"Happy Easter!" by Vasily Rozanov

Easter Sunday, 1914

Nowhere else in the world is the day of Christ's Resurrection celebrated with such simplicity and sincerity as among the Russians: the entire nation, old and young alike, hurries to liturgy, at midnight, filling the ancient churches where our fathers and grandfathers once prayed, in jubilant crowds... The arrangement of this service is truly remarkable. It's a moment of struggle between death and resurrection, despair and hope, darkness and light: the epitaphios and banners are carried out somewhere, taking their leave, and those left in the church seem to be left “godforsaken,” in some empty space, useless to themselves and to anyone else... Those who departed with the epitaphios are happier, walking around the church with them in some external and dark place, but with lit candles and lanterns. These few moments of the service symbolize ages. Those remaining in the church symbolize the sinful, suffering, dying paganism, yearning for the “God who will rise again”... The moments pass, and at the entrance to the church, there's a commotion. Voices are heard from here and there; singing and exclamations fill the air... Something is brought here; something keeps others from leaving. “Our risen Lord” enters the world: yet the world, cold and embittered, melancholic and sinful, does not understand this, does not grasp the greatest religious mystery—that there is life, and specifically—Eternal Life, and death—simply does not exist, only its frightening shadows, phantoms, and threats. And then the doors burst open: with the noise of spring, as if breaking through winter ice, a rejoicing crowd enters and under the church vault resounds the first words of the year: “Christ is Risen”...

“Christ is Risen,” says the priest.

“Truly He is Risen,” proclaims the people.

“Christ is Risen! Christ is Risen! Christ is Risen!” he repeats over and over, continuously, passing through the parting crowd... And they, joyfully parting and joyfully looking into their “father's” eyes, respond to him enthusiastically, with all their hearts: “Truly He is Risen! Truly He is Risen! Truly He is Risen!”

For the priest, this is the most joyful moment of the year: for he experiences the pinnacle of his ministry and is filled with all that he has brought to the people. It's all so tangible, so vivid, so convincing: the poorest priest, “unknown to anyone,” sitting at home with his matushka and children, at this singular moment realizes the sole purpose of his service on earth. He, this poor and unrecognized man from an external, worldly standpoint, brings to the crowd, not to one person, but to all people—a feast, a joy, enriching and delighting each of us personally, as no wealthy person, nobleman, king, sage, or poet could ever do. He firmly and authoritatively tells us that we will never die, “because we believe in Christ,” and that our parents, children, brothers, sisters, widows—husbands and widowers—have not died but continue to live in an indescribable light and joy. Those who do not believe—let them not believe: they will understand nothing of this, they will not understand the true meaning of the Holy Resurrection feast—and will only superficially experience the incomprehensible “Easter week” through food and drink. This mystery is only comprehensible to believers: and this mystery has been preserved through the ages and is brought forth to the people annually—by one priest alone.

Him and no one else.

Those who notice will observe that in the Paschal night, priests have a special expression on their faces and a particularly triumphant and victorious, extraordinarily firm voice. Not as in other holidays, not even as in Christmas. There—the fact, here—the mystery; there—history, here—mystery. “Christ's Resurrection” is not a religion in its physical form, within the framework and chains of historical events, no: it is the very soul of religion, telling man the mystery of himself, of every human soul, from which no historical circumstance could remove or extract.

And again, those who notice will perceive the special relationship of the worshippers to the priest: the priest—the victor, and the worshippers—clinging to his white robes as if their lives depended on it. In the Paschal liturgy, there is an entirely unique bond, imperceptible in other holidays, including Christmas—the connection between the flock and the shepherd; the bond—the fearful dependency of the worshippers on the priest, without whom “they would perish.” The connection of a certain powerlessness of some and the tremendous strength of others. “You are our leader in faith,” weak ones seem to say to the strong, “and we will obey you in faith and fear to disobey.” Yes: those who experience Easter and Holy Week with their soul, not just their body, know fear during the week and joy during the Resurrection. The priest seems to dispel all fear from them—and the parishioners joyfully follow him, because where else would they go?

“Where would we all go without Easter”...

And so, it's not just one day, but seven days of joyful ringing of bells “in our manner” in all churches, and the streets fill with people, familiar and unfamiliar, embracing... In obedience to the church's words: “Let us embrace each other.” Street embraces, where in essence the entire country is embracing “without discrimination,” are a precious feature of our life, and this established custom must be carefully preserved. “All quarrels—until Easter,” we say, the whole nation says through this custom. Of course, “after Easter—we will quarrel again,” but again—only until Easter. Quarreling is part of the death of the soul: and Easter says that there is no death, and in connection with this, with Easter embraces, we “cross ourselves” and eliminate quarrels, resentments, and all spiritual sorrow.

Hence, Easter revives our strength in its entirety. It is a gain of strength—and for the peasant, the agriculturalist, this is so essential for summer and spring, when their agricultural work begins. Perhaps it's from this dominant peasant composition of the Russian people that Easter is celebrated in Russia like nowhere else.

“Christ is Risen” is felt deeper and brighter in proximity to the earth and to the most blessed human labor—working the land. Soon the grass will rise; the waters, rivers, streams, and lakes have already risen. But within all this resurrection, the human soul has risen. “Christ is Risen!“—for man and for the whole world.

And there is no death, no cold, no winter. There is no ossification—of nature or of man. “Every sin is until Easter”: and within us flows renewed blood, into which a particle of the Savior's Body and Blood has entered, according to the beautiful custom of all Russians to fast before Easter, to confess sins to the priest, and receive Holy Communion.

“Christ is Risen,” dear readers! Rejoice and celebrate, like all of nature and all Orthodox people. Sorrow was yesterday. Today there is only joy.