Evgenia Rozina, the wife of Fr. Mikhail, rector of the Church of the Prophet Elijah in the village of Zdemirovo near Kostroma, admits that tending gardens, vegetable patches, chickens, rabbits, or cows is simply not her calling. She laughs: “Or rather, not mine at all.”
Choir work, however—including singing and chanting, directing the Sunday school, teaching classes at the local House of Culture that was saved from closure, and serving in the Union of Orthodox Women—is another matter entirely. All of it demands dedication and wholehearted effort.
In fact, one might well ask which is ultimately more important: vegetable gardens or education? Vegetables can always be bought at the local shop or from a neighbor. But where can one buy a Christian upbringing? Nowhere.
We are talking in the community cultural center, where another concert has just concluded. Despite the holiday season, the hall was filled to capacity. Children keep peeking into Evgenia’s office, but they hardly interrupt our conversation. Most likely, they are simply eager to share the excitement of their performances.
The Rozin family: Presbyter Mikhail, Matushka Evgenia, daughter Dominica, and son Myron
“Girlsketeers”
—Matushka, how important is the recreation center to the village of Zdemirovo? Is it really needed?
—Absolutely. It is well used and much loved. On weekdays we have only a handful of visitors, mostly young people who attend the study groups. But on holidays the entire village seems to gather here, and we have a full house. We have a concert hall with seating for one hundred people, and on feast days it is always filled to capacity. Both children and adults from the village come to celebrate together.
On holidays, the whole village comes together here, and the hall is always full.
Five years ago, we resumed Sunday school classes at the Church of the Prophet Elijah. The question arose of where and how to hold our Christmas celebrations. We have many children in the village, but the church simply does not have enough space. So we thought: Why not combine our creative work with the activities already taking place at the recreation center? It turned out to be a wonderful solution for everyone.
My first experience teaching Sunday school in Zdemirovo was back in 2012, when I was still very young. I was only twenty-one, and Fr. Mikhail had just been ordained. To be honest, the recreation center was practically in ruins at that time. Everything was dilapidated: the wooden structures were rotting, the floors were giving way, the chairs were falling apart, and the whole building smelled of dampness and decaying wood. We staged our first Christmas play in the foyer because it was not only unsafe to use the auditorium—it was nearly impossible even to step inside it. Despite all these difficulties, the villagers were delighted.
Unfortunately, we were unable to continue our Sunday school at that time because we had trouble finding a place to live. Today the situation is completely different. The recreation center has undergone several major renovations and has been transformed.
So, five years ago, Maria, the librarian—who is also one of our parishioners, since the library and the recreation center share the same building—answered my question about where we could stage our new Christmas play: “Why don’t you come to the recreation center? We have a wonderful director now, and she’ll be happy to help.” And everything happened exactly as she said. We even became close friends: Yulia, the recreation center’s director; Maria, the librarian; and I—the popadia (priest’s wife.—Trans.). We became a kind of three musketeers in skirts—the “Girlsketeers.”
We have grown into a genuine creative team in which everyone helps everyone else. We sew costumes together, build stage sets, collect books, and work side by side on small improvement projects. Last year we even received a grant to upgrade the stage equipment and renovate the costume and dressing rooms.
In short, it is truly “one for all, and all for one.” There is no room for loneliness here. Little by little, the children have also become involved in everything we do, and that brings us great joy.
The Christmas performance at the recreation center
—How do the children feel about the theater studio? It isn’t something they participate in just because they have to, is it?
—That simply wouldn’t work. If the children didn’t enjoy the theater studio, I’m sure they just wouldn’t come. But they do come, they become deeply involved, and now they even confidently suggest some of their own creative ideas for the performances. Sometimes we watch our earliest productions together, and it’s amazing to see that some of the children who acted in them have now practically grown up. Time flies, of course. The children have matured—not only in age but as actors as well.
In the beginning, I had to write and develop our scripts by myself, or together with the three of us—our little “mighty handful.” Now the children are always part of the creative process. I regularly consult them because they come up with ideas of their own, and many of them are genuinely excellent.
Most often we prepare performances for Christmas, Pascha, and Victory Day. Last year we decided to stage not only a concert for May 9 but also a theatrical production. We brought together all of our creative groups, and the result was a concert without presenters. One scene flowed naturally into the next, telling the story of a wartime romance centered around the famous “Blue Handkerchief” and the longing for victory in the Great Patriotic War. It turned out beautifully.
When you stand on the stage and see the audience’s emotions—their smiles, their tears, their heartfelt applause—you experience a profound joy. It gives you strength, inspiration, and the assurance that you are doing the right thing.
We have remarkably warm and responsive people here. They tell us, “Just keep doing what you’re doing! The recreation center has come alive because of you! Don’t you ever think of leaving!”
The people here truly care about our recreation center. They are always ready to lend a hand whenever something needs to be done. They tell us, “Girls, just keep doing your work! The recreation center has come alive because of you! Don’t you ever think of leaving!”
And what does it mean for a village to have a House of Culture and a library? If they are closed, that’s it—the end. People call it “optimization.” We have more than three hundred households in Zdemirovo and about eight hundred residents. Are we really supposed to “optimize” all of that? Certainly not. We’d rather continue doing our work.
Two years ago, I was offered an official position at the recreation center. At first I hesitated, so I asked Fr. Mikhail whether it was the right decision. He replied, “Of course. You spend nearly all your time there anyway. At least now you’ll be able to cover part of the Sunday school’s expenses.”
And that is exactly how it has turned out. Practically my entire salary goes right back into supporting its work.
About the Benefits of the Rumor Mill
—Family, household responsibilities, the church choir, the recreation center, Sunday school—how do you find the strength for it all? You certainly don’t come across as someone exhausted by the burdens of everyday life. You’re always smiling and laughing. Where does your strength come from?
—But I also work with the Union of Orthodox Women. It has grown into a strong organization engaged in charitable work and in helping large families, the elderly who live alone, the poor, and anyone in need. This is one of those cases where the “rumor mill” works exactly as it should. Women, I think, tend to be more attentive and proactive than men, and they are always ready to help.
We hear that a particular family needs assistance or that someone has fallen on hard times. First we verify the information, then we verify it again. After that, we make a decision quickly—we collect what is needed or find another way to help, and the situation begins to improve. Men, on the other hand, often start weighing every detail, setting up procedures and paperwork, and by the time everything is settled, a great deal of time has passed. I know our parish community well, I know who needs what, and as a kind of link between people, I can help connect them with those who are able to provide assistance.
For example, there may be a struggling family living in a neighboring village. What is there to prevent us from helping them? Assistance can take many forms—from direct financial support to legal guidance in preparing an application for social assistance. Quite often, parishioners bring food to the church as memorial offerings for the departed, and we distribute those donations among families in need.
Sometimes a family appears financially secure, but one of the adults struggles with alcoholism. In such cases, we begin with personal conversations and try to help them find medical or psychological support. Only in the most serious situations do we contact the appropriate authorities, and thankfully that is quite rare.
Not all large families know what forms of government assistance they are entitled to receive. Unfortunately, these benefits are largely available only to those who know to apply for them. If you never submit an application, no one will come looking for you. We explain what support is available, help families complete the necessary paperwork correctly, and often act as a bridge between those providing assistance and those receiving it. Good legal guidance can make an enormous difference.
Paying a Visit to the House of Mercy
We work closely with the House of Mercy at the Church of the Nativity of Christ in Priskokovo, which our parish helps support. We not only raise funds for its work but also organize activities for the residents. Elderly people need attention and companionship, so we all visit them. We sing with them, play musical instruments, and hold all kinds of workshops. It brings joy to the residents, and we ourselves leave with lighter hearts.
Whenever someone suddenly finds himself in a difficult situation, we can arrange either temporary or permanent residence there if needed.
Our work extends throughout the Kostroma Region, and at times we join forces with the Metropolitanate. This year, for example, we launched a large-scale project called The Feodorovsky Readings. We also organize various competitions and charitable campaigns.
One of our favorite projects is Secret Santa, which has been bringing Christmas joy to children since 2020. Children from the families we support write down what they would like to receive for Christmas. Together with our benefactors, I try—and, thanks be to God, often succeed—to find a generous “Santa Claus” for each of them.
Of course, every now and then a child asks for something extravagant—as though expecting a Ferrari—but that happens very rarely. Most children are grateful for any gift at all. They write about their interests and hobbies, and we try to find something that matches them.
We also encourage our benefactors to “adopt” a particular family and support them throughout the year. Some choose to help several families.
And sometimes real miracles happen.
One day, one of our benefactors asked me whether any of the families we served needed a new computer. At that very moment, we had just learned about a student whose family simply could not afford one. We delivered the computer to them. The parents were nearly in tears with gratitude, and the young man himself could hardly believe what was happening.
That, to me, was another miracle of Christ’s Nativity. That is what Christmas in our hearts—and Secret Santa—is all about. Simply keep doing what you can, fulfill the work entrusted to you, and thank God and your anonymous benefactors.
I’ve noticed that gratitude itself becomes a wonderful school of life. A person who learns to receive help with thankfulness will one day be ready to help someone else.
It is so important to be surrounded by like-minded people. I could never have accomplished any of this on my own.
I may sound repetitive, but our village is truly close-knit and resourceful. Have you noticed the collection box in our village store? The one for food donations to our soldiers taking part in the Special Military Operation? It was a village initiative. Those who are able buy food—mostly canned goods—and place it in the box. Once a month, volunteers collect everything and deliver it to the front. We hear that our boys are always delighted to receive these gifts from home. And how happy we are to be able to support them! Every day we remember them in our prayers at church, asking God to grant them health and salvation.
It is so important to be surrounded by like-minded people. I could never have managed all of this on my own—whether at the recreation center, in the church choir, or through the Union of Orthodox Women. It’s much like singing in a choir. It is one thing to sing the entire service alone—your voice soon becomes strained. It is entirely different when you are part of a choir singing in harmony. Then the service is beautiful, prayer comes more naturally, and the faithful are uplifted.
Farther from “Patriarch Ponds”—Closer to Mother Russia
—You’re originally from Moscow, aren’t you? And now you’re living in a remote corner of the Kostroma Region. It’s beautiful here, of course, but there isn’t a metro in sight, and “Patriarch Ponds”1 is a world away. How did you adapt to what people sometimes call the “real Russia”?
—To be honest, I don’t miss Patriarch Ponds—or the people who spend their time there. Russia isn’t confined to that little corner of Moscow.
My life here on the banks of the Volga—my ministry and my work—isn’t all of this God’s mercy and His good providence? When I look back, I see that the Lord has always led us by the hand and never abandoned us. Of course, there have been moments that remind me of how I learned to swim when I was nine years old. They simply tossed me into deep water and said, “Go on, swim!” But they stayed nearby the whole time. That’s how it has been in life as well: help has always been close at hand.
I have deep roots in the Kostroma Region. Both my grandparents came from here, and every summer we spent our holidays in the village.
In fact, that’s one of the reasons I met batiushka, my future husband. When I learned that he was from these parts, I felt it couldn’t be a coincidence. My spiritual father wholeheartedly blessed the marriage. “You’re not moving to a strange place,” he told me. “You’re going home.” As it happens, he himself is also from this region.
I asked Fr. Afanasy Chornoguz to become my spiritual father when I was only eleven years old. He was rector of the church where, in many ways, I grew up. Once I asked his blessing before going to the village for the summer. He asked where I was headed. When I answered, “The Kostroma Region,” he lit up with joy.
“Really? My parents are from Sudislavl!” he exclaimed. “So we’re from the same part of the country! We’ll pray for you.”
It’s a small world—and the Orthodox world is even smaller.
Still, the adjustment wasn’t entirely easy. Both emotionally and financially, the early years were difficult. We married in 2008 and initially lived in the city. Only later did we begin building our house in Zdemirovo. For about six years, it felt as though we were living out of our car. What a time that was! We looked like traveling gypsies, forever loading and unloading enormous bags and boxes.
Even ordinary shopping could be discouraging. I’d ask a sales assistant, “Which sausage would you recommend?” only to hear, “It’s not my job to taste them all!” or some other equally unfriendly reply. For someone who had grown up in Moscow—albeit with Kostroma roots—it wasn’t easy to sing, “Kostroma, mon amour...” from the very beginning. Thankfully, things have changed. Life has become easier, and people here are no longer so brusque.
People see that you genuinely care, and they are happy to respond. They understand that your desire to help is sincere.
To Our Wonderful Teachers—Thank You!
I am also deeply grateful to my schoolteachers. To their credit, they did not focus solely on academic achievement, important though it was. More than anything, they wanted us to grow into honest people who loved and respected Russia. That is what I cherish most about my school.
There was even a friendly rivalry with another nearby school. They took the greatest pride in grades and academic success. Our unofficial motto, on the other hand, was something like: “It doesn’t matter if you’re last in the class—as long as you’re a good person!”
Of course, we had a few struggling students, although poor marks were actually quite uncommon. But when your teachers treat you with kindness and value you first and foremost as a person, you naturally don’t want to disappoint them.
The same spirit prevailed in the Sunday school at the church where Fr. Afanasy served. We had wonderful teachers and a truly family atmosphere.
I especially remember one beautiful tradition. After the Nativity and Pascha night services, everyone stayed to celebrate together in the parish hall. Each family prepared a dish at home—children helping their parents—and brought it to share at the common meal. People exchanged recipes, shared food, and rejoiced together. It was a genuine feast of fellowship.
I would love to introduce that tradition at our Church of the Prophet Elijah in Zdemirovo and in our Sunday school. At the moment, however, we’re looking for a suitable place to set up a kitchen. I believe it will happen. The people here are open-hearted—they will support the idea. And God will not leave us.
Our Response to “Cluswortlor”
I have been singing in the choir since I was thirteen. I learned a great deal from Matushka Anastasia, the wife of Fr. Afanasy. Sometimes batiushka himself would even ask me to fill in for an altar server: I would prepare the censer and help with various other duties. A real jack-of-all-trades, so to speak.
Both Matushka Anastasia and Fr. Afanasy graduated from the seminary at the Trinity-St. Sergius Lavra. They brought the Lavra’s tradition of liturgical singing and chanting with them to the parish where they served, and I, in turn, adopted those same traditions as the foundation of our choir at the Church of the Prophet Elijah. I’m speaking not only about the melodies, but also about clarity, diction, and the way the sacred texts are proclaimed.
We don’t want it to be as Nikolai Leskov humorously described in At the End of the World, where the bishop recalls with horror the chanting of one unfortunate reader: “One of them, instead of chanting ‘Come, Let Us Worship the Lord,’ would close his eyes and twitter it like a skylark: ‘cluswortlor, cluswortlor,’ warbling away so enthusiastically that it was impossible to stop him.”
The same is true of beautiful choral singing. For me, the choir led by the late Archimandrite Matthew (Mormyl) has always been the ideal and the standard to which I aspire.
The most important thing is to understand the meaning of the prayer—not simply to repeat the words mechanically, but to know what you are chanting and to pray with understanding. I also began reading in church at a very young age—when I was only twelve. Batiushka learned that I could already read Church Slavonic well. We had been studying medieval chronicles in history class, and I had become fascinated with the language.
He said to me, “Evgenia, get ready—you’ll be reading the Six Psalms.” I thought he was joking. But when I returned from the village, he handed me the Horologion and simply said, “Go ahead.”
I think it must have been the slowest reading of the Six Psalms in all of Russia. I felt terribly sorry for the parishioners who had to endure it! Thankfully, they were patient, and I learned quickly. Before long I was also reading the Hours, the canons, the kathismata, and other services.
That is how we teach our young parishioners and Sunday school students to chant and read as well. The main thing is to understand what is being said in prayer—not to repeat the words like parrots, but to understand what you are reading.
At the moment, however, we have fewer children than usual. Many of our older students have graduated from school, and now they are occupied with examinations and private tutors. Even so, we usually have about fifteen children in Sunday school—which is quite a large number for a village, wouldn’t you agree?
Of course, I would like to give them even more knowledge, more substantial instruction. But first, there simply isn’t enough time for everything. And second, I often remember what I learned at school: “The most important thing is to become a good human being. Academic achievement will follow.”
Priest Mikhail Rozin —Catechesis is certainly important, but isn’t it of little value without a sincere and heartfelt prayer to the Lord?
—Exactly.
Adults also attend our Sunday school. After all, many people are unfamiliar with the order of the services or the symbolism behind them. They have questions—not only about the Typikon, the iconostasis, or the arrangement of the church, but also about the Gospel parables and many other aspects of the faith.
We are genuinely happy that people are interested enough to ask questions. That is very important.
Another essential point is that children and their parents come to church together. Too often parents say, “Church isn’t really for us, but we’ll send our child. Maybe he’ll learn something good there.”
That simply doesn’t work.
Giving Christ only what is left over is no great thing.
At the same time, we have often witnessed the opposite. Children who first came to church only for Sunday school gradually led their own parents to Christ. That is one of the remarkable paradoxes of our time.
Open the Door—and Christ Will Enter
—One sometimes notices that the wife of a priest falls into discouragement. People say that a priest’s family lives in a house with glass walls, always under everyone’s gaze. That is difficult for everyone. In your opinion—or perhaps from your own experience—what should one do in such moments?
—Much depends on the circumstances and on the person’s character. I’ve experienced that myself. Sometimes it happens because someone in the family is ill. Sometimes because the family is going through difficult times. Life brings all kinds of trials. The Lord leads each person out of such darkness in His own way.
In my own case, what helped me most was becoming actively involved in the Union of Orthodox Women and, quite literally, living at our recreation center in Zdemirovo.
Sometimes a matushka simply needs genuine rest—from household responsibilities, from the constant noise of children, from the endless bustle of everyday life.
Our parishioners from the Sunday school often come to my rescue. They gladly spend time with our youngest child. Even if it is only for a couple of hours, that gives me the opportunity to rehearse with the choir, direct the singing during the services, or simply find a little quiet and recollect myself.
Every matushka, like every woman, has her own ways of restoring her soul. I neither can nor wish to offer some universal recipe for overcoming discouragement or sorrow. But one thing I know from my own life: there is always a way out. We must never forget that God does not abandon us. Those are not merely comforting words—they are the reality of the Christian life.
I often recall the advice of my spiritual father, Fr. Afanasy Chornoguz: “When you are at your lowest, when everything around you seems dark and hopeless, receive Holy Communion as often as you can.”
I followed that advice. During one especially difficult period, I received Holy Communion at every Divine Liturgy. My struggle lasted nearly six months, and it was Christ Himself who drew me out of it.
Of course, we begin telling ourselves that we aren’t prepared today—or that perhaps we’ll come later. No. Without the Lord, you will never escape discouragement. If every time Christ knocks at your door (cf. Rev. 3:20) you answer, “Lord, come another time. I’m too sad, too exhausted, too unworthy to receive You today,” nothing will change.
God has come to you—even though you are sinful and unworthy—to save you and draw you out of the deepest darkness. “Lord, I am nothing; but without You I shall sink to the very bottom.”
Do not let discouragement rule over you. Let Christ take its place.
I know this because I have lived it.
