From Darkness to Light: Easter Service Through the Eyes of an Agnostic

      In the temple, there were very many people. So much so that for the first ten minutes, I was simply making my way between shoulders, elbows, and someone’s bags. No one was angry, pushing, or sighing irritably. Everyone stood, carefully covering the tiny flames of the candles with their palms.

      The smell is a separate story. A mixture of warm wax, incense, and old wood. It envelops, calms, and disconnects you from the hustle and bustle of the city. I don’t know how it works from a chemistry or physiology standpoint, but in the "House of God," you really stop thinking about unpaid bills, deadlines, and the news feed. At least for a few hours. Among the parishioners, I noticed Governor Alexander Sokolov. He stood in the crowd, without any security or ostentatious solemnity. He crossed himself, bowed, prayed, and even, they say, sang along. I stayed in the temple until about one in the morning, and he was still there. Next to him were other officials — deputies, bureaucrats, press service workers.

      The climax — the Procession. The clergy and parishioners go outside, circling the temple with lit candles. At the doors of the temple at that moment was Vadim Fedotov — a representative of the construction company "Rost," involved in the restoration of the Feodorov Church. Among those carrying a large banner along with other young men in white robes was Kirov entrepreneur Bagir Sharifov (head of the "Interoil" companies). A businessman by day, a servant of faith by night.

      People started conversations. Completely unfamiliar ones. They asked about children, shared stories about their pets, exchanged impressions from the service. They left the temple already as friends, discussing everyday matters, laughing. In the midst of troubling events, people at least for one night let go of their anxiety.

      By the way, I didn’t notice any kulich (Easter bread) with anyone.

      I’m not saying that I have found faith. I generally don’t like loud words. But in the temple, I felt something that cannot just be tradition. There was too much sincerity, too much light in the eyes of those who protected their little flame on the candle and in their soul.

      Plato in his myth of the cave wrote that people see shadows on the wall and take them for reality. Those who go outside are initially blinded by the real light. On Easter night, it seemed to me that for a second I too peeked out of the cave. And, it seems, I do not regret it.

      Christ is risen.