yuriy Pavlovich. God did not allow that. The Lord does not like those who trick people. He wants truth and knowledge and has nothing to do with tricks or lies. This is how Professor Vyazemsky was instrumental in dispelling my idealistic illusions of myself and how I was punished for my pride.
As my exams were over, some dreams began haunting me. There was a flood of them, all with religious undertones. At first, I saw the Lord. He looked like a martyr. He was wearing a long robe, surrounded by ruthless executioners and a crowd of passers-by. The instruments of torture were just behind. I saw the tongs being heated, I saw a rack… I realized he would be tortured, my heart sank and ached as I saw His pain. At the last moment, He suddenly raised His head to pierce me with His sharp glance. He pointed His accusing finger at me: “It’s her!” The executioners rushed off towards me… I ran as fast as I could, dashing down long corridors of an unknown building… Soon I woke up happy as they had failed to catch me. However, I must say, I was seized by a feeling of terror and panic even many days later.
A couple of days later I had another dream. I was in the subway, throngs of people all around me; it was a real crush… And it was dark… Unexpectedly, a Woman helped me. But for her, I would have fallen onto the track or got stuck in subway doors… I do not remember exactly. I couldn’t make out Her face as we are in the semidarkness… I remember I asked Her only one question, “How can I reward You for Your help?” The Woman returned, “Embrace My Son... ” That was all… I got up and began reflecting on what I had seen… At first, I guessed the woman was probably the Theotokos, but then why was She wearing a dark robe instead of a light one, and why was She in the darkness?
A few days passed and I had another dream. I was in a strange city, the place felt creepy… There were streetcars; all around me everything was gloomy and clammy… Suddenly, I saw a light green building, a fence… I went around the building and got inside, seemingly through the wall… I saw a grave… The grave was neat, there lay some flowers and a low iron fence encircled it… The ground was black… I had never been there and had no idea of who was buried there… I squatted down, saw the gravestone, but failed to make out the name...
I was fed up with these dreams. One day (I clearly remember it was Saturday and my vacation days were almost over), I woke up determined to go to a nearby church to receive baptism. I had to do it, or I would go crazy. I had no choice—either on that very day or never. I came up to my dad and said I was going to the Church of the Nativity of the Theotokos in Krylatskoye to learn about baptism. Unexpectedly, he said he would go with me, as he also wanted to receive baptism. It turned out he did not remember whether he was baptized in Irkutsk in 1945 or not. His mother had never told him about that.
I cheered up when I learned we would go together. We started out. It was 12:30pm, if I am not mistaken. When we were in, I asked a woman working there when we could be baptized. She affectionately said that the rite of baptism was to begin in fifteen minutes. She said what things we had to buy for the sacrament. Afterward, she asked us about our names. They wrote my father’s name in a thick notebook, and he went to look around the church. When it was my turn and I said my name, the woman threw up her hands in surprise, “Oksana? My dear, you are Xenia.” She gave a shriek of excitement that penetrated the entire church: “What a miracle! Saint Xenia has taken Xenia for baptism on her commemoration day!”
Блаженная Ксения Петербуржская I could not understand anything at all. A smile of joy had not yet vanished from that woman’s face, her eyes filled with tears of tenderness. In the meantime, I remained thunderstruck and realized only one thing: According to the Church rules, I was then Xenia. I had no idea as to what Xenia had taken me here. I said straightforwardly that I had not made any arrangements, I knew nothing of my name day, I had just woken up with a single thought: “I am receiving baptism, and that’s it.” After my confession, the woman, overwhelmed with joy, went somewhere exclaiming it was a miracle. Her less impressionable colleague explained to me that I had come on February 6, the commemoration day of St. Xenia of Saint Petersburg, who was canonized as a saint of the Russian Orthodox Church some five years ago. She was the Xenia who had taken me to the church to embrace the faith in Christ. This unforeseeable miracle happened to me.
On the woman’s advice, I bought a baptismal icon of Blessed Xenia in the church, cast a look at and was completely dumbfounded. There was a pistachio-green house of God right behind the saint. It was very similar to the one I saw in my dream. It suddenly dawned on me. I had been in St. Petersburg in my dream… I was on the Petrograd Side of the city I had never visited before… I remembered the streetcar tracks, and the low grey sky… The fence, the gravestone, the grave… The ground… Mother Xenia showed me everything in my dream; she showed me things prior to her canonization and after it. I arrived in Saint Petersburg for the first time in 2013, and visited the Smolensk Cemetery. I knew the atmosphere, the streets I had seen in my dream twenty years ago, in February 1993… It was obvious that St. Xenia had shown me her hometown and her grave twenty years before my real visit. She showed them to me, a sinner, unbaptized, to me who had never been to Saint Petersburg and was not yet an Orthodox Christian. Then, she took me to church to receive baptism on my name day.
