The Church of the Protection of the Mother of God in Ust-Pechenga
It all began when Fr. Seraphim, smiling like a wily fox, suggested that we travel to work “the Celentano way”1 for a couple of Lenten weeks. He said it would be truly useful and the most lenten of all things. He even sang something to the tune of the famous song, “L’Italiano” (“Real Italian”) by Toto Cutugno, which in his rendition and hoarse voice, sounded like “Un Ortodosso Vero” (“Real Orthodox). In our bewilderment, we asked the priest to explain his lenten passion for Italian music. He laughed:
“It’s quite simple,” he said. “Back in our Protection Church parish, in our beloved Ust-Pechenga, we’ve collected an enormous pile of logs. The church is heated exclusively with wood stoves, so even if it kills us, we need to turn these logs into firewood for next winter. And so I think Celentano in his movie, “The Taming of the Shrew” shows us a truly good example of how a Christian should take care of, er, certain carnal desires that blossom come spring. Do you remember how the farmer Elijah—played by Celentano—in an attempt to overcome these particular temptations, would wrestle with them by chopping wood?” Screaming cats sitting on a birch tree to mark the incoming of spring loudly sealed his witty observation. “It’s a truly lenten job, I’d say. Besides, it’s a really useful one, because we need firewood. I can’t deal with it alone—I have loads of other things to do: I serve daily at various locations; our deanery is huge, so those trips take a lot of time. So I ask you good Orthodox people to help me take care of the firewood.”
Fr. Seraphim Rozin
Thus inspired, we agreed of course. But on one condition: Since we were in Ust-Pechenga chopping wood, we’ll call it as Ust-Chelentanikha, after the celebrated Italian actor. That settled it. Fr. Seraphim only asked that we don’t do it “like making hot cakes,” but casually:
“Just don’t hurt yourself there, please. ‘I know you city guys—on the first day you force yourselves, then run out of steam, and then spend the rest of the time doing nothing but lying in bed, moaning and recovering. So please don’t do it wildly, so that you do it right. It’s like chanting in church.”
Muscle pain is caused by the accumulation of something like a lactic acid, they say. This “un-lenten” acid made itself felt quite a lot indeed in the first days of our fasting/woodchopping exploits. Fr. Seraphim was quite right. But, to our own joy, we sybaritic city guys gradually discovered that if you work wisely, in your own time, without rush and fuss, you’ll all suddenly discover how strength comes as if from nowhere, fatigue goes away, and results get better with each day. The priest never missed the opportunity to come and help us, waving his chopper with all this might, so that we didn’t feel left all alone there.
Speaking of pride. And other sins.
Even such an earthly job as chopping firewood can be a visual example of the struggle against sins
Even such earthly job as chopping firewood can be a visual example of the struggle against sins, as we learned. You know, there are logs, blocks, and stumps that are so hard to work with that you simply throw up your hands, getting despondent after just a few tries. It’s like you can’t help it, it’s unworkable, full stop. They even look like inwardly wretched freaks, dreadful like mortal sin. We found seven of them, and gave them the corresponding names: “pride,” “love of money,” “despondency,” “anger,” and the rest, down the list. If ordinary logs became firewood without any sweat and, I’d even say, with a certain gusto, these monsters, looking so forbidding, would resist our every effort. To the contrary, they as if wanted to mold us so that we’d resemble them. So, all that was left was to stand there raging, sweating, and feeling completely exhausted.
“But you know, it’s true after all—it feels like you are struggling with a terrible sin,” said someone from our ‘Celentano fan club.’” It’s as though it’s standing there, sure as death, and you can do absolutely nothing about it while this monster just grins right in your face as if to say, I’ll never ever leave your side. It’s exactly like pride, or like anger. I know it firsthand.”
Lenten wood choppers
Everyone knew it firsthand, let’s face it, so the comparison was a success. It also helped that we heard the playful words, “like hot cakes,” from Fr. Seraphim. Without falling into angst or panic, we did it calmly, steadily, patiently continuing to split the wood, finding soft spots. Actually, as it turns out, technique is quite important here—if you continue hitting bluntly on one side all the time, nothing will come of it. But if you first dutifully thrash the freak on its sides and give it a drubbing along its knots, then sooner or later it will fall apart with a dreadful grating sound. And inside, like any sin, you will find a crumbly, rotten core.
“But just think of that show-off!” one of the conquerors said, not sounding very monastery-like, almost as if enviously.” It’s the same in life—something looks like a real hero, but inside it’s a total zero. The job seems unapproachable, with no chance of success. But it was not a big deal, and we managed after all.
Lenten stump pile
Well, let’s say it was almost no big deal—our hands were scraped to bleeding, if you looked closely.
“If you bleed in your battle with capricious, brute logs, then how about battling to the death with your own sins, eh?” the priest sighs. But then he smiles, straightening up: “The main thing is to continue fighting, right? Otherwise, why was the Ladder written, or the lives of the saints? These are true manuals on how to chop spiritual logs! God will conquer any sin—why do Christ and His Apostles constantly repeat, ‘Fear not?’ We simply shouldn’t quit working. And we should never get depressed if we don’t succeed right away. After all, we aren’t formed right away either. Great Lent was invented exactly for that—a “swoosh” here, a “swish” there—and something good may come out of it one day after all. He’s a fine wood chopper, our Christ.”
That’s when Pashka got so impressed that he howled after Cutugno, “Bongiorno, Ust-Pechenga, buongiorno Maria! Buongiorno Dio!” But we duly stopped his mouth—he’d do better to pile the firewood in silence, we told him. It’s Great Lent, after all!
