Today, I am sharing a selection (in the form of a list) of Easter books for children, which you can purchase in popular online bookstores, as well as in specialized religious retail and online stores (many of these books are sold in bookstores at Temples). Many of them These books are in our home library.

How to tell children about the meaning of Easter?

When parents are preparing for Easter, the question often arises - how to tell their children about this important Christian holiday and its traditions, how to delicately convey its meaning and instill the basics of religious education.

It is worth considering that children perceive everything much more clearly, so the story of the resurrection of Jesus Christ should be adapted to the age of the child; you can tell an instructive story about good and evil. Before telling your child about this, you can ask a priest for advice.

When can you tell your child about Easter?

Children's religious literature

Take advantage a children's Bible and special children's Orthodox literature about Easter. They present traditions and Bible stories in accessible language; colorful illustrations are sure to interest the child.

Children's Bible

Dchildren's bible is a retelling of the main themes of Holy Scripture, which is adapted for children. Sometimes, due to the variety of religious literature for children, it is difficult for parents to choose the Bible for their child.

There is no ideal Bible for children, but when choosing, you need to understand who is purchasing it, and also for what purpose, and take into account the child’s age.

Children's Bibles vary:

• by age of children(for toddlers, preschoolers or teenagers)
• by content: in the Bible for children, retellings can be brief or detailed, and also, the selection of “main themes” may differ among different authors.
• additional material- Bibles for children can contain explanations and reference materials.

Nowadays, there is a wide variety of children's literature on Orthodox themes. To prepare for Easter, children's books can help you. All of them are focused on different ages and differ in content - Biblical events, fairy tales or instructive parables, stories and tales of famous writers, coloring books, etc.

List of books about Easter for children:

1. Children's Bible, New Testament

2. Alexander Kazakevich “Easter”

3. Vasily Nikiforov-Volgin “Tomorrow is the Lord’s Easter!”

4. Alexey Tolstoy “Nikita’s Childhood”

5. Ivan Shmelev “Summer of the Lord”

6. Elena Mikhalenko “Sunny Secret”

7. Book - coloring page “The sun is playing - celebrating Easter”

8. Sofya Makarova “Bright holiday. Easter stories"

9. “For children about Easter” (compiled by Natalia Kutsaeva)

10. Selma Lagerlöf "Rose of Christ"»

11. “Easter book for children. Stories and poems of Russian writers and poets"(ed. “Nikea”, Ishimova A.O., Yesenin S.A., Maikov A.N.)

12. "Easter stories of Russian writers" a series " Easter gift"(publishing house "Nikea", editor Tatyana Strygina).

13. Holy Easter. Four biblical stories (book-panorama) (ed. "Russian Bible Society").

14. Alla Fomkina “Great day. Easter Tale"

15. Inna Andreeva “Easter Watch. Easter stories for babies"

16. “My first prayer book” Ed. "Dar"

17. Galina Alexandrova “Easter parable about the returning spring”

18. Dionysius the Priest " Easter cake. Stories for children "

19. Ishimova A.O., Ushinsky K.D. "Easter of our childhood"

20. Ekaterina Kalikinskaya “Easter joy of great-grandmother Poly”

21. Nadezhda Smirnova “Dunyashina Easter”

22. "Easter gift for children"(editor: Abbot Kiprian (Yashchenko), editor: Pokrov Charitable Foundation).

23. “Easter / Easter” Maria Salishcheva(for learning English)

24. “The path to Easter. Great Lent calendar for children(artist: Diana Lapshina, “Nikeya” publishing house)

25. " Easter of the Lord" (book-gift)(Published by Rosman-Press)

26. "ABC for little Christians", Priest Gennady Emelyanov (ed. “Annunciation”)

27. Coloring book “Bright Week”(ed. “Word and Deed”)

28. Coloring book “Easter gift”(ed. “Humility”)

29. “We joyfully celebrate Easter” coloring book(IPP "Kuna")

30. “I saw Christ risen: from the distant past” Svetlana Kozhevnikova

31. “The sun is playing. Easter stories"(“The Unquenchable Lamp”)

32. “Easter in St. Petersburg” Sofya Makarova

33. "In the Family: Easter Stories"(“The Unquenchable Lamp”)

34. “Kolkina Easter” by E.M. Kurch

Bible for little ones:

“The Bible for Kids” by T. Wolf

Cardboard book “My first Bible”(ed. "RBO")

Book-suitcase “Bible for kids”(artist Guile Gil) ed. "RBO")

What parents need to consider when reading a children's Bible about Easter:

• Read the relevant chapters of the children's Bible to your child;
• pronounce the words well so that the child can remember them;
• discuss events with your child;
• ask questions;
• answer your child’s questions and explain anything that is unclear to him;
• explain new words.

While the child is growing, you can have annual conversations about Easter, involve him in preparing for the holiday, and do crafts together. Each time, you can complicate the tasks, in accordance with the age of the child.

Remember that reading books from an early age:

• develops the child's intelligence;
• promotes the development of imaginative thinking;
• enriches and shapes the child’s speech;
• broadens the mind;
• promotes the emergence of new knowledge and impressions;
• promotes competent writing.

Happy upcoming holiday!

Light Christ's Resurrection

The gray winter is gone, gone,

And the field and forest come to life.

The meadow turns green, caressing the eyes.

Christ is risen!

Christ is risen!

Easter- the holiday of the Holy Resurrection of Christ is the central event in the spiritual life of a Christian, celebrated with great reverence, triumph and joy. By His death, the Savior redeemed the entire human race from sin: He sacrificed himself both for the living and for the dead.

Easter in Rus' is the most joyful and solemn holiday. And it is not surprising that our ancestors furnished it with many customs dating back centuries.

The Easter custom of making Christ and giving each other colored eggs dates back to the times of the apostles. The joyful Easter greeting reminds us of the enthusiastic state of Christ’s disciples, who suddenly learned about His Resurrection, and then they joyfully asked each other: “Is Christ Risen?” and answered: “Truly He is Risen!” Mutual kissing - in memory of universal forgiveness, reconciliation, expression of love.

Previously, there was a custom, coming to important person, give him something as a sign of respect and veneration. Wealthy people brought gifts of gold and jewelry, poor people brought poultry eggs and fruits. It was this custom that Equal-to-the-Apostles Mary Magdalene performed when she preached about the Resurrection of Christ when she came to the Roman Emperor Tiberius. She handed him an egg with the exclamation: “Christ is Risen!”

The Emperor doubted the possibility of a mortal rising from the dead:

This is as hard to believe as the fact that a white testicle can turn red!

And at the same moment the white egg turned scarlet. Since then, the tradition of eating colored eggs at Easter and giving them as gifts has become the most widespread in all countries where Christianity is practiced.

Every home was preparing for the Bright Day. Ritual Easter cakes and Easter cakes were prepared on Good Friday.

An obligatory culinary masterpiece on the Easter table has always been the Easter cake blessed in the church. Unlike pie dough, where it is not advisable to put eggs, a lot of eggs, whipped whites, a lot of butter and also a lot of sugar are put into the cake dough. All these components make it possible to obtain a very rich dough, and the finished Easter cakes do not go stale for a long time.

Among the ritual dishes for the Easter table is Easter - a curd mass in the form of a truncated pyramid - a symbol of the Holy Sepulcher. The cottage cheese Easter should have the inscription “ХВ”, as well as an image of a cross, a spear, a cane, sprouted grains, sprouts, flowers - symbols of the suffering and Resurrection of Christ.

Many good customs were dedicated to the Holy Day in Rus'. It was believed that good deeds done in favor of others, especially those deprived by fate, helped remove sin from the soul. It was customary to ransom debtors from prison. Wealthy people, merchants, did not skimp on treats, poor people, those with little income, bought birds from bird catchers in order to release them into the wild.

Children and young people especially had fun. They rolled paints on the ground, along a gutter, and played cue ball.

You could play spinning top. They spin the eggs; the one whose egg spins the longest wins and can take the opponent's egg. An interesting game is “roll the egg”. They rolled the egg over the clothes from the left sleeve to the right: who is faster?

On Easter, crimson bells sounded over Moscow. The holiday lasted throughout Bright Week, the table remained set, everyone was invited to the table, everyone was treated, especially those who did not have the opportunity to do it themselves, the poor, the poor, the sick were welcomed.

First spring in the village

In the middle of Lent, precisely in the middle week of the cross, a strong thaw occurred. The snow quickly began to melt, and water appeared everywhere. The approach of spring in the village made an unusually irritating impression on me. I felt a special kind of excitement that I had never experienced.

Prisoner in the house, because in wet weather I was not allowed on the porch, I nevertheless followed every step of spring. In every room, in almost every window, I noticed special objects or places on which I made my observations: from the new room, that is, from our bedroom, Chelyaevskaya Mountain could be seen on one side, gradually exposing its steep and round upside, on the other - part of the river, long ago melted Buguruslan, with the opposite bank; from the living room the thawed patches on Kudrinskaya Mountain were black, especially near the round spring lake in which hemp was soaked; from the hall a puddle of water glazed over, flooding the rook grove; From my grandmother's and aunt's room I could see a threshing floor on a high mountain and many marmots along it, which were freed from snow every day. The muddy thawed patches became wider and longer, the lake in the grove filled fuller, and, passing through the fence, water was already visible between the cabbage beds in our garden. I noticed everything accurately and carefully, and every step of spring was celebrated as a victory! From morning to evening I ran from room to room, taking my observation posts. Reading, writing, playing with my sister, even talking with my mother - everything flew out of my mind. About what I could not see with my own eyes, I received constant news from my father, Yevseich, from the maids and footmen. “The pond has turned blue and swollen, it’s dangerous to drive on it, the man with the cart has fallen through, the dam has come under the water wheels, it’s no longer possible to grind, it’s time to drain the water; The Antoshkin ravine passed at night, and the Mordovian ravine became tense and black, soon it would be impossible to drive anywhere; the paths began to collapse, you couldn’t get into the kitchen. Mazan fell through with a bowl of cabbage soup and spilled the cabbage soup, the bridge was demolished, water flooded the people’s bathhouse,” that’s what I heard constantly, and all such news was not indifferently received. The rooks had been walking around the yard for a long time and began to build nests in the rook grove; starlings and larks also arrived. And then a real bird began to appear, game, as the hunters put it. My father told me with admiration that he had seen swans flying so high that he could hardly see them, and that the geese had gathered in large formations. Yevseich saw pochards and mallard ducks landing on the pond, saw wild pigeons on the barns, blackbirds and pigtails near the springs... How much excitement, how much noisy joy! The water came in strong. They immediately drained the pond - without me. The weather was too bad and I didn’t even dare to ask. My father's stories partly satisfied my curiosity. Every day the news became more frequent, more important, more outrageous! Finally, Yevseich excitedly announced that “every bird is falling in droves, without interruption!” My patience has reached its limit. It became impossible for me to hear and not see all this, and with the help of my father, tears and ardent convictions, I begged permission from my mother, dressed warmly, because a damp and piercing wind was blowing, to sit on the porch overlooking the garden, right above Buguruslan. The inner door had not yet been unlocked. Yevseich carried me around the house in his arms, because there was water and dirt everywhere. In fact, something happened in the air, on land and on water, which cannot be imagined without having seen it, and which is now impossible to see in the places I am talking about, because there is no such abundance of migratory game. The river overflowed its banks, raised water on both sides and, having captured half of our garden, merged with the lake of the rook grove. All the banks of the fields were strewn with all kinds of game; many ducks swam on the water between the tops of the flooded bushes, and meanwhile large and small flocks of various migratory birds were constantly rushing by: some flew high, without stopping, while others flew low, often falling to the ground; Some flocks sat down, others rose, others flew from place to place: screams, squeaks, and whistles filled the air. Not knowing what kind of bird it was flying or walking, what its dignity was, which one was squeaking or whistling, I was amazed, distraught by such a spectacle. Little by little I got used to the coming spring and its various phenomena, always new, stunning and delightful; I say “I got used to it” in the sense that I no longer went into a frenzy from them. The weather was getting warm, my mother had no difficulty letting me onto the porch and letting me run through the dry places; She even let her sister go with me.

On Holy Saturday, my sister and I were already walking through the dry yard. On this day, my father, Aunt Tatyana Stepanovna and Aunt Alexandra Stepanovna, who was staying with us at that time, went to spend the night in Neklyudovo to celebrate the Holy Resurrection of Christ there in the Church of God. It was very difficult to drive through, because although the hollow water had subsided, it still stood high; they made their way across the dam in peasant carts and rode in fields for half a mile; the water reached above the wheel hubs, and the horsemen accompanying them told me that Aunt Tatyana Stepanovna was afraid and screamed loudly, and Aunt Alexandra Stepanovna laughed. I heard Parasha quietly say to Yevseich: “Why is this one scared!” - and marveled at Auntie’s courage. From Thursday on Strastnaya they began to paint eggs: in red and blue sandalwood, in sickle and onion feathers; the eggs came out red, blue, yellow and pale pink, reddish color. My sister and I attended this dyeing ceremony with great pleasure. But the mother knew how to skillfully paint eggs marbled with various scraps and Shemakha silk. Moreover, with extraordinary skill she scraped out wonderful patterns, flowers and the words “Christ is risen” on the red eggs with a simple penknife. She cooked one of these eggs for everyone, and I was the only one who saw how she worked on it. My testicle was the best, and on it was written: “Christ is risen, dear friend Serezhenka!” The mother was very sad that she would not hear the matins of Christ’s Bright Sunday, and she was surprised that the grandmother bore this deprivation so indifferently; but grandmother, who was very religious, somehow no longer cared about anything.

I fell asleep at the usual time, but suddenly for some reason I woke up at night: the room was brightly lit, the ark with the images was dissolved, in front of each image a wax candle was glowing in a gilded robe, and my mother, kneeling, read the prayer book in a low voice, cried and prayed. I myself felt an irresistible desire to pray with my mother and asked her about it. My mother was surprised by my voice and even embarrassed, but she allowed me to get up. I quickly jumped out of bed, knelt down and began to pray with a special kind of animation unknown to me until then; but the mother no longer knelt down and soon said: “It will be, go to bed.” I read it on her face and heard it in her voice that I had prevented her from praying. I tried my best to fall asleep as quickly as possible, but it took a while for my childish excitement and incomprehensible feeling of tenderness to subside. Finally, the mother, having prayed, extinguished the candles and lay down on her bed. The bright light went out, only the dim lamp glowed; I don’t know which of us fell asleep first. To my great chagrin, I woke up quite late: my mother was completely dressed; she hugged me and, having christened herself with the egg she had prepared in advance, went to her grandmother. Yevseich came in, also shared Christ with me, gave me a yellow egg and said: “Oh, little falcon, I overslept! After all, I told you that you need to see how the sun plays at sunrise and rejoices in Christ’s Resurrection.” I myself was very annoyed; I hurried to get dressed, looked in at my sister and brother, kissed them and ran into my aunt’s room, from which I could see the sun, and, although it was already high, I began to look at it through my fists. It seemed to me that the sun seemed to be jumping, and I shouted loudly: “The sun is playing! Yevseich told the truth." My mother came out to me from my grandmother’s room, smiled at my delight and took me to take Christ to my grandmother. She was sitting in a silk scarf and shushun on her grandfather's armchairs; it seemed to me that she had fallen even more and aged in her festive dress. Grandmother did not want to break up until she received Easter cake and Easter cake, but mother said that she would drink tea with cream, and took me away with her.

Father and the aunts returned before noon, when my sister and I had just been let out for a walk. They drove back better, because the water had receded a lot during the night; They brought with them Easter eggs, Easter cakes, hard-boiled eggs and Thursday salt. The table was already set in the hall; We all gathered there and broke our fast. To tell the truth, the grandmother, aunts and father were really fasting: the mother was fasting alone Holy Week(yes, she already drank tea with cream), and my sister and I only did it for the last three days; but on the other hand, we were the hungriest of all, because we were not given the usual Lenten food, but we ate perch fish soup, honey and tea with bread. There was a special Easter and Easter cake for the servants. All the servants gathered in the servant's room and hall; we re-Christed with everyone; everyone received a piece of Easter cake, Easter and two red eggs, everyone was baptized and then began to eat. I noticed that our Easter cake was much whiter than what the courtyard people used to eat, and asked loudly: “Why do Yevseich and the others not eat the same white Easter cake as we do?” Alexandra Stepanovna answered me with liveliness and annoyance: “Here’s another idea! They eat worse." I wanted to ask another question, but my mother told me: “It’s none of your business.” An hour after eating Easter and Easter cake, they ordered dinner to be served, and my sister and I were allowed to run around the yard, because the day was very warm, even hot. The yard boys and girls, somewhat dressed up, some at least in white shirts, cleanly washed and with smoothed hair, all ran around merrily and had already begun to roll eggs...

The weather changed, and the remaining days of Holy Week were rainy and cold. So much rain fell that the empty water, reinforced by rains and the so-called earthen water, rose again and, having stood at the same height for one day, suddenly drained. At the same time, summer warmth also suddenly set in, which often happens in April. At the end of Fomina's week, that wonderful time began, which does not always appear in harmony, when nature, awakening from sleep, begins to live a full, young, hasty life: when everything turns into excitement, into movement, into sound, into color, into smell. Not understanding anything then, not analyzing, not evaluating, not naming anything by any name, I sensed within myself new life, became part of nature, and only in mature age conscious memories of this time, I consciously appreciated all its enchanting charm, all its poetic beauty. Then I learned what I had guessed about, what I had dreamed about, meeting spring in Ufa, in a city house, in a crappy garden or on a dirty street. I arrived in Sergeevka already late and only saw the end of spring, when nature had reached its full development and full splendor; there was no longer any constant change or movement forward.

A.P. Chekhov

Student

At first the weather was good and calm. The blackbirds were calling, and in the swamps nearby something living was humming pitifully, as if blowing into an empty bottle. One woodcock held out, and the shot at it sounded loud and cheerful in the spring air. But when it got dark in the forest, a cold, piercing wind blew inappropriately from the east, and everything fell silent. Ice needles stretched across the puddles, and the forest became uncomfortable, deaf and unsociable. It smelled like winter.

Ivan Velikopolsky, a student at the Theological Academy, the son of a sexton, returning home from work, walked all the time along a path through a flooded meadow. His fingers were numb and his face was hot from the wind. It seemed to him that this sudden cold had disrupted order and harmony in everything, that nature itself was terrified, and that’s why the evening darkness thickened faster than it should.” All around it was deserted and somehow especially gloomy. Only in the widows' gardens near the river did the fire glow; Far all around and where the village was, about four miles away, everything was completely buried in the cold evening darkness. The student remembered that when he left home, his mother, sitting on the floor in the hallway, barefoot, was cleaning the samovar, and his father was lying on the stove, coughing; On the occasion of Good Friday, nothing was cooked at home, and I was painfully hungry. And now, shivering from the cold, the student thought that exactly the same wind blew under Rurik, and under Ivan the Terrible, and under Peter, and that under them there was exactly the same severe poverty, hunger, the same leaky thatched roofs, ignorance , melancholy, the same desert all around, darkness, a feeling of oppression - all these horrors were, are and will be, and because another thousand years will pass, life will not get better. And he didn't want to go home.

The vegetable gardens were called widow's gardens because they were maintained by two widows, mother and daughter. The fire burned hotly, with a crackling sound, illuminating the plowed ground far away. The widow Vasilisa, a tall, plump old woman in a man's sheepskin coat, stood nearby and thoughtfully looked at the fire; her daughter, Lukerya, small, pockmarked, with a dull face, sat on the ground and washed the cauldron and spoons. Apparently they had just had dinner. Men's voices were heard; It was the local workers who watered the horses on the river.

“So winter has come back to you,” said the student, approaching the fire. - Hello! Vasilisa shuddered, but immediately recognized him and smiled welcomingly.

“I didn’t recognize it, God bless you,” she said. - To be rich.

We talked. Vasilisa, an experienced woman who once served as a mother for the masters, and then as a nanny, expressed herself delicately, and a soft, sedate smile never left her face; her daughter Lukerya, a village woman, beaten by her husband, only squinted at the student and was silent, and her expression was strange, like that of a deaf-mute.

“In exactly the same way, on a cold night, the Apostle Peter warmed himself by the fire,” said the student, stretching out his hands to the fire. “So it was cold then too.” Oh, what a terrible night it was, grandma! An extremely dull, long night!

He looked around at the darkness, shook his head convulsively and asked:

– Probably you were at the Twelve Gospels?

“It was,” Vasilisa answered.

- If you remember, during the Last Supper Peter said to Jesus: “I am ready with You to go to prison and to death.” And the Lord responded to him: “I tell you, Peter, today the nooses, that is, the rooster, will not crow before you deny three times that you do not know Me.” After the Supper, Jesus was mortally sad in the garden and prayed, but poor Peter was weary in soul, weakened, his eyelids became heavy, and he could not overcome sleep. Slept. Then, you heard, Judas kissed Jesus that same night and handed Him over to the tormentors. They led him bound to the high priest and beat him, and Peter, exhausted, tormented by anguish and anxiety, you know, sleep-deprived, sensing that something terrible was about to happen on earth, followed. He passionately, madly loved Jesus and now saw from afar how they beat Him...

Lukerya left the spoons and fixed her fixed gaze on the student.

“They came to the high priest,” he continued, “they began to interrogate Jesus, and meanwhile the workers lit a fire in the middle of the courtyard, because it was cold, and warmed themselves up.” Peter stood with them near the fire and also warmed himself, just like I am now. One woman, seeing him, said: “And this one was with Jesus,” meaning that he, too, should be brought in for questioning. And all the workers who were near the fire must have looked at him suspiciously and sternly, because he became embarrassed and said: “I don’t know him.” A little later, again someone recognized him as one of Jesus’ disciples and said: “And you are one of them.” But he again denied. And for the third time someone turned to him: “Didn’t I see you today with Him in the garden?” He denied for the third time. And after this time, the rooster immediately crowed, and Peter, looking at Jesus from afar, remembered the words that He had said to him at the evening... He remembered, woke up, left the yard and cried bitterly and bitterly. The Gospel says: “And he went out, weeping bitterly.” I imagine: a quiet, quiet, dark, dark garden, and in the silence one can barely hear his muffled sobs...

The student sighed and thought. Continuing to smile, Vasilisa suddenly sobbed, large, abundant tears flowed down her cheeks, and she shaded her face from the fire with her sleeve, as if ashamed of her tears, and Lukerya, looking motionless at the student, blushed, and her expression became heavy, tense, like a person holding back severe pain.

The workers were returning from the river, and one of them on horseback was already close, and the light from the fire trembled on him. The student wished the widows good night and moved on. And darkness came again, and my hands began to feel cold. A fierce wind was blowing, winter was indeed returning, and it didn’t look like the day after tomorrow was Easter.

Now the student was thinking about Vasilisa; if she cried, then it means that everything that happened on that terrible night with Peter had something to do with her...

He looked back. A lone fire blinked calmly in the darkness, and no people were visible near it. The student again thought that if Vasilisa cried and her daughter was embarrassed, then, obviously, what he was just talking about, which happened nineteen centuries ago, has something to do with the present - with both women and, probably, with this deserted village, to himself, to all people. If the old woman began to cry, it was not because he knew how to tell a touching story, but because Peter was close to her, and because she was interested with all her being in what was happening in Peter’s soul.

And joy suddenly stirred in his soul, and he even stopped for a minute to catch his breath. “The past,” he thought, “is connected to the present by a continuous chain of events that flowed one from the other.” And it seemed to him that he had just seen both ends of this chain: he had barely touched one end when the other trembled.

And when he crossed the river on a ferry and then, climbing the mountain, looked at his native village and to the west, where a cold, crimson dawn shone in a narrow strip, he thought that the truth and beauty that guided human life there in the garden and in the courtyard of the high priest, continued uninterruptedly to this day and, apparently, always constituted the main thing in human life and in general on earth; and the feeling of youth, health, strength - he was only 22 years old - and the inexpressibly sweet expectation of happiness, unknown, mysterious happiness, took possession of him little by little, and life seemed to him delightful, wonderful and full of high meaning.

V.A. Nikiforov-Volgin

Holy Saturday

On this day, from early on, it seemed to me that the old barn opposite our window seemed to be renewed. I began to look at the houses, fences, front garden, storage of birch firewood under the shed, at the broom with gray twigs in the sunny hands of the janitor Davydka, and they seemed renewed. Even the stones on the pavement were different. But the roosters and hens looked especially happy. They had Easter stuff in them.

The room smelled strongly of the approaching Easter. While helping my mother cook, I knocked over a pot of boiled rice on the floor, and they waved me out of the house:

- Better go to mass! – my mother sent me away. – This will be a rare service... I’m telling you for the second time; When you grow up, you will remember such service...

I went to Grishka to invite him to church, but he refused:

- I won’t go with you today! You called me a striped zebra when you took out the Shroud! Is it my fault that I got smeared with egg paints then?

On this day, the church seemed to be brightened, although the Shroud was still standing and the clergy were serving in black funeral vestments, but Easter was already coming from the sun lying on the church floor. The “hours” were read at the Shroud, and many confessors stood on the pulpit.

Before mass began, I went out into the fence. The pilgrims sat on a long bench and listened to a long-sleeved old man in leather galoshes:

“God is marvelous in His saints,” he rounded out the grainy words. – Let’s take for example the Monk Macarius of Alexandria, we celebrate his memory on January 19... One day a bear and a bear cub come to him in the desert silence. She laid it at the feet of the Saint and seemed to cry...

What kind of parable? - the Reverend thinks. He bends down towards the small animal and sees: he is blind! It's a bear cub! The Reverend understood that a bear had come to him! He was touched in his heart, crossed the little blind man, stroked him, and a miracle happened: the little bear regained his sight!

- Say it for mercy! - someone said from the heart.

“That’s not all,” the old man shook his head, “the next day the bear brings a sheep’s skin.” She laid it at the feet of the Monk Macarius and said to him with her eyes: “Take it from me as a gift, for your kindness”...

The liturgy of Holy Saturday was truly rare. It began as an all-night vigil - singing evening songs. When they sang “Quiet Light,” a reader in a black surplice came out to the Shroud and placed a large book covered in wax on the lectern.

He began to read sixteen proverbs at the Holy Sepulcher. For more than an hour he read about the passage of the Jews through the Red Sea, about the sacrifice of Isaac, about the prophets who foresaw through the centuries the coming of the Savior, His suffering on the cross, burial and Resurrection... The long reading of the prophecies ended in high and drawn-out singing:

–

This served as a kind of alarm bell. The people in the choir perked up, rustled notes and burst out in a wave splash:

– Sing praises to the Lord and exalt them forever...

The choir repeated this song several times, and the reader exclaimed through the singing such words from which I remembered the expression I heard: “richly woven verbs.”

Bless the sun and moon

Bless the rain and dew

Bless the nights and days

Bless the lightning and clouds

Bless the seas and rivers

Bless the birds of the air

Bless the beasts and all the cattle.

Before my eyes stood a bear with a blind bear cub, who came to Saint Macarius:

– Bless the animals!..

“Let us drink to the Lord! It’s great to be famous!” Easter! It is she who thunders in richly woven verbs: “Sing to the Lord and exalt to all ages!”

After reading the “Apostle,” three singers in blue caftans came out to the Shroud. They bowed to the ground to the one lying in the coffin and sang:

“Rise up, O God, judge the earth, for You are the inheritor of all nations.”

While singing, the clergy in the altar took off their black passionate robes and clothed themselves in all white. The black was removed from the throne, altar and lecterns and clothed in white silver brocade.

It was so unexpected and wonderful that I wanted to immediately run home and tell my mother about all this wonder...

No matter how hard I tried to contain my delight, I couldn’t help myself.

“We need to tell your mother... now!” He ran home, out of breath, and shouted on the threshold:

- Everything in the church is white! They took off the black, and there was only white all around... and Easter in general!

I wanted to add something else, but it didn’t work out, so I ran to church again. There they sang a special cherubic song, which sounded in my ears until dusk fell:

Let all human flesh be silent

and let him stand with fear and trembling

and nothing earthly

let him think within himself.

King of all kings

and Lord of Lords

comes to pledge

and be given as food to the faithful...

V.A. Nikiforov-Volgin

Bright Matins

Today's liturgical song was burning over the earth: “Let all human flesh be silent, and let it stand with fear and trembling.”

The evening earth fell silent. At home, glass doors of icons were opened. I asked my father:

- What is this for?

– This is a sign that the doors of heaven open on Easter!

Before matins began, my father and I wanted to get some sleep, but we couldn’t. They lay on the bed next to each other, and he told how he had to celebrate Easter in Moscow as a boy.

– Moscow Easter, son, mighty! Anyone who has seen her once will remember her to the grave. The first strike of the bell from Ivan the Great will ring out at midnight, as if the sky with the stars will fall to the ground! But the bell, son, contains six thousand pounds, and it took twelve people to swing the tongue! The first strike was timed to coincide with the striking of the clock on the Spasskaya Tower...

The father gets out of bed and speaks about Moscow with a trembling voice:

“Yes... the clock on the Spasskaya Tower... It will strike,” and immediately a rocket soars into the sky... followed by firing from the old guns on the Tainitskaya Tower - one hundred and one shots!..

Ivan the Great spreads across Moscow by sea, and the other forty forty echo him like rivers in flood! I’ll tell you, such a power floats above the Mother Throne that it’s as if you don’t walk, but sway on the waves like a small sliver! Mighty night, like the thunder of the Lord! Hey, son, don’t describe Easter Moscow in words!

The father falls silent and closes his eyes.

- You are falling asleep?

- No. I look at Moscow.

-Where do you have it?

- Before your eyes. How alive...

– Tell me something else about Easter!

– I also had a chance to celebrate Easter in one monastery. In its simplicity and splendor it was even better than the Moscow one! One monastery is worth something! All around there is an untrodden forest, animal trails, and near the monastery walls there is a river splashing. Taiga trees and a church built from strong resinous logs look into it. For Bright Matins, a great many pilgrims gathered here from the surrounding villages. There was a rare custom here. After matins, girls with candles went out to the river, sang “Christ is Risen,” bowed at the waist to the river water, and then stuck the candles to a wooden round and floated them down the river one by one.

Just imagine what a miracle it was there! In the middle of the night, a hundred lights float on the water, and then the bells are ringing and the forest is noisy!

I had no time to sleep. My soul was filled with a premonition of something inexplicably huge, resembling either Moscow or a hundred candles floating along a forest river. He got out of bed, walked from corner to corner, interfered with his mother’s cooking and kept asking her:

- Are you going to church soon?

– Don’t spin around like a slanted spindle! – she quietly flared up. - If you can’t wait, then go, don’t mess around there!

There are two whole hours until Matins, and the church fence is already full of children.

A night without a single star, without wind, and seemingly terrible in its unusualness and enormity. Easter cakes in white scarves floated along the dark street - only they were visible, but it was as if there were no people.

In the darkened church near the Shroud, there is a line of hunters to read the Acts of the Apostles. I also joined. I was asked:

- Well, then start first!

I went up to the lectern and began to write out: “I wrote the first word about Theophilus,” and I could not pronounce “Theophilus.” He became confused, lowered his head in embarrassment and stopped reading. They came up to me and made a remark:

- I wanted to try!..

“You better try the Easter cakes,” and they pushed me aside.

There was no standing in the church. He went out into the fence and sat down on the steps of the temple.

– Is it Easter somewhere now? – I thought. – Does it hover in the sky, or does it walk outside the city, in the forest, along swamp hummocks, pine leaves, snowdrops, heather and juniper paths, and what image does it have? I remembered someone’s story that on the night of the Holy Resurrection of Christ a ladder descends from heaven to earth, and along it the Lord descends to us with the holy apostles, saints, passion-bearers and martyrs. The Lord goes around the earth; blesses fields, forests, lakes, rivers, birds, man, beast and everything created by His holy will, and the saints sing “Christ is risen from the dead...” The song of the saints scatters like grains on the earth, and from these grains thin fragrant lilies of the valley arise in the forests...

The time was approaching midnight. The fence is buzzing more and more with conversation. Someone came out of the church gatehouse with a lantern.

- It’s coming, it’s coming! – the guys shouted furiously, clapping their hands.

- Who goes?

- Lexandra the bell ringer! Now it's going to crash!

And he banged...

From the first strike of the bell, it was as if a large silver wheel rolled on the ground, and when its buzz passed, another rolled, and after it a third, and the Easter night darkness swirled in the silver hum of all the city churches.

The beggar Yakov noticed me in the dark.

- Bright ringing! - he said, and crossed himself several times.

The church began to serve the “Great Midnight Office.” They sang “The Wave of the Sea.” Priests in white robes lifted the Shroud and took it to the altar, where it will lie on the Throne until the Feast of the Ascension. The heavy golden tomb was pushed aside with a roar, to its usual place, and in this roar there was also a significant, Paschal sound, as if a huge stone was being rolled away from the Holy Sepulcher.

I saw my father and mother. He approached them and said:

- I will never offend you! – he pressed himself close to them and exclaimed loudly:

- How fun it is!

And the Easter joy kept expanding, like the Volga in the flood, about which my father spoke more than once. Tall banners swayed like spring trees in the sunny wind. They began to prepare for the procession around the church. From the altar they brought out a silver altar cross, a golden Gospel, a huge round bread - artos, the raised icons smiled, and everyone's red Easter candles were lit.

There was silence. It was transparent and so light that if you blew on it, it would vibrate like a cobweb. And in the midst of this silence they sang: “Thy Resurrection, O Christ the Savior, the Angels are singing in heaven.” And to the accompaniment of this inspiring song, the procession began to flow with lights. They stepped on my foot, dropped wax on my head, but I felt almost nothing and thought: “that’s how it’s supposed to be” - Easter! Easter of the Lord! – sunbeams ran through my soul. Huddled close to each other in the darkness of the night, along the streams of Sunday songs, showered with ringing peals and warmed by the lights of candles, we walked around the church, white with hundreds of lights, and stopped waiting at the tightly closed doors. The bells fell silent. My heart sank. His face flushed with heat. The earth has disappeared somewhere - you are standing not on it, but as if in the blue heavens. What about people? Where are they? Everything turned into jubilant Easter candles!

And now, something huge, something I couldn’t grasp at first, has happened! They sang “Christ is risen from the dead.”

They sang “Christ is risen” three times, and the doors of the high door swung open before us. We entered the resurrected church - and before our eyes, in the glow of chandeliers, large and small lamps, in the sparkles of silver, gold and precious stones on the icons, in the bright paper flowers on Easter cakes - the Lord's Easter flashed! The priest, enveloped in incense smoke, with a clear face, exclaimed brightly and loudly: “Christ is Risen,” and the people answered him with the roar of heavy, icy snow falling from a height - “Truly He is Risen.”

Grishka found himself nearby. I took his hands and said:

- Tomorrow I will give you a red egg! The best! Christ is Risen!

Fedka was standing nearby. He was also promised a red egg. I saw the janitor Davyd, went up to him and said:

“I will never call you a “martyr sweeper.” Christ is Risen!

And the words of the Easter canon flew through the church like lightning. Every word is a spark of cheerful quick fire: “Let the heavens deservedly rejoice, let the earth rejoice, let the world, visible and invisible, celebrate, for Christ has risen, eternal joy...”

My heart swelled with joy - near the pulpit I saw a girl with blond braids, whom I had noticed while carrying the Shroud! Not myself, I approached her, and, blushing, with my eyes downcast, I whispered:

- Christ is Risen!

She became embarrassed, dropped the candle from her hands, reached out to me with a quiet flame, and we said Christ... and then we were so ashamed that we stood for a long time with our heads bowed.

And at this time, the Paschal Word of John Chrysostom thundered from the pulpit:

“If anyone is pious and God-loving, let him enjoy this good and bright celebration... Christ is risen, and life abides!”

I.S. Shmelev

Easter

The post is already running out spring is coming. The starlings made noise over the garden, the coachman heard them, and the larks also flew to the Forty Martyrs. Every morning I see them in the dining room: sharp-nosed heads with raisins in their eyes looking out from the bread bowl, and ruddy wings braided on their backs. It's a pity to eat them, they are so good, and I start with the tail. They baked poppy “crosses” on Krestopoklonnaya - and here it is again, a huge puddle in the yard. It used to be that my father would see me swimming on it on the door, chasing ducks with a stick, he would wince and shout:

- Call Kosoy here!..

Vasil Vasilich runs cautiously, shooting at the puddle with his eye. I know what he’s thinking: “Well, fight... and we fought last year, but you still can’t cope with her!”

– Are you a senior clerk – or... what? Do you have it again? Drive barges along it?!

“How many times have I fallen asleep, sir!..” Vasil Vasilich looks around the puddle, as if he’s seeing it for the first time.

“And he piled up manure and trenched so much rubble, but nothing is done to her!” It will suck in - and it will become even worse. Is she letting it out from under herself?.. She’s been like this for ages, drowning... But it’s okay, sir, it will dry out by summer, and ducks have nature...

The father looks at the puddle and waves his hand.

We finished hauling ice. Its green blocks lay near the barns, shining like a rainbow in the sun, turning blue by night. It was freezing from them. Scraping my knees, I climbed up them to the roof, gnawing icicles. Nimble fellows, with their feet wrapped in a bag - otherwise you’ll ruin your boots! - they rolled the ice into the cellars with a roar, covered it with clean snow from the garden and slammed it down tightly.

- They buried the ice, the Sabbath! It won't rise until spring.

They were given a scale and they quacked:

- Good... The ice is boiling stronger.

A policeman came by and ordered the pavement to be chipped down to dust for Easter! They poke into the ice with picks, hammer with crowbars - until they reach a pebble. And here is the first span. Carefully staggering on the icy groove, shining with varnish, she slides onto the pavement. The dandy cab driver crosses himself to the novelty, adjusts his harness and briskly rolls over the pebbles with the first, cheerful knock.

There is an angry gray goose sitting under the stairs in the kitchen. When I run by, she hisses like a snake and bends her neck - she wants to peck me. Easter is coming! They brought a “spider” from the barn, a round brush on a pole, to sweep the ceilings for Easter. In Egorov’s store, they removed the boxes from the window and put up a carousel with eggs. I admire them for a long time: they spin quietly, one after another, like a dream. On gold rings, on scarlet ribbons. Sugar, satin...

In the bakeries there are white caps on the windows with letters - X. V. Even our Voronin, whose “rats spend the night in a kneader,” put out a dirty cardboard: “Orders are accepted for Easter cakes and Easter cakes and Greek women!” Women?.. And for some reason Greek! Vasil Vasilich brought a whole bucket of live fish - minnows, burbot - he caught it himself with a basting line. Father on the river with the people. One day he came, cheerful, lifted me by the shoulders to the nightingale’s cage and shook me.

- Well, brother, our Moscow River has passed. Let's get the rafts going!.. - And he twisted his cheek.

Vasil Vasilich stands on the threshold in his office. His boots are covered in mud. He speaks in a hoarse voice, his eyes swollen:

- Be p-coy, sir, let’s get together... they’ll be near Simonov by Easter. Now straight from...

- From a tavern? I see.

- No, sir, from this... from near Zvenigorod, five days on the water. Thirty races to the birch forest, twenty pine trees and fir trees, they fly on wings! And the barges with the timber, and... And Palenov’s seventeen races were smashed to pieces, scattered! And in front of my eyes... I have natural shyness, life-seekers!

The father is pleased: Easter will be calm. Last year we celebrated Matins on the river.

– It would be hard to mess with the Kremlin... Do we have enough glasses?

- I got ten thousand, sir, I’ll get it! Bought lard for filling. We'll complete the elimination in three days, sir. What do you order in the parish, sir? The parishioners were offended over the summer, there was no elimination. People were rescued on boats near Dorgomilov... not to the point of elimination!..

“We’ll celebrate this Easter in two!” They talk about shields and stars, about kubastics, scales, about bowls... about some kind of “Smolyankas” and incendiary threads.

- There will be an exodus of people!.. A lure to our arrival, sir.

- Let's go with the rockets. Take a note from the quarterly for permission. How much is needed there... do you understand?

- Red for his eyes... we won’t start a fire! – Vasil Vasilich says cheerfully. - To launch - so to launch, sir!

- I think this... A cross on the dome, with crimson cubes?..

- I-may, sir, let's light it. Just high?..

Yes, for God’s work, sir... he will reward! As they say, God has plenty of everything.

- You’ll send Ganka the painter to fix the shield on the cross... he climbed a brick pipe! Just don't let him in drunk, he'll lose his temper.

- There’s no way he’ll lose his temper, he’s just drunk! Yes, he'll take care of himself. There is a dormer hatch in the dome, under the apple... it, therefore, will cling to the apple, will be caught by the neck, will creep up, will jerk up to the cross, will be caught by the cross, will be caught in the loop - and swing! I'll give you new ropes. And you and I used to... rock on Christ the Savior right next to the crosses, God forbid.

The willow has passed. Heaps of Easter roses, for icons and Easter cakes, lie under paper in the hall. Passionate days. I’m not fasting yet, but hanging around now is sinful, and they make me read the Gospel. “Abraham begat Isaac, Isaac begat Jacob, Jacob begat Judah...” I can’t understand: Abraham is male! You will read the page, play with the “sea dweller”, look out the window from the willow tree. Gorkin seems to be making pasochnitsy! I shout to him through the window, he waves at me.

The most fun work is in the yard: they are knocking together shields and stars, making planks for - X. V. On the threshold of the barn, in the sun, Gorkin is sitting in a short fur coat, his sleeves are shrunk like an accordion. They call him a “fileman” for his clean work. He no longer works, but at home. His father loves to talk to him and always sits him down with him. Gorkin corrects the beekeepers. I watch him cut a piece of wood with a crooked cutter.

“I’m going home to die, who’s going to cut you?” While you're alive, study. Look, the grapes are coming...

He picks at the board and grapes appear! Then he carves out the “holy cross”, Herod’s spear and a ladder – to heaven! Then an amazing bird, then the letters - X. V. Frozen with joy, I look. His hands are old, veiny.

- Learn the holy work. This is the dove, the Holy Spirit. Just wait, I’ll cut out your treasured little bead. You will remember Gorkin. And I’ll cut out a spoon for you... When you start slurping cabbage soup, you’ll look and remember.

So I remembered. And yet they left...

I carry a passionate candle from the Gospels and look at the flickering light: it is holy. It's a quiet night, but I'm very afraid: it will go out! I'll tell you - I'll live until next year. The old cook is glad that I reported. She washes her hands, takes the holy light, lights her lamp, and we go to burn the crosses. We burn it over the kitchen door, then on the cellar, in the barn...

“Now he just can’t handle it.” Save Christ... - she says, crossing herself, and baptizes the cow with a candle. - Christ is with you, mother, don’t be afraid... lie down.

The cow looks thoughtfully and chews.

Gorkin also comes with us. He takes a candle from the cook and burns a cross over the headboard in his closet. There are a lot of crosses there, from previous years.

It seems to me that Christ is in our yard. And in the barn, and in the stables, and in the cellar, and everywhere. In the black cross from my candle - Christ has come. And everything we do is for Him. The yard has been swept clean, and all the corners have been cleaned, even under the canopy where there was manure. These days are extraordinary – passionate. Christ's days. Now I’m not afraid of anything: I walk through the dark hallways - and nothing, because Christ is everywhere.

At Voronin’s cellar they knead cottage cheese in a wide tub. Fat Voronin and the baker, with their hands rolled up, poke their red fists into the cottage cheese, pour raisins and sugar into it and deftly press it into the doughnuts. They let me try it on my finger: how is it? It's sour, but I praise it out of politeness. They are pounding almonds in our dining room and you can hear it all over the house. I help grate the cottage cheese on a sieve. Golden worms fall onto the dish - completely alive! They wipe everything in five sieves; We need a lot of Passover. For us it’s the real thing, it smells like Easter. Then - for guests, the front door, another “little” Easter, two for people and another for poor relatives. For the people, about two hundred people, Voronin does it under the supervision of Vasil Vasilich, and the carpenters help do it. Voronin also bakes Easter cakes for the people. Vasil Vasilich both here and there. He rides in a droshky to the church where Ganka the painter hangs and fixes the cross shield. I’ll go to the Shroud and see. Cups are being filled in the yard. From the barn they carry scales, bowls, lampions, balls, cubes - all colors - in large baskets. A fire is burning by the puddle, and the pot is being boiled. Vasil Vasilich stirs with a stick, puts cinders and lumps of lard, which “the mouse does not eat.” The glasses stand on boards, in nests, in rows, and look like colorful birds. Balloons and lamps hang on wires. The main pouring takes place in the Kremlin, where the father is with the people. But here it’s nothing, a thousand glasses, no more. I help too - I carry the cinders from the box and put the wicks on the bowls. And how beautiful! On new boards, in rows, crimson, green, blue, gold, white with milk... Large glass balls swaying, clinking into each other, and the sun sends out bunnies, splashing on the barrels, on the puddle.

They strike sadly towards the Shroud. Both sadness and joy are confused in me: the Savior is about to die... and cheerful glasses, and almonds in my pocket, and eggs to paint... and the smells of vanilla and ham, which was baked today, and the sad prayer that Gorkin hums - “Judas no-che -sti-i-vy... si-ribrom darken-i-isya...” He’s wearing a new Cossack jacket, anointed his boots with tar, and goes to church.

There is a crowd in front of Kazanskaya, looking at the dome. At the cross, a little black thing like a jackdaw is swinging on a rope. This is Ganka, the desperate one. He pushes with his foot and gets knocked. It's breathtaking to watch. I hear: he threw his cap! The cap flies like a fly and splashes across the street to the pharmacy. Vasil Vasilich shouts:

- Hey, don't be stupid... you! Grab some glasses!..

“Come on!” Ganka yells, doing things with his feet. Even the policeman is watching. Father arrives in a droshky.

- Live up, guys! There’s a shortage in the Kremlin...” he hurries and quickly climbs onto the roof.

The staircase is compound and unsteady. Vasil Vasilich also climbs. He is heavier than his father, and the stairs bend in an arch. They lift the baskets on ropes. Father runs along the ledge, indicating where to place the crosses on the wings. Ganka throws the end of the rope and shouts: “Come on!” They tie the cubastics in a whip around him and he pulls him towards the cross. Sitting in a loop in front of the cross, he places cubes. Glass sparkles. Now comes the hard part: driving away the incendiary thread. They argue: you can’t do it with one hand, you have to hold on! Ganka ties himself to the cross. I feel dizzy and nauseous.

- Ready!.. Take the thread!..

A lump sparkled from the cross. They say you can see a thread in the dome! Ganka slips out of the loop, crawls along the “apple” under the cross, and dives into a hole in the dome. An empty loop sways. Ganka is already on the roof, his father pats him on the shoulder. Ganka wipes his face with his shirt and quickly descends to the ground. They surround him and he shows a piece of paper:

- How they snatch away rubbish! He looks at the noose that keeps swinging.

“It’s scary from here, but there it’s like sitting in armchairs!”

He's very pale. He walks staggering.

The Shroud is taken out in the church. I'm sad: the Savior has died. But joy is already beating: he will rise again tomorrow! Golden coffin, saint. Death is just this: everyone will be resurrected. Today I read in the Gospel that the tombs were opened and many bodies of the departed saints were resurrected. And I want to become a saint - even tears come. Gorkin leads to kiss. The shroud is entwined with roses. Under the muslin, with golden Cherubim, lies the Savior, greenish-pale, with pierced hands. It smells sacred of roses.

With hidden joy, mixed with sadness, I leave the church. Crosses and stars are hung along the fence, and glasses glitter. Father and Vasil Vasilich drove off in a droshky to the Kremlin, taking Ganka with them. Gorkin tells me that the elimination is responsible there; General-Governor Dolgorukov himself will look at it. And Ganka was “taken for a desperate task.”

We smell like mastic, Easter and ham. The floors are polished, but the bed has not yet been made. They let me paint eggs.

Night. I look at the image, and everything in me is connected with Christ: illumination, candles, spinning testicles, prayers, Ganka, the old man.

Gorkin, who will probably die soon... But he will rise again! And I will die someday, that's all. And then we will all meet... and Vaska, who died in winter from scarlet fever, and the shoemaker Zola, who sang with the boys about the Magi - we will all meet there. And Gorkin will cut out grapes on pasochki, but something different, light, like little white ones the souls that I saw in commemoration. The Shroud stands alone in the church, the lamps are burning. He has now descended into hell and is leading everyone out of fiery Gehenna. And it was for Him that Ganka climbed the cross, and his father climbed the bell tower in the Kremlin, and Vasil Vasilich, and all our guys - all this was for Him! The barges were abandoned on the river, at anchor, with only a watchman left. And the rafts arrived yesterday. They are bored on the dark river, alone. But Christ is with them, everywhere... Egorov’s testicles are spinning in the window. I see a fat worm with a black head with beady eyes, with a tongue made of scarlet cloth... trembling in the testicle. I see a large sugar egg - and Christ is in it.

Holy Saturday, evening. The house is quiet, everyone lay down before matins. I make my way into the hall to see what’s on the street. There are few people, they are carrying Easter cakes and Easter cakes in cardboard boxes. The wallpaper in the hall is pink - from the sun, it is setting. In the rooms there are crimson Easter lamps: were there blue ones at Christmas?.. They laid out an Easter carpet in the living room, with crimson bouquets. The gray covers were removed from the burgundy armchairs. The images feature wreaths of roses. There are new red carpets in the hall and in the corridors. In the dining room on the windows - painted eggs in crimson baskets: tomorrow the father will christen himself with the people. In the hall there are green quarters with wine: bring them. On feather pillows, in the dining room on the sofa - so as not to fall through! - huge Easter cakes, covered with pink muslin, lie cooling down. They smell of sweet, fragrant warmth.

It's quiet outside. A shaggy cart drove from the yard - they took juniper to the church. It's completely dark. An unexpected whisper scares me:

- Why aren’t you sleeping, wandering around?..

This is the father. He just returned.

I don’t know what to say: I like to walk around the rooms in silence and look and listen - everything else is different! – so extraordinary, holy.

The father puts on a summer jacket and begins to adjust the lamps. It’s always him himself: others can’t do that. He walks with them from room to room and sings in a low voice: “Thy Resurrection, O Christ the Savior... The angels are singing in heaven...” And I walk with him. My soul is joyful and quiet, and for some reason I want to cry. I look at him, as he stands on the chair, towards the icon, and for some reason the thought comes to me: will he really die too!.. He puts lamps in a row on a tin tray and lights them, chanting the sacred. There are a lot of them, and all but one are crimson. The crimson lights are sleeping - they don’t move. And only one, from the nursery - pink, with white eyes - looks like chintz. Well, how beautiful! I look at the sleepy lights and think: this is holy illumination, God’s. I cuddle up to my father, to his leg. He touches my cheek. His fingers smell of fragrant Athonite oil.

- Would you go to bed, brother?

Whether it’s from pent-up joy, from the fatigue of these days, or from sadness that has arisen for some reason - I start crying, cling to him, I want to say something, I don’t know... He lifts me to the very ceiling, where a squash sits in a cage, laughing with his teeth from under the mustache.

- Well, let’s go, one little thing for you...

He carries a crimson lamp into the office, places it next to the icon of the Savior, looks at how evenly it glows and how good it is in the office. Then he takes out from the table... a golden egg on a chain!

“You’ll take it for matins, but don’t lose it.” Well, open it...

I can hardly open it with my fingernail. Khrup - crimson and gold. In the middle shines golden, heavy; in the side pockets there are brand new silver ones. Wonderful wallet! I kiss the gentle hand that smells of wood oil. He takes me on his lap, strokes me...

- And I’m tired, brother... and everything’s going on. Better yet, go and take a nap for a while.

Oh, unforgettable evening, the dying light outside the windows... And now I still hear slow steps, with a lamp, a voice singing in thought:

Angels sing in the sky...

Mysterious light, holy one. There are only lamps in the hall. On a large tray - I can lie down on it - the Easter cakes are darkening, the Easter eggs are turning white. Roses on Easter cakes and red eggs appear black. Two tall fellows in undershirts come in on their toes, and carefully carry out a tray tied with a tablecloth. They are told anxiously: “For God’s sake, don’t knock it over!” They answer reassuringly: “God forbid, we’ll take care.” They carried him to the church to be blessed.

We walk in silence along a quiet street, in the dark. Stars, warm night, smells of manure. Footsteps are heard in the darkness, little knots turn white.

In the fence there is a canvas tent with edges. Easter cakes and Easter cakes, in flowers, are studded with raisins. Rare candles. Juniper smells sacred. Gorkin takes my hand.

- Papa ordered me to be with you, to show you the limination. And he himself is in the Kremlin with Vasilich, and then he will come to us. And here I am in command with you.

He takes me to the church, where it is still a little dark, and places it on the small Shroud on the table: the large Shroud, on the Tomb, was taken away. Images in roses. Incendiary strings hang from chandeliers flickering in the semi-darkness. Juniper is fiddling around at the feet. The priest carries away the Shroud on his head. Gorkin is wearing a new jacket, with a pink scarf around his neck and under his beard. His candle is red, entwined with gold.

– The religious procession is now, let’s go make arrangements.

We can barely make our way among the people. The Easter tent is golden with lights, pink there, snowy. Gorkin punishes ours:

- Here, Michal Pankratych, don’t hesitate!

– Have they poured Photogena into the barrels?

- That's it, let's tar it right away!

- Mitya! As if you hit your heels on a big one, now go to red-consonant, from chime to chime, without delay... twirl and twirl everything! Later I'll climb in myself. In our way, in Rostov’s way! Well, God forbid...

…Angels are in heaven!..

“Get out!” Gorkin screams, and four rockets at once, hissing, rushed into the sky and scattered with a click into seven-colored apples. “Smolyanki” flared, and the fiery serpent jumped in all directions, dropping flaming flakes.

“Kumpol, kumpol!” Gorkin tugs at me.

The fiery serpent shot up, exploded into many snakes, flew up the dome to the cross... and melted there. A scarlet cross has risen in the black sky! Crosses shine on the wings, near the cornices. On the white church, matte white cubes, pink crosses between them, and green and blue stars glow softly, like milk. Shining - X. V. There is also a crimson cross on the beekeeping tent. Bengal lights flash, casting shadows on the walls - crosses, banners, the bishop's hat, his trikiria. And everything was covered with a great roar, a wonderful ringing of silver and copper.

Christ is risen from the dead...

“Well, Christ is risen...” the joyful, dear Gorkin bends over to me.

He kisses us three times and leads us to church. It smells sacred of hot wax and juniper.

...death death... to the right!..

Ringing at dawn, incessant. The morning is in the sun and ringing. Easter is red.

And in the Kremlin it was a great success. Vladimir Andreich Dolgorukov himself thanked him! Vasil Vasilich says:

- He says they made friends. I’ll add it to the medals, he says. It was like that... it burned through my undershirt! The Metropolitan was even horrified... how it was! The entire Kremlin was on fire. And on the Moscow River... it’s clear during the day!..

The father, dressed up, whistles. He stands in the hallway, near the baskets with red eggs, and makes a sign of Christ. Stretching out of the kitchen like a goose. They shake their hair, wipe their mustache with their fist and kiss each other three times. "Christ is Risen!" - “Truly he is risen...” - “Happy holidays”... They receive the egg and go into the hallway. They stretch for a long time - carpenters, fair-haired people, painters - drier, redder... raftsmen - wide, sturdy ones... heavy Melenkovsky diggers, dodgers - masons, roofers, water-drawers, stokers.

Treats in the yard. Vasil Vasilich is operating, in a flaming shirt, his vest wide open, and is about to start dancing.

The accordions itch. They kiss each other, their hair dangles here and there. My lips hurt...

Chimes, chimes, red-consonant ringing. Easter is red.

They dine in the wild, under stacks of wood. They dine on fresh boards while the bell rings. Pink, red, blue, yellow, green shells are everywhere, and glow in the puddle. Easter is red! Both the day and the ringing are beautiful.

I look at the testicles given to me. Here is the crystal-golden one, through which everything is magical. Here is a stretchable fat worm: it has a black head, black beady eyes and a tongue made of scarlet cloth. With soldiers, with ducks, carved bones... And now, porcelain - my father's. There is a wonderful panorama in it... Behind the pink and blue immortelle flowers and moss, behind the glass in the golden rim, a picture is seen in the depths: a snow-white Christ with a banner has risen from the Tomb. My nanny told me that if you look behind the glass for a long, long time, you will see a living angel. Tired of strict days, of bright lights and ringing sounds, I peer through the glass. It dies in my eyes - and it seems to me, in flowers - alive, inexplicably joyful, holy... God?.. Can't be put into words. I press the testicle to my chest - and a soporific chime rocks me in my sleep.

Sandalwood- paint extracted from the wood of various trees using alcohol or ether.

Serpukha– yellow vegetable dye for fabrics.

Vechat- that is, to confer, to talk.

Sonyga- sleepy.

Austinka- here is a needle.

Christ is risen! Starlings sing
And, awakening, the steppes rejoice.
In the snow, murmuring streams run
And with a ringing laugh they quickly tear
Chained in winter.
The dark forest is still thoughtful,
Not believing the happiness of waking up.
Wake up! Sing the song of Sunday
Christ is risen!
….
Christ is risen! In love's rays
The gloomy cold of sorrow will disappear,
Let joy reign in our hearts
Both those who are old and those who are young!
Covenant of the blissful Heavens
The song of Sunday sounds to us, -
Christ is risen!

Vladimir Ladyzhensky

Resurrection of Christ

On Easter Day, playing joyfully,
The lark flew high
And, disappearing into the blue sky,
He sang the Song of Resurrection.
And they repeated that song loudly
And the steppe, and the hill, and the dark forest.
“Wake up, earth,” they said,
Wake up: your King, your God has risen.
Wake up, mountains, valleys, rivers.
Praise the Lord from heaven.
He has conquered death forever.
Wake up, you too, green forest.
Snowdrop, silver lily of the valley,
Violet - bloom again,
And send a fragrant hymn to Him,
Whose commandment is love."

Elena Gorchakova

The Legend of Christ's Lark

On the morning of the Resurrection of Christ, in the early, early dawn, near the cave where the Body of the Savior was laid, a small gray lark was sleeping in the grass. In the pre-dawn cold, he slept so sweetly... The lark dreamed that he was flying over the northern countries, the fields lay below, in some places still covered with snow, there were still bare trees, and only the willows were fluffing with velvet balls. The sky has become dark, and the dim sun barely shines through; But the lark is glad to fly home, he knows that soon everything will turn green and bloom in the lovely north.

And suddenly something woke up the lark. A bright, dazzlingly bright light illuminated him, and the lark perked up and saw: standing above him was Christ, all shining with heavenly light.

The lark was not afraid, but only fluttered and circled, enchanted, above the Savior’s head. And the lark heard tender heavenly singing - the angels were singing about the Resurrection of Christ.

And Christ raised His face to the lark and said:

– Fly to the distant cold north and sing there a song about My Resurrection.

And the lark soared into the blue heights of the sky, and the lark gathered thousands of other larks, and they flew to their distant gloomy homeland.

And there, over the fields still covered here and there with snow, over bare trees with buds that had not yet opened, over willows with cute velvet balls, they sang in the cloudy cold sky a song about the Resurrection of Christ.

- Christ is Risen! - the larks sang. By death he conquered death and gave life to those who died!

And the children shouted, clapping their hands:

- Larks, larks have arrived!

And the adults congratulated each other on spring and said:

“They don’t care, these larks: let the fog, let the snow fall, let the harsh wind blow, they sing their song.

And the adults remembered their distant best years when they were young, and even earlier, when they were children, and thought: “They brought back our joy, these larks! They know how to make a miracle with their song! They sing, and we are young again! We have risen, just as everything around us has risen - and forests and fields!"

At this time one of the children said:

– They sing “Christ is Risen”... Just listen carefully!

And the adults smiled at the boy and listened.

- Christ is Risen! - the larks sang. – He conquered death by death!

Lev Zilov

To the tune of Easter prayers

To the tune of Easter prayers
And to the sound of bells
Spring is flying to us from far away,
From the midday regions.
In green attire
The dark forests are gloomy,
The sky shines like the sea,
The sea is like heaven.
Pines in green velvet,
And fragrant resin
Along the scaly columns
Flowed like ambers
And in our garden today
I noticed how secretly
The lily of the valley made Christ
With a white-winged moth.
Drops are dripping loudly
Near our window.
The birds sang merrily.
Easter has come to visit us.

Konstantin Fofanov

Risen!

The day has come, the morning light has lit up,
The face of the dead steppe turned red;
The jackal fell asleep, the bird woke up...
We came to take a look - the coffin was empty!
And the myrrh-bearers fled
Tell a miracle of miracles:
That He is not there to be looked for!
Said: “I will rise again!” - and resurrected!
They run... they are silent... they don’t dare admit it.
That there is no death, that there will be an hour -
Their graves will also be empty,
Lighting up the sky with fire!

Konstantin Sluchevsky

Holy news

Bright spring -
During the day and late at night -
Many songs are heard
Above the birth side.
You hear a lot of wonderful sounds,
Many prophetic voices -
Over the fields, over the meadows,
In the twilight of deep forests.
Many sounds, many songs, -
But you can hear it most from heaven
Holy news is being distributed,
Song-message -
"Christ is risen!.."
Leaving my shelter
Above the resurrected earth
Choirs of angels sing;
They echo the angelic song
Voices of free birds,
The mountains echo, the valleys echo,
The dark forests echo, -
The rivers echo, tearing
Your icy chains,
Spilling in the open
White streams...
There is an old legend,
That in the spring sometimes -
At the hour when the stars twinkle
Midnight game, -
Even the graves
To heaven's holy hello
They respond with:
"He is truly risen!.."

Apollo of Corinth

Holy Thursday

Yesterday I went to confession for the second time in my life. With fear, I went behind the screen, where the priest was sitting in a black stole. In front of him, on the lectern, lay the Cross and the Gospel. Today I received communion and did not run all day, but sat next to my grandmother and read the Gospel to her.

In the evening we went to the Passion. The priest in the middle of the church read how terribly the Savior was tortured. It is not for nothing that after each Gospel in the choir they praised Your long-suffering, Lord! We all stood with lit candles. The priest ended by burying the Savior and placing a guard at His Tomb.

It was difficult to survive all twelve Gospels, but I survived. The evening was quiet, and I managed to carry a lit candle home without a lantern. Grandma took the candle from me and burned crosses on the doors.

Konstantin Ushinsky

Good Friday

Today I was at the removal of the shroud and walked with a candle around the church. The day was clear: the sun was very warm, birds were flying around the church roof and chirping merrily.

Our candles were quietly glowing, and I was somehow sad, but pleased to hear how Joseph wrapped a clean shroud around the Body of the Savior.

We didn’t venerate the shroud today because we couldn’t bear it, so we drank tea this morning.

The snow is still white in some places in the shade, but our yard is completely dry; and it’s fun to walk on dry ground. On the river, the former road only turns black. Now I wish I could ride along it! There has been no crossing for two days now. Dear sunshine! Work more diligently: remember that the day after tomorrow is a holiday.

What is this book about? TO happy holiday Easter is prepared in advance, it is decorated with many good traditions: Easter cakes are baked and blessed, eggs are painted. At Easter, we rush to visit our loved ones in the hope of bringing not only gifts and holiday treats, but, most importantly, a piece of this amazing holiday - a piece of Heaven. And the heavenly impulse of Easter, in its spontaneity, is felt much better than us by our children. They always take part in pre-holiday preparations with keen interest.

This book contains the best poems and stories of Russian writers about the Feast of Holidays, suitable for children's reading. The poems collected in the publication are perfect for learning with children, and the stories will help every family spend happy hours reading them together. This is a wonderful opportunity to create a festive atmosphere at home and feel the “holidays of the Celebration and the Celebration of Celebrations.”

Who is this book for? This wonderfully illustrated book is a wonderful gift not only for children, but also for adults, who have often forgotten how to enjoy life in the simplicity of their hearts. Why did we decide to publish this book? Because in preparations for the main Christian holiday, we must not forget about the little things that create a bright and warm atmosphere in the house, especially if there are children in this house. After all, children feel the joy of Easter more sensitively than we do, but for them, also more than for us, what we consider insignificant little things is important. Children will remember the minutes spent reading wonderful stories and poems from this book for a long time, and adults will be able to briefly return to childhood and remember what it means to enjoy simple things.