FLOWER EASTER

Last full moon of April, Easter of flowers. The Lord passes quickly. Like every year (it must be because of the Jewish revival that can dwell in me) I rejoice, I transform and something happens: the miracle of a charismatic transformation, the rebirth to a new life. There are many divine and sacred nights like this one, when I turn on the computer and connect to the Piervii Kanal to attend the wonderful liturgy celebrated by the holy patriarch Cyril and his clergy. The voices of a hundred priests thundering under the vaults of the splendid temple of the Spasiteli cathedral packed with believers, proto deacons Mijail reading the epistle to the Colossians “If the last gospel of John read in parts in Latin, Russian, Belarusian, Aramaic, German, Spanish, English and Greek. The Lord passes quickly, I perceive in the sky a trace of magical light (sviet) that reconciles me with my fellow men and I understand the world from good, perfection and life that triumphs over death. Oh death where is your victory! I shout with Saint Paul. The sacred fire has expressly arrived to Moscow from Jerusalem and my lips are raised in prayers for the Jewish people, also and especially with the Palestinians who are the humiliated and offended people prophesied by Dostoevsky. For me, Passover night is the great Yom Kippur. Shalom. Mir. Friede. Pax Augusta. Because? Because Christ has risen from the dead. He came to beat spears into plowshares. They didn't pay attention to him.