Kingdom of Heaven Fr. Mikhail Shpolyansky

They asked me to tell you more about him, and he deserves to talk about him.
Father Mikhail, a former shipbuilder, has been a priest for 15 years (just turned when I was on the spit with him).
Back in the Soviet years, he was considered "unreliable" and was even nearly tried for "espionage" in favor of ... Australia. The only Australian "spy" for the entire USSR at that time. How did it happen? Just once in a friendly conversation, he half-jokingly said that, they say, in a modern world war, if such a thing happens, only Australia has a chance to survive. Away from the whole world - there is no need to waste charges. And therefore, if it makes sense to emigrate, then only to Australia. Someone knocked - and the "case" began to unwind. At that time, one of his relatives was some kind of chief in the shipbuilding ministry, and some kind of information leak to the West had long been noticed there. That means Shpolyansky and the spy - he is even preparing to run away to Australia. The "case" is inflated to the point of being ridiculous. As it turned out later, even as evidence there was a complaint that Shpolyansky wrote as a 17-year-old guy with friends in a pub about the dilution of beer! It turns out that we still don’t know much about our “organs” :)
They had already been called in for interrogations ... but Brezhnev's death saved him. The persecution stopped, although I had to quit my job. Although even right up to Gorbachev, a lecturer traveled around the Nikolaev region and talked about "how the spy Shpolyansky was exposed." Under Gorbachev, the "spy" grew bolder and filed an appeal. A colonel arrived from Moscow, the case was reviewed (it was then that the former person under investigation saw all these volumes with his own eyes), they apologized and even offered to reinstate them with salary compensation and (!) Career growth. But the future father was already a believer, he was satisfied with the work in the boiler room (all of them, our generation of janitors, watchmen and stokers).
Well, no further details. Became a priest. Parish in the village of Bogdanovka. Once a place of "exile" (priests changed kaleidoscopically there) turned into a solid, flourishing parish.
From here begins what still constitutes an essential part of the life of Father Michael. He began to accept orphans into his family (he even sheltered one former convict-homeless). This is how a family orphanage appears in Bogdanovka. He still considers the orphanage the most important and productive in his life. But, as usual, not everyone thinks so. There was growing dissatisfaction in the hierarchy that Fr. Michael was doing "not his own business," although the church was inspected and parish life was unusually active. And then the moment came when, after his public intercession at a diocesan meeting for a persecuted priest, he himself became persecuted. He was removed from his native parish and deliberately mockingly sent as a third priest to a distant parish on the condition that he stay there inseparably. This threatened the existence of the orphanage, so Father Mikhail filed a petition to leave the state. The request was granted, but in such a way that the "out of the ordinary" state actually turned into a "forbidden" one. Wherever he comes to serve, Fr. Michael, the rector immediately received a scolding from the diocese. Therefore, Father Michael stopped attending churches in his diocese, and only when he was in Kyiv would he serve at the liturgy with a well-known priest. At home, on Sundays and holidays, it serves for the household at lunchtime, followed by communion with the spare Gifts. Now he wants only one thing - to allow a house church for an orphanage, but even this is hindered.
During the days of the Orange Revolution, he spoke on television explaining that belonging to the MP does not mean an unconditional obligation to vote for the "Orthodox" Yanukovych. Only the fact that the Orthodox hierarchy has now taken a wait-and-see attitude saved him from being defrocked. But when the opportunity arises, they do not miss a chance to "suggest" that Shpolyansky is a "schismatic" and "already almost defrocked."
Since all sorts of debatable life has now revived in Ukraine, it naturally involved Father Mikhail as well. Internal church problems, the place of the Church in society, inter-church and inter-confessional contacts... In the words of Fr. Michael, one of the three directions of his life. First and foremost is the orphanage. But the third is writing. Even in our Minsk church, some of his books are sold. The books are easy and interesting to read. It is written simply and about the "most important". There, on the spit, I read with enthusiasm his informative book about the 10 commandments. This is not boring theologizing, but an interesting conversation "from oneself." It seems to be for "novices", but I (of course, also in a certain sense "novice") read it to my benefit. Even earlier, I read a book about miracles in Orthodoxy. It seems to be a beaten topic, but it is presented brightly.
So if you see - I advise.
In the cold season, Father Mikhail lives with the orphanage in Bogdanovka, and for the summer season he moves to the same Kinburn Spit, to which he invited me. And although my impression is well known, I do not regret at least because of the opportunity to communicate and get to know Fr. Michael, his relatives, friends and children. Some of the children are already grown up. They lead a decent life, although they are all from a "unfavorable" environment. Now there are four of the foster children - three girls and a boy. What my mother immediately noted is that in their appearance and look there is nothing so elusively "children's home", which is often the case with orphans. All of them, by the way, call the father and mother "dad" and "mother".
When I went to the spit, I was in the mood to argue with Fr. Michael and argue sharply. So it was :) But oh. Michael showed himself to be a real priest and just a smart person. Not offended by my attacks, he diligently drove into everything that I said. And not always right away, but he perceived everything adequately, and not only understood, but even sometimes changed his mind and agreed. And in general, we turned out to have many common points of contact in our views on the Church, what it should be ... And this is a great rarity for me now - lately even a misunderstanding, and up to accusations of malice and dislike for people. Well .. This is my fault - you have to think about how, to whom and what to say ... But under Fr. Michael doesn't have to adjust. You can relax. And that's what vacation is :)

Colonel Bolbotun, having lost seven Cossacks killed and nine wounded, and seven horses, walked half a verst from Pecherskaya Square to Reznikovskaya Street and stopped there again. Here reinforcements approached the retreating Junker chain. It had one armored car. A clumsy gray tortoise with towers crawled along Moskovskaya Street and rolled three times across Pechersk a blow with a comet's tail resembling the noise of dry leaves (three inches), Bolbotun instantly dismounted, the horse-breeders led the horses into the alley, Bolbotun's regiment spread out in chains, settling back a little to Pecherskaya Square , and began a sluggish duel. The tortoise closed Moskovskaya Street and occasionally rumbled. The sounds were answered by liquid crackling in batches from the mouth of Suvorovskaya Street. There, in the snow, lay a chain that fell off Pechersk under the fire of Bolbotun and its reinforcements, which turned out like this:

Dr-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r...

First squad?

Yes, I'm listening.

Immediately send two officer companies to Pechersk.

I obey. Drrrrr… ti… ti… ti… ti…

And it came to Pechersk: 14 officers, three cadets, one student, one cadet and one actor from the theater of miniatures.

Alas. One liquid chain, of course, is not enough. Even with the reinforcement of one turtle. There must have been four turtles. And we can confidently say that if they approached, Colonel Bolbotun would be forced to leave Pechersk. But they didn't fit.

This happened because Mikhail Semyonovich Shpolyansky, the famous ensign who personally received the St. George Cross from the hands of Alexander Fedorovich Kerensky, got into the hetman's armored division, consisting of four excellent vehicles, as the commander of the second vehicle.

Mikhail Semyonovich was black and clean-shaven, with velvet sideburns, extremely reminiscent of Eugene Onegin. Mikhail Semenovich became known to the whole City immediately upon his arrival from the city of St. Petersburg. Mikhail Semenovich became famous as an excellent reader in the club "Dust" of his own poems "Drops of Saturn" and as an excellent organizer of poets and chairman of the City Poetic Order "Magnetic Triolet". In addition, Mikhail Semyonovich had no equal as an orator, in addition, he drove cars, both military and civilian, in addition, he kept the ballerina of the Opera House Musya Ford and another lady, whose name Mikhail Semenovich, as a gentleman, did not reveal to anyone , had a lot of money and generously distributed it on loan to members of the "Magnetic Triolet";

drinking white wine

played iron,

bought the painting "Bathing Venetian",

at night lived on Khreshchatyk,

in the morning at the Bilbock cafe,

in the afternoon - in a cozy room of the best hotel "Continental",

in the evening - in Ashes,

at dawn he wrote the scientific work "Intuitive in Gogol".

The Hetman's City perished about three hours earlier than it should have, precisely because Mikhail Semenovich, on December 2, 1918, in the evening in "Dust" told Stepanov, Sheyer, Slonykh and Cheremshin (the head of the "Magnetic Triolet") the following:

All bastards. Both the hetman and Petliura. But Petliura is also a pogromist. The most important thing, however, is not this. I got bored because I haven't thrown bombs in a long time.

At the end of dinner at the Ashes, for which Mikhail Semyonovich paid, he, Mikhail Semyonovich, dressed in an expensive fur coat with a beaver collar and a top hat, was seen off by the entire Magnetic Triolet and a fifth drunk in a coat with goat fur. Shpolyansky knew little about him: firstly, that he was ill with syphilis, secondly, that he wrote atheistic verses, which Mikhail Semenovich, who has great literary connections, added to one of the Moscow collections, and, thirdly, that he was Rusakov son of a librarian.

A man with syphilis was crying on his goat fur under the electric lamp of Khreshchatyk and, digging into Shpolyansky's beaver cuffs, said:

Shpolyansky, you are the strongest of all in this city, which is rotting just like me. You are so good that even your terrible resemblance to Onegin can be forgiven! Listen, Shpolyansky... It's indecent to resemble Onegin. You are somehow too healthy ... You do not have a noble wormhole that could make you a truly outstanding person of our days ... Here I am rotting and proud of it. You're too healthy, but you're strong as a screw, so screw up there!.. Screw up!.. That's it...

And the syphilitic showed how to do it. Grasping the lantern, he really twisted around him, becoming somehow long and thin, like a snake. Prostitutes passed by, in green, red, black and white hats, beautiful as dolls, and merrily muttered to the screw:

Sniffed, y-your mother?

The cannons fired very far, and Mikhail Semenych really looked like Onegin under the snow flying in electric light.

Go to sleep,” he said to the syphilitic screw, turning his face a little so that he would not cough on him, “go,” he pushed the goat’s coat against his chest with the ends of his fingers. Black kid gloves touched the worn Cheviot, and the pushed man's eyes were completely glassy. Dispersed. Mikhail Semenovich called a cab, shouted to him "Little Provalnaya" and left, and the goat fur, staggering, went on foot to Podol.

In the librarian's apartment, at night, on Podil, in front of a mirror, holding a lit candle in his hand, the owner of a goat fur was naked to the waist. Fear jumped in his eyes like the devil, his hands trembled, and the syphilitic spoke and his lips jumped like a child's:

My God, my God, my God... Horror, horror, horror... Ah, this evening! I am not happy. After all, Scheyer was also with me and, behold, he is healthy, he did not get infected, because he is a happy person. Maybe go and kill this very Lelka? But what's the point? Who will explain to me what is the point? Oh, Lord, Lord... I'm 24 years old and I could, I could... Fifteen years will pass, maybe less, and now, different pupils, bending legs, then crazy idiotic speeches, and then - I'm a rotten, wet corpse.

A thin body, naked to the waist, was reflected in a dusty dressing table, a candle burned in a highly raised hand, and a delicate and thin starry rash was visible on the chest. Tears flowed uncontrollably down the patient's cheeks, and his body shook and swayed.

I need to shoot myself. But I don’t have the strength for this, why would you, my God, I would lie? Why would I lie to you, my reflection?

He took from the drawer of a small ladies' desk a thin book printed on the worst gray paper. On the cover was printed in red letters:

Ah-ah-ah, - the patient groaned painfully, gritting his teeth. "Ah," he repeated in inescapable anguish.

With a distorted face, he suddenly spat on the page with the poem and threw the book on the floor, then knelt down, and, crossing himself with small trembling crosses, bowing and touching the dusty parquet with his cold forehead, began to pray, raising his eyes to the black bleak window:

Lord, forgive me and have mercy on me for writing these vile words. But why are you so cruel? What for? I know that you punished me. Oh, how terribly you punished me! Please look at my skin. I swear to you by all the saints, by everything dear in the world, by the memory of my mother, the deceased, - I have been punished enough. I believe in you! I believe with my soul, body, every thread of the brain. I believe and resort only to you, because nowhere in the world is there anyone who could help me. I have no hope for anyone but you. Forgive me and make the medicine help me! Forgive me for thinking you weren't there: if you weren't there, I'd be a miserable mangy dog ​​now with no hope. But I am a man and strong only because you exist and at any moment I can turn to you with a plea for help. And I believe that you will hear my prayers, forgive me and heal me. Heal me, oh Lord, forget about the vileness that I wrote in a fit of madness, drunk, on cocaine. Don't let me rot and I swear I'll be human again. Strengthen my strength, deliver me from cocaine, deliver me from weakness of spirit and deliver me from Mikhail Semyonovich Shpolyansky!..

The candle floated, the room grew cold, in the morning the patient's skin became covered with small pimples, and the patient's soul felt much better.

Mikhail Semenovich Shpolyansky spent the rest of the night on Malaya Provalnaya Street in a large room with a low ceiling and an old portrait, on which epaulettes of the 1940s, touched by time, looked dimly. Mikhail Semyonovich, without a jacket, in only a white marshmallow shirt, over which a black waistcoat with a large neckline flaunted, sat on a narrow chaise longue and spoke to a woman with a pale and dull face the following words:

Well, Yulia, I have finally made up my mind and I am joining this bastard - the hetman in the armored division.

After that, a woman wrapped in a gray downy shawl, tormented half an hour ago and crushed by the kisses of passionate Onegin, answered as follows:

I am very sorry that I have never understood and cannot understand your plans.

Mikhail Semyonovich took from the table in front of the chaise longue a glass of fragrant cognac cinched at the waist, took a sip and said:

And you don't need to.

Two days after this conversation, Mikhail Semyonitch was transformed. Instead of a cylinder, he wore a pancake cap with an officer's cockade, instead of a civilian dress - a short fur coat to the knees and crumpled protective shoulder straps on it. Hands in gloves with bells, like Marseille in the Huguenots, legs in spats. The whole of Mikhail Semenovich was smeared from head to toe in machine oil (even his face) and, for some reason, in soot. Once, and it was on December 9th, two vehicles went into battle near the City and, it must be said, they were extremely successful. They crawled about 20 versts along the highway, and after their very first three-inch blows and the howl of a machine-gun, Petlyura's chains fled from them. Ensign Strashkevich, a ruddy enthusiast and commander of the 4th vehicle, swore to Mikhail Semenovich that all four vehicles, if released at once, alone could defend the City. This conversation took place on the 9th in the evening, and on the 11th in the group of Shchur, Kopylov and others (gunners, two drivers and a mechanic), Shpolyansky, on duty in the division, spoke at dusk like this:

You know, friends, in essence, the big question is whether we are doing the right thing in defending this hetman. In his hands we are nothing but an expensive and dangerous toy, with the help of which he inculcates the blackest reaction. Who knows, perhaps Petliura's clash with the hetman is historically shown, and from this clash a third historical force should be born, and perhaps the only correct one.

Listeners adored Mikhail Semenych for the same reason they adored him in the Prakh club - for his exceptional eloquence.

What is this power? asked Kopylov, puffing on a goat's leg.

Smart stocky blond Shchur narrowed his eyes cunningly and winked at his interlocutors somewhere to the northeast. The group talked a little more and then dispersed. On the evening of December 12, in the same close company, a second conversation with Mikhail Semyonovich took place behind the car sheds. The subject of this conversation remained unknown, but it is well known that on the eve of December 14, when Schur, Kopylov and snub-nosed Petrukhin were on duty in the sheds of the division, Mikhail Semenovich appeared in the sheds, carrying a large package in wrapping paper. The sentry Shchur let him into the shed, where a nasty light bulb burned dimly and red, and Kopylov winked rather familiarly at the bag and asked:

Yeah, - answered Mikhail Semenovich.

In the barn, a lantern came in near the cars, flickering like an eye, and anxious Mikhail Semenovich fiddled with the mechanic, preparing them for tomorrow's performance.

Reason: the letter from the commander of the division captain Pleshko - "on the fourteenth of December, at eight o'clock in the morning, go to Pechersk with 4 cars"

The joint efforts of Mikhail Semenovich and the mechanic to prepare the vehicles for battle yielded some strange results. Three vehicles that were completely healthy the day before (the fourth was in battle under the command of Strashkevich) on the morning of December 14 could not move, as if paralysis had broken them. What happened to them, no one could understand. Some rubbish settled in the jets and no matter how much they were purged with tire pumps, nothing helped. In the morning, near three cars in a cloudy dawn, there was a sad fuss with lanterns. Captain Pleshko was pale, looked around like a wolf and demanded a mechanic. This is where the disasters began. The mechanic is gone. It turned out that his address in the division, contrary to all the rules, is completely unknown. Rumor has it that the mechanic suddenly fell ill with typhus. It was at 8:00, and at 8:30 Captain Pleshko suffered a second blow. Ensign Shpolyansky, who left at 4 a.m. after fussing with cars to Pechersk on a motorcycle driven by Shchur, did not return. Only Shchur returned and told a sad story. The motorcycle drove into Verkhnyaya Telichka and in vain Shchur dissuaded Ensign Shpolyansky from reckless actions. The aforementioned Shpolyansky, known to the entire division for his exceptional courage, left Shchur and took a carbine and a hand grenade, went alone into the darkness for reconnaissance to the railway track. Schur heard the shots. Shchur is absolutely sure that the enemy’s advanced patrol, which jumped into Telichka, met Shpolyansky and, of course, killed him in an unequal battle. Shchur waited for the ensign for two hours, although he ordered to wait for him only one hour, and after that to return to the division, so as not to endanger himself and state-owned motorcycle No. 8175.

Captain Pleshko became even paler after Schur's story. Birds in the phone from the headquarters of the hetman and General Kartuzov sang during the interruption and demanded that the cars leave. At 9 o'clock, the ruddy enthusiast Strashkevich returned from the positions in the fourth car, and part of his blush was transferred to the cheeks of the division commander. The enthusiast drove the car to Pechersk and, as already mentioned, it blocked Suvorovskaya Street.

At 10 o'clock in the morning, Pleshko's pallor became unchanged. Two gunners, two chauffeurs and one machine gunner disappeared without a trace. All attempts to move the car were unsuccessful. Shchur did not return from the position, having left on the orders of Captain Pleshko on a motorcycle. She did not return, of course, and the motorcycle, because she herself cannot return! The birds on the phones began to threaten. The more the day dawned, the more miracles happened in the division. The gunners Duvan and Maltsev and a couple of machine gunners disappeared. The cars took on a mysterious and abandoned look, nuts, keys and some buckets were lying around them.

And at noon, at noon, the division commander himself, Captain Pleshko, disappeared.

Priest Mikhail Shpolyansky died on the night of April 25 at 20.30 after a long illness, reports "".

Father Mikhail was born in St. Petersburg; In the 80s, he worked as a shipbuilding engineer, in forestry, at a construction site, in a team for decorating a room. In 1990, at the age of 34, he was ordained a priest and received a parish in the village of Staraya Bogdanovka near Nikolaev, where he lived with his family until his last days.

Together with mother Alla, father Mikhail organized an orphanage of the so-called “family” type “on the basis of his family”, in which he raised 11 children. Father Michael is the author of many popular books about Christianity. He blogged on LiveJournal under the name shpol.

In 2003, priest Mikhail Shpolyansky was banned from serving, and later sent out of state. He spoke about the reasons for the punishment on the pages of LiveJournal:

"On February 5, 2003, I was banned from the ministry. The reason was indeed the situation described by the respected kalakazo - the presence of adopted children in our family, who, according to the ruling bishop, should be supported at the expense of the state, and not at the expense of the church. (This despite the fact that we not only did not receive any funds from the diocese, but were not even exempted from the diocesan tax - 20% of the total income of the parish and family). But Vladyka could not bear that sponsors helped us. In a conversation with the head of the district administration of our district, Vladyka demanded that the orphanage be closed and the children transferred to a boarding school. Motivation - sponsors should help the diocese, not individual parishes.

Also a “thorn in the flesh” for the diocese was the successful work of the book tray of Orthodox literature, which we, with the blessing of Fr. John Krestyankin and originally given (and never officially revoked) DIOCESAN PERMIT, established in the city. It seemed to Vladyka that “crazy thousands of dollars” were spinning there (my proposal to transfer to the diocese ALL trade in goods so that 300 dollars a month was allocated for the orphanage was not accepted).

The last straw that overwhelmed the patience of the “hierarchy” was my open proposal to discuss the situation with the persecution of one of the clergy of the diocese at a diocesan meeting (before that, three years had not been held at all).

The reason for the ban was the article “The Church on Earth: Breaks and Breaks. Is there anyone to build bridges? (present in the Internet field). On the basis of an anonymous (later it became known that I signed the text of Zabug) and very ambiguous review of the KDA, by the decision of the diocesan council (with all the pressure of the lord by a majority of only one vote), I was banned from serving "for disrespect for the hierarchy" temporarily "for a month's vacation until repentance." At the same time, a young man specially ordained for this purpose (three priests had previously refused such a mission) Dmitry Zavislyuk was immediately assigned to my parish. He was guarded (from me?) by an episcopal sexton with nunchucks. Zavislyuk was put on diocesan allowance and regularly reported to the diocese about my activities (for example, the words “How is His Majesty Bishop Pitirim?” said to him on the bus by my daughter were classified in the diocese as “a mockery of the holy dignity”). To date, Zavislyuk has completely ruined the parish, he himself has moved somewhere from the village, services are far from being served every week, in winter the temple is not heated, weeds and devastation are everywhere, and even the crosses on the temple and the consecration chapel have buckled".

"Well, in that February, at the request of the parishioners (more than 1000 signatures with the full data of the signatories, including 95% of the entire adult population of our village, as well as people's deputies, cultural figures, business leaders, etc.), a commission arrived from Kyiv in headed by ep. Mitrofan (head of affairs of the UOC), which lifted the ban on serving.

After the departure of the commission, the diocesan bishop, using his inalienable right, transferred me to serve in a distant parish with the requirement to stay there permanently. I was physically unable to move my huge family there - if only because of the lack of housing (in Staraya Bogdanovka, we were allocated departmental housing for the orphanage). Having traveled there for several months for every service (and again - against the background of diocesan reprimands for not being there permanently), having been very seriously ill (a microstroke), I left the state “temporarily for health reasons” (the bishop refused to let go, demanded a move to another area, but the metropolitanate gave instructions to let go of the "zashtat"). What state am I in now?

For a long time, they persecuted me in every possible way, did not give me the opportunity not only to concelebrate (even in the cathedral), but also to partake of the secular rite, accused of a host of unthinkable sins - from organizing a sect to "exploiting children", etc. Since the winter of 2005, they have not touched it anymore.

With all the hardships of what happened, I am infinitely grateful to the Lord for everything experienced. There is no way to talk about it here, but I really see in all this the gift of the infinite mercy of the Father. Thank God!"

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He spent his childhood and youth in the city of Nikolaev in Ukraine. Here he graduated from the shipbuilding institute, got married, and later the whole family was baptized. In the 1980s, he worked as a shipbuilding engineer, builder, in forestry, in a team for decorating premises.

Together with his wife Alla, he organized a family orphanage in which they raised three of their own and nine adopted children. The eldest native son of Mikhail's father, Ilya Shpolyansky, as of April 2014, was in charge of the Litopis enterprise, which employed people with disabilities.

February 5, Fr. Michael was banned from the priesthood by Archbishop Pitirim (Starinsky) of Nikolaev. According to Father Mikhail, the reason was the presence of foster children in his family, who, according to the ruling bishop, should be supported by the state, and not at the expense of the church. (This despite the fact that Father Michael's family not only did not receive any funds from the diocese, but was not even exempted from the diocesan tax - 20% of the total income of the parish and family). Also, according to Fr. Michael, “a sting in the flesh” for the diocese was the successful operation of the bookstore of Orthodox literature, which they, with the blessing of Fr.

The reason for the ban, according to Father Mikhail, was the article “The Church on Earth: Breaks and Breaks. Is there anyone to build bridges? , in which many phenomena of modern church life are critically assessed, including the arbitrariness of the episcopate in relation to subordinate priests. He also openly proposed to discuss the situation with the persecution of one of the clergy of the diocese at the diocesan meeting (before that, it had not been held at all for three years).

Soon, at the request of the parishioners (more than 1000 signatures with the full data of the signatories, including 95% of the entire adult population of the village of Staraya Bogdanovka, as well as people's deputies, cultural figures, business leaders, etc.), a commission from the Kyiv Metropolis arrived in Kiev Archbishop Mitrofan (Yurchuk) of Pereyaslav-Khmelnytskyi, headed by the manager of the UOC, who reinstated Father Michael in the ministry, but Archbishop Pitirim transferred Father Michael to such a distant parish that he was physically unable to attend due to health reasons. Having traveled there for several months for every service (and again - against the background of diocesan reprimands for not being there permanently), having been very seriously ill (a microstroke), he left the state “temporarily for health reasons” (the bishop refused to let go, demanded moving to another region, but the Metropolitanate gave instructions to let go of the "zashtat"). After that, he wrote most of his books, so loved by readers. He could not serve anywhere in the diocese, so from time to time he came to Kyiv, where he served in the Catherine community of the UOC, and then he brought home the Holy Gifts and on Sundays and holidays he himself served the "lunch", for which he took communion with these pre-consecrated Gifts.

In the autumn of the year, Fr. Mikhail came to the Kyiv Maidan, where, together with a few other priests of the UOC, he served prayers in the chapel near the city hall.

The fact that Father Mikhail Shpolyansky went to where “there is no illness and sorrow”, on Svetlaya, makes a lot of sense.

Here, on earth, the Kingdom of Joy was his home, where he tirelessly gathered everyone he met - homeless children, homeless people, indefatigable questioners who demanded from him final answers to the last questions, respected theologians, friends, parishioners and random people he met. There were no strangers for him - there are no strangers in the Kingdom.

It is no coincidence that his book, published in 2008, which caused so much joy in the church environment and surprise in the non-church environment, “just think what a book the priest wrote!” - was called "Anabasis", that is, "ascent", the only possible way in the earthly vale. The path was made very carefully and gratefully for every meeting, for the first birds on the Kinburn Spit, which was for him a place of freedom and happiness, for every book, question, objection.

However, anabasis is not just a walk in the mountains, but a military campaign, movement through unfriendly territory. Over time, you see more and more clearly how exactly his life fits into these meanings - anything happens in the war, and the territory, even the one that Father Mikhail cultivated and loved, was unfriendly. He suffered from this, but he did not stop loving her, just as he did not stop loving his sometimes very "uncomfortable" children - with unreasoning "benevolent" love. “Sometimes it’s very difficult with them, because what kind of story does everyone have ... Only regret.” It was once said about children, but it applied to everything.

The path led from Leningrad to Nikolaev, where, after graduating from the shipbuilding institute, an inquisitive young man who always read “more than expected” worked first in a design bureau, then in a forestry, in a boiler room, in a team for decorating buildings, wherever .

In the autumn of 1983 he was baptized. "Teachers to Christ" were European art and A.S. Pushkin.

“... his path - from a secular youth defamatory with “atheism” (which is natural for the non-conformism of youth) to genuine religiosity - and as a result, a living Orthodox Churchness, could not but make the deepest impression on me, - many years later Father Mikhail recalled. - The last straw was the words of Pushkin, fluently written in the margins of a notebook of 1830 in French: “To prevent the existence of the Divine means to be more absurd than those peoples who think ... that the world rests on a rhinoceros.” And then I said to myself: since Pushkin believed in God, then I believe too..

Three years after his baptism, the then Bishop of Nikolaev and Kirovograd Sevastyan suggested that he take the priesthood, but, on the advice of his godfather, Father Mikhail did not hurry - and went for a blessing to the Pskov-Caves Monastery.

When, finally, on his third visit (it was 1987), he managed to get to Father John (Krestyankin), he carefully listened to his doubts and advised him to prepare for the priesthood, and “if God wills, He will lead you without your will - when the time comes” .

Three more years passed - and on July 18, 1990, Father Mikhail was ordained a priest, and on July 21 he celebrated the first service in his first and only church in Staraya Bogdanovka.

By that time, local residents knew exactly where “the house of Christians who let them live”; it is possible that the openness of the house and the boundless responsiveness of its inhabitants was the most convincing preaching of the Good News for the motley population of Staraya Bogdanovka.

Soon, the first “burdened” ones came along - some with alcoholism, some with drug addiction, some with their own restlessness. Guests were welcomed, fed, listened to, the homeless found shelter, offered work. Some stayed, others, out of habit for a different life, left sooner or later, but they knew that they had the opportunity to return.

In 1997, children with tragic biographies began to appear in the house of Father Mikhail Shpolyansky. The “idea” of a family orphanage was deliberately not nurtured: it took shape on its own. “We did not dare to do that,” Father Mikhail admitted, but how could one refuse Lena, whose father drowned while fishing, and whose mother drank heavily? Behind her - Fedya, Igor with extensive experience in street life and Dima with a very difficult character, then Masha, at first she hardly spoke and could not play, the last, in 2006 - Alik.

Behind the funny stories about the eleven “children” that Father Mikhail liked to tell, there is a rare respect for the fate and freedom of each of them, trust and the endless labor of love, the one that “believes everything, hopes everything, endures everything”, everyone reveals a plan about him , returns meaning and value. However, this pedagogy extended to adults as well.

For the first time I saw Father Mikhail in 2002 at the Assumption Readings, which were held by the Center for European Humanitarian Studies at the Kiev-Mohyla Academy together with the Kyiv Theological Academy and the Kiev-Pechersk Lavra.

Well-known scientists and church leaders spoke, reasoned intelligently, correctly, subtly, and then a huge man with a thick, disheveled beard (Leskov’s Archpriest Tuberozov and Deacon Achilles in one person) rose to the pulpit and began to speak such a shining truth about the Church, about the impotence worn out from frequent use of religious rhetoric, about why we are witnesses of anything but the Kingdom, that we wanted to hide in his immense cassock - and stay there, next to the truth.

It was not possible to approach him - during the break, the stunning, radiant priest was surrounded, the tail of the questioners trailed him up the stairs, the most persistent stepped on the cassock, Father Mikhail pulled it out and managed to answer everyone at once. Or rather, not everyone, everyone. "Everyone" did not exist for him, just as pious abstractions did not exist. “Anechka, Mishenka, Tanechka, Yurochka ...” To each - all the tenderness. The habit of calling adults by diminutive names did not bother, on the contrary, it returned to that abandoned garden, where you are not yet afraid to trust and be surprised.

This, like many other things, began to be revealed later, when Father Michael, coming to Kyiv, began to visit (and occasionally serve) in the parish of St. Catherine of Alexandria. Most often, he appeared on Sundays, and Saturday was filled with a premonition of the holiday: “Father Michael will come!” This meant jubilation, noisy talk about what people are now alive with, and a huge, invisible cloth of mercy with which he enveloped all of us, including those who, outside of Father Michael, would hardly notice each other.

No less than his all-encompassing kindness, he was struck by a combination of other very high qualities - stamina, reliability and what in Italian is called allegria - liveliness, lightness, which happens in people who live without looking at themselves. A joy-filled durable balloon that pulls everyone into the sky.

Here, after the service, we drink tea, lament about everyday life and argue whether it is possible for the virtual space to become a new Christian community, open to those who stand at the church fence and do not dare to enter it. “The Church is when everything is together, a space where everyone finds himself in God”…

His books were about this - Anabasis, the Beatitudes, Pure Alcohol, beloved by many - and entries in LiveJournal, in the title of which Father Michael took out the words from the Epistle of the Apostle John "Yes, love one another" (Jn. 13:34).

The “virtual space of understanding” created by him more than once became a place where warring parties reconciled. And even now, his word, unexpectedly and, as always, at the most necessary moment, emerged from an almost forgotten comment or letter, casts out fear, shakes conscience out of slumber, but, most importantly, turns the life “pyramid” over so that it turns out to be not strong at its base. calculation, not pragmatic “positivity”, but “insane” evangelical mercy: “Do not rush, follow your heart and prayer, not fear, and everything will be with Christ (both the joy bestowed and the inevitable suffering).”

People of various beliefs, habits, positions, destinies came to him, called, wrote. You don’t know where to look for advice or consolation, tired of prescriptions and presumptuous piety, entangled in people and circumstances - that means, to Father Michael. Skeptics at first did not believe (“they say, we know your clergy”), and then it turned out that he spoke exactly the word that the interlocutor most needed to hear.

He had a rare gift to see through appearances - where another would condemn, warn and forbid, he said: “Come on, be bold ... Don't be afraid, ask - show me the way, I'll go stink. Seriously ask - and listen. And another time, I’m almost sure that he will support in the determination to “take up the cross”, and in response: “You think, and do it only if you can’t do without it at all ...” Most often it turned out that without a “cross with homemade decorations” get by.

He not only saw the interlocutor intact, at the same time, for what he is now, and for who he is called to be, but he trusted even that experience, which was alien or strange to him. “You think that this is your calling - try and try not to offend anyone.”

Father Mikhail himself could only offend someone who really wanted to be offended. His love was enough for everyone, and it would never occur to anyone to argue who he loved more, each with a separate, only intended love for him. She hugged, consoled, sobered, reconciled - everything in his presence acquired the proper meaning and scale, each meeting overwhelmed with multi-colored, iridescent happiness.

And most of all he loved Life, just such, with a capital letter, as the Gift and the Presence, a synonym for immortality. He loved everything that was involved in it - children, cats and other living creatures, steppe plants, birds, "frivolous stories", in which, like few people, he was able to hear parables, delicious food, rejoiced at every glimpse of health or talent. The knowledge, gained through suffering, proven by myself, that life is inexhaustible and endless, hurried to share it with all those who are left, confused, discouraged.

Hence, out of love for life - a family orphanage, trips to the Kinburn Spit, where friends flocked in the summer, generous feasts, conversations about the only thing needed, in which there was not a single idle word. His "practical theology of comfort and hope" was also born out of loyalty to Life and gratitude for it - no matter what happened.

The focus of "living life" for Father Michael was the Eucharist. “We must hold on to the Chalice, in it is Christ.” As a legacy and as a lesson, we have inherited a fiery love for the Church and a burning pain for her. From pain, a person can speak sharply - and yet those who are hungry and thirsty for truth are called blessed, about the indifferently benevolent it is said differently - "... do not be lukewarm."

Father Michael was rooting for the Church to remain the messenger of the Kingdom, and for nothing, under no circumstances, to betray her vocation. He suffered in order to remain faithful to her, bringing "from all and for all", not knowing divisions, not subject to any earthly ideologies.

He walked long and hard towards such a vision of the Church and really wanted everyone to be saved. For the sake of this, he took everyone in his heart, including the most unbearable ones, he remembered everyone, he was next to everyone at the right moment - not a "teacher of life", but a companion, a friend for whom there is no accidental or insignificant.

It was possible to argue with him desperately, moreover, he rejoiced at disagreements as an opportunity to learn, to “argue” for the truth, and where it was not possible to agree on words, he managed to cover dissent with such unalloyed and unconditional love, before which the difference of ideas receded: “... I allow you to write sharply and argue only because I love you immensely ... ”. Another lesson left to us as a legacy is the ability to appreciate, as a God-given gift, the freedom of others, unlike.

“No one can believe in God if he does not see the light of eternal life in the eyes of another person,” said one of the witnesses of the 20th century closest to Father Mikhail, Metropolitan Anthony of Sourozh. Those who were lucky enough to be next to Father Mikhail saw this generous, joyful light. “It means that there is no parting, there is a huge meeting, it means that someone suddenly hugs us by the shoulders in the dark ...”

Priest Mikhail Shpolyansky. Australian spy. Or My anabasis-2. Nikolaev, 2011, pp. 26, 28.