J. A. Lindqvist, “Let Me In.” And again Sweden, the city, our days. The reader immediately understands that a vampire girl and her companion have settled in the house. And again Lindqvist takes a classic plot device to turn it inside out, turning it first into a realistic narrative, and in the end into a parable, almost a poem. Ultimately, the book speaks of love and friendship, courage and self-sacrifice.
Another discovery this year: Jon Ajvide Linqvist. A very northern writer: leisurely, thorough, precise in detail. Lindquist is not shy about naturalism, the horror of the objective, embodied, accurately depicted. For this, our filthy reader of low-fat, fortified fiction is ready to burn the scoundrel-writer at the stake. :-) This horror helps the book soar in contrast, when love, friendship, and heroism begin next to the nightmares.
I will definitely continue my acquaintance with Lindquist.
P.S. The book “Let Me In” was made into a Swedish film and then an American remake. I saw the first film, it was quite good. I know that books and films cannot be compared, I know why the filmmakers threw out a whole series of plot lines, accents, and details. Therefore, for viewers who have not read the book, the novel is many times larger than the film; there is a lot there that is not in the film, from actions to motivations and retrospectives.
Rating: no
Surprisingly good, good book.
About the living dead, yes. However, not in the traditional sense. This is not zombie trash, these dead people will not try to get to the brains of the living... well, almost...
Okay, forgive me for this fun start: the zombie theme is one of my favorites. However, already starting this book, I understood that this work could not be classified as a book on a similar topic and, fortunately or not, I was right.
Blessed are the Dead consists of disparate parts, telling the story of several different characters, or rather, several families. Sometimes the characters intersect with each other, sometimes pushing each other to take some actions or helping to come to some conclusions, although generally these meetings play no more role in the characters’ lives than a conversation with a random fellow traveler on the subway. However, the stories of these heroes ultimately add up to an overall picture that conveys the author's intent.
As for the “living dead, politically correctly designated by the authorities in the book as “revived” (by the way, in the zombie trash film “Juan the Cuban Zombie Slayer” they were no less politically correctly called “dissidents”), then one simply cannot dare to call them “zombies”, Just like the book itself cannot be classified as a horror genre. There are undoubtedly creepy moments in it, especially towards the end, but the author here is not trying to scare the reader by resorting to the eternal superstitious horror of death, but makes him think about this very death, about those who have passed away, about why it is necessary to be able to let go in time. Those. I want to say that the “living dead” in the book are not creepy creatures in the guise of familiar people - they are really “shadows” of the departed, loved ones and once alive. Some spark of life still glimmers in them, partly a reflection of the love and affection that their loved ones have for them, something elusive, denoted by the word “soul,” but it is no longer possible to classify them as living.
By the way, I saw the book under a cover that, in my opinion, was completely inappropriate for it. It depicted something reminiscent of a horror or traditional zombie slasher film - some forest, tense faces - and even the girl in the foreground looked a lot like Milla Jovovich from Resident Evil. In general, this image has absolutely no association with the content of the book.
Rating: 9
It’s not often that I come across modern Scandinavian literature, especially something quite in the spirit of S. King (no more than a superficial comparison, as it turned out later). Well, let's take a look.
I won't go into details of the plot. I’ll describe it in one line from the publisher’s annotation: “Unprecedented heat combined with electromagnetic radiation entails an inexplicable phenomenon - thousands of the deceased unexpectedly return to life.” It actually turns out to be a start to horror. But this is not entirely true, the horror here is very vague, rather mysticism, incorporating issues of philosophy, religion, and psychology. The topic itself is not new: take, for example, “Pet Sematary” by the aforementioned S. King, but unlike King, Lindquist does not provide answers to many questions, leaving the reader the right to answer for themselves.
The dead, who have retained only fragments of reason, strive to return home, strive to return to life. This does not work for practically irrational creatures. And relatives find themselves in a dilemma: on the one hand, those whom they loved and for whom they grieved have returned to them, on the other hand, they cause so many problems! The author successfully conveyed the psychological experiences of the characters (there are three storylines here) against the backdrop of philosophical reflection on life and death. Some episodes may even bring tears to sentimental readers.
The book turned out good. The living, afraid of the dead, the dead, afraid of the living... I think that this novel will appeal to all fans of psychological thrillers
Rating: 8
In this neat little book there was enough space to sing of family values, complaints about the dullness of everyday life, prayers and lyrics by Marilyn Manson. And although some episodes literally make me shiver with horror, I somehow can’t call “Blessed are the Dead” horror (even with reference to the “exoticism” of Scandinavian horror). This is a reflection on life and, of course, death. About how these two indispensable features of our existence are perceived by the human mass and each person individually (it’s probably not for nothing that all the heroes who meet the personified “Death” see it in their own way). About the fact that love sometimes becomes dangerous for, so to speak, all participants, and the fear of the unknown and the desire to return to the _habitual_ can lead to catastrophic consequences.
So I personally liked the book not as a horror story about the living dead, but as a story of people forced into strange circumstances deal with ourselves.
Rating: 9
A very entertaining novel. The author tried to approach the possible situation of “resurrection of the dead” not from the position of “living carrion”, “zombies” and other trashy perceptions of life after death by modern culture, but looked at it as a psychologist who, with a word, like a scalpel, divides the population of Stockholm into separate psychotypes. At the heart of the entire narrative is the problem of relatives who love their dead, and who are faced with the return of those whom they thought were lost forever. In some ways, according to one of the ideas of the novel, it reminded me of a short story (unfortunately I don’t remember the author), which in afterlife we exist as long as we are remembered. So in the novel, the more feelings, negative or positive, the more actively the resurrected react to them. The more the love of a mother for a child, or a husband for his wife, is manifested, the greater the chances of being heard on the other side of existence. Lindquist also develops an interesting and quite substantiated, including from a psychological point of view, model of the existence of this and the other world.
Overall, a good psychological novel with a certain fantastic assumption and an unusual place of writing.
Rating: 8
The book doesn't deserve attention. First I read Let Me In, a novel that was so good that I wanted something more. It was a shame that I bought “Blessed are the Dead.” The book seems to contain the same thing as in a novel about vampires, but in some kind of stripped down, castrated form. The characters, although well written, are boring and not interesting to read. One word - dullness. And the poor ending sums it all up - three points, maximum.
Rating: 3
A very weak, drawn-out, inarticulate book, absolutely not worth reading, no matter how sensational it may be. First, the dead came to life, and absolutely inexplicably, and only (!) in Stockholm. The authorities started doing some crap like digging them out of their graves (why?..) I kept thinking, well, maybe in the end it will be explained what, how and why... And now there will be a spoiler, because this book does not deserve a spoiler-free review. In short, until the very end, Lindquist, apparently, could not find a clear reason for the revival and a clear solution to the problem, and in the end it turned out that the dead came to life just like that, and in order to kill them again, you just need to ask them. Yupta. Well, this is so, roughly, to a first approximation. Yes, and it is written extremely mediocrely.
Rating: 2
Stockholm, August, present day, the dead have risen. From morgues, graves, hospital wards. No, this story has nothing to do with the standards of a zombie apocalypse that has set teeth on edge. The revived are not aggressive, they can do almost nothing at all, they don’t want, they don’t do anything. They simply exist. And this creates a host of terrifying problems for relatives and friends, the mayor’s office and the police, doctors and ordinary people. Realism at the end of the novel will be enriched with an excellent metaphysical solution, without losing all its realism.
Rating: no
Representatives of literature from Northern Europe have long been recognized as good authors of detective stories and children's fairy tales. Their fairy tales are distinguished by their kindness, while detective stories, on the contrary, are often crammed with bloody moments.
Surprisingly, Jun Ajvide Lindqvist does not fall into any of these many camps. The Swedish writer tries more to experiment with different genres. Almost all of his books are close to horror, but it would be more correct to classify them as mysticism. His novel “Blessed are the Dead” refers to this.
At first, the plot of “The Blessed Dead” sets us up for another zombie horror. It's abnormally hot in Stockholm, technology is starting to go crazy, and all the townspeople are having terrible headaches. Perhaps this is some kind of magnetic storm that only affected Stockholm; Lindqvist does not go into detail. In general, because of these events, the recently deceased began to come to life.
According to the author, the government immediately rushed to dig out the “revived”. Tolerant Europe, what can we do? Some of the recently deceased, out of habit, went to their relatives, but the police quickly caught everyone and sent them to laboratories. Where scientists have found out that the “revived” do not pose any threat, but when they are all close enough, they form some kind of field that allows living people to read each other’s thoughts. Unfortunately, all of the above does not affect the plot in any way.
In general, Lindquist simply did not develop any of the ideas of his work and, as a result, it became just a set of curious thoughts. The interesting idea with the socialization of the “revived” is almost never explored; they were simply herded into one place and that’s it. Lindqvist also failed to show the tragedies of individual people and different views on the problem; all three storylines they mull over only one look and stick to philosophy, but the philosophy is so shallow and absurd-looking that it is of no use. Because the whole point of the novel is that someone (not necessarily even a loved one) to the “revived” must say that he is letting them go, and then death will fly up to the “revived” one, with fishhooks on his fingers and take away his soul, which looks like a white worm. That's all.
There are three main characters in The Blessed Dead. David Zetterberg, Gustav Mahler and Flora. Let's start with David. He works as a comedian in one of the clubs, he has a beautiful wife Eva and son Magnus. During an unfortunate magnetic storm, Eva goes to see her father, but crashes into a moose. As a result of the accident, she loses part of her face. The hospital cannot save her. David does not have time to see his wife alive. When he enters the room, she is already dead. But just 5 minutes later she comes to life, which shocks David. The descriptions of Eve's awakening from death are the most atmospheric moment of the work.
Unfortunately, David's further story is boring and monotonous. The author did not bother to describe his mental torment or add an interesting past to the character. Everything is terribly ordinary. A similar situation is with the journalist Gustav Mahler. A great start to the story and a boring continuation. His six-year-old grandson Elias fell out of a window and was killed. This hit Gustav and his daughter Anna hard. When Gustav learned about the living dead, he immediately rushed to the cemetery and began digging up the grave of his grandson. Despite the fact that his grandson turned almost into a mummy, Gustav took him with him. Together with Anna, they took Elias to the dacha, where they tried to return the boy to a normal life. Here it was possible to develop the plot in such a way, but everything slides into the usual upbringing of a child who reacts to almost nothing.
The last character is teenager Flora, she inherited from her grandmother a heightened perception of the world around her. It is Flora who sees that same Death with fishhooks in his fingers and is the first to realize that the “revived” must be asked to leave. That's the whole plot.
In general, the characters are very poorly developed, they are almost not interconnected and their entire story reeks of banality. The novel had so many opportunities to develop their stories, add tragedy, contrast, but here there is not even any confrontation.
Undoubtedly, Lindquist's style pulls the book out of the abyss of hopelessness a little. While there are major problems with the characters, some episodes are simply excellent. And the beginning of “The Blessed Dead” is so atmospheric that you expect something like social science fiction in the future. Of course, high expectations kill the book, but the beginning is really very strong.
The atmosphere is complemented by numerous inserts from newspapers, news releases, and radio shows. Moreover, they are written in Spanish, English, German and French. All this helps to immerse yourself in the novel, but any subsequent chapter simply kills interest. The contrast between the characters and style is wild. It was as if Lindquist wrote the text and someone else developed the characters.
Lindqvist’s emphasis on the philosophical component of the text is a little unclear. His philosophy is not supported by anything and does not develop in any way. The author simply emphasizes the need to let go of the “revived”, but does not develop this idea in any way. Lindqvist does not even prove his point of view, but simply presents it as a given.
"Blessed are the Dead" a book of unrealized possibilities. Lindquist set his sights on a lot, but did not realize even half the potential of his work. The characters are not developed in any way, the ideas embedded in the book are not disclosed. We expected more.
Rating: 5
The book is interesting, unusual (just like “Let Me In”), at some points it was a little disgusting to read, but if the book contains the living dead, then there is nothing to be surprised at. Descriptions of some anatomical features make the book more realistic.
Dedicated to Fridtjof
Prologue When the river turns back
Death is a sharp needle,
Making you see the light
And see the light
Illuminated our whole lives.
Eva-Stina Byggmestar, "Coward".
Salute, Commander!
Henning lifted the box of wine, greeting the memorial plaque in the asphalt. A withered rose lay on the very spot where Olof Palme was killed sixteen years ago. Henning squatted down and ran his hand over the raised letters.
Yes,” he said, “our affairs are rubbish.” Listen, Olof, this business is rubbish.
My head was pounding, but the wine had nothing to do with it. Passers-by walked, staring at the ground, some clutching their temples with their palms.
This evening, everything seemed to foreshadow a thunderstorm, but the intensity of the already electrified air only intensified. The tension became unbearable, and there was still no outcome in sight. Not a cloud in the sky, not a thunderclap in the distance. There was something strange going on in the air, an invisible magnetic field seemed to be strangling the evening city.
It seemed that the supply of electricity no longer depended on the operation of power plants - from about nine o’clock in all of Stockholm it was impossible to turn off the lights or turn off electrical appliances. If the plug was pulled out, the socket would threateningly shower sparks, and electrical discharges would rush between the contacts, preventing the device from turning off.
And the magnetic field kept growing.
Henning's head felt like it was wrapped in live barbed wire. A throbbing pain tore through his temples. It was like sophisticated torture.
An ambulance rushed past with a howl - either on an urgent call, or the siren simply did not turn off. Here and there on the side of the road there were cars with their engines running.
Be there, Comandante!
Henning picked up the package of wine, tilted his head back and turned the tap. A red stream splashed across his chin and flowed down his neck before he could direct it into his mouth. He closed his eyes and took a couple of greedy sips. Drops of wine were already flowing down his chest, mixing with sweat.
It's still this damn heat!
For a couple of weeks now, weather service forecasts across the country have shown nothing but grinning circles of sunshine. The stones of the pavements and buildings breathed the heat that had accumulated during the day - and even now, at eleven at night, it was thirty degrees outside.
With a farewell nod to the late Prime Minister, Henning headed towards Tunnelgatan, following the assassin's route. The plastic handle of the wine package had broken off while he was fishing it out of someone's car window, and now he walked with the box tucked under his arm. His own head now seemed huge to him, like a balloon - he even touched his forehead, just in case.
Everything seemed to be fine to the touch, except that his fingers were swollen from the heat and wine.
Damn the weather. Some kind of damn thing.
The street climbed steeply. Grabbing the railing, he climbed step by step, carefully moving his feet. Every unsteady step resonated with a loud ringing in my head, causing pain. The windows on both sides of the stairs were wide open, and lights were on everywhere. Music could be heard from some apartments.
At that moment, Henning agonized over the darkness. Darkness and silence. For this alone it was worth drinking until you lost consciousness.
As he climbed the stairs, he stopped to catch his breath. He was getting worse - either he was completely unstuck, or all this devilry with electricity was taking its toll. The pounding in my temples was replaced by a hellish pain that pierced my brain right through.
No, it was clearly not him.
He noticed a car parked hastily at the sidewalk. The engine is on, the driver's door is wide open, "Living Doll" is playing at full volume from the speakers. And the driver is squatting, right in the middle of the street, with his head in his hands and sitting.
Henning closed his eyes, then opened his eyes again. I wonder if it’s just his imagination or if the light in the windows is really getting brighter?
All this is not good. Oh, not good.
Carefully, step by step, he crossed Dobelnsgatan and collapsed in the shade of the chestnut trees of St. Johannes. There was no strength to go further. Everything swam before his eyes, and there was a buzzing in his ears, as if a swarm of bees was hovering in the crown of the branches above him. The pressure continued to increase, an invisible vice was squeezing his head, as if he suddenly found himself deep under water. Screams could be heard from the open windows.
OK it's all over Now. End.
The pain was inhuman - just think, such a small skull - and so much pain. Just a little more, and his head will burst, breaking into a thousand pieces. The light in the windows grew brighter, the shadows of chestnut leaves painted intricate patterns on his chest. Henning threw his face back to the sky and froze, waiting for the inevitable explosion.
And everything passed.
It was as if someone had pulled a switch. Once - that's all.
The headache disappeared as if by hand, the buzzing of the bees subsided. Everything fell into place. Henning opened his mouth, trying to squeeze out at least a sound, maybe even a prayer, but his cheekbones were cramped from prolonged tension.
Silence. Darkness. A point in the sky falling down. Henning noticed her only when the small curl was a millimeter from his face. An insect?.. Henning sighed, enjoying the smell of dry earth. There was something hard and cool under the back of his head, and he turned his head slightly to cool his cheek.
Marble slab. He felt the roughness of the stone against his cheek. Letters. Raising his head, he read:
4.12.1918-18.7.1987
16.9.1925-16.6.2002
And then a few more names. Family crypt. Karl, then, is a husband, and Greta is first a wife, then a widow. Fifteen years of solitude. All clear. Henning imagined a little gray-haired old woman - here she was crawling out of the house, leaning on a walker, and now her family and friends were dividing up property after her death.
Out of the corner of his eye he noticed some movement and glanced sideways at the stove. Caterpillar. White, like a cigarette filter. She squirmed so desperately on the black marble that Henning felt sorry for her, and he nudged her with his finger to shake her off into the grass. But the caterpillar remained lying on the stone slab.
What else is this?..
Henning looked closer and moved his finger again. She seemed to have grown into marble. Henning took a lighter from his trouser pocket and lit it. The caterpillar was shrinking before our eyes. Henning almost buried his nose in the stove, lightly singeing his hair with the fire of a lighter. No, the caterpillar did not shrink, it was screwed into the stone, and now only a small tail remained on the surface.
No, it can't be...
About amazing things, but completely stupid.
The more works of Scandinavian authors I come across, the more often they baffle me. It seems that the Scandinavians elevate suffering to the highest literary cult, and specifically moral suffering. No matter how many characters I meet, all they do is revel in their torment. They do not try to fight them, as is usually described in literature, in order to set an example of strong-willed men and women, but they certainly plunge into the darkest abyss of grief and mental torment. And of course everything is painted with the deepest colors of despondency, so as not to leave even the slightest gap for a bright ray.
If we talk specifically about the book “Blessed are the Dead,” then I did not understand its message. Love and appreciate loved ones while they are nearby? It is difficult to see love for relatives when people happily got rid of resurrected relatives. And to whom can half-decomposed corpses evoke bright feelings? Or is the moral of the work that one must remain humane even in relation to the resurrected dead? We must be able to overcome fear and disgust (which I consider a completely natural reaction of a mentally healthy person) and help the confused undead settle down among the living? Hmmm, Lindqvist certainly managed to pose a difficult task for the readers. However, what did the author actually show that was new and impressive, so that you wouldn’t regret spending time reading? For me the answer is clear - NOTHING.
I remember how strongly I was impressed by Annabelle Pitcher’s book “,” which perfectly explored the topic of how important it is to be able to let go of your deceased relatives in time. This is where you really feel and understand why the author raises such a difficult topic. And “Blessed are the Dead” is a chaotic work with a magnificent idea, but disgusting execution.
The religiously fanatical granny screaming about the salvation of souls irritated me to the point of gnashing my teeth. Yes, she herself easily and without regret pushed her resurrected husband into the hands of the authorities, and then imagined herself to be the chosen one! The duplicity and arrogance are just off the charts. Of course, it is easier to turn towards the living than to try to understand and help the confused dead.
Dedicated to Fridtjof
When the river turns back
Death is a sharp needle,
Making you see the light
And see the light
Illuminated our whole lives.
- Salute, Commander!
Henning lifted the box of wine, greeting the memorial plaque in the asphalt. A withered rose lay on the very spot where Olof Palme was killed sixteen years ago. Henning squatted down and ran his hand over the raised letters.
“Yes,” he said, “our affairs are rubbish.” Listen, Olof, this business is rubbish.
My head was pounding, but the wine had nothing to do with it. Passers-by walked, staring at the ground, some clutching their temples with their palms.
This evening, everything seemed to foreshadow a thunderstorm, but the intensity of the already electrified air only intensified. The tension became unbearable, and there was still no outcome in sight. Not a cloud in the sky, not a thunderclap in the distance. There was something strange going on in the air, an invisible magnetic field seemed to be strangling the evening city.
It seemed that the supply of electricity no longer depended on the operation of power plants - from about nine o’clock in all of Stockholm it was impossible to turn off the lights or turn off electrical appliances. If the plug was pulled out, the socket would threateningly shower sparks, and electrical discharges would rush between the contacts, preventing the device from turning off.
And the magnetic field kept growing.
Henning's head felt like it was wrapped in live barbed wire. A throbbing pain tore through his temples. It was like sophisticated torture.
An ambulance rushed past with a howl - either on an urgent call, or the siren simply did not turn off. Here and there on the side of the road there were cars with their engines running.
Be there, Comandante!
Henning picked up the package of wine, tilted his head back and turned the tap. A red stream splashed across his chin and flowed down his neck before he could direct it into his mouth. He closed his eyes and took a couple of greedy sips. Drops of wine were already flowing down his chest, mixing with sweat.
It's still this damn heat!
For a couple of weeks now, weather service forecasts across the country have shown nothing but grinning circles of sunshine. The stones of the pavements and buildings breathed the heat that had accumulated during the day - and even now, at eleven at night, it was thirty degrees outside.
With a farewell nod to the late Prime Minister, Henning headed towards Tunnelgatan, following the assassin's route. The plastic handle of the wine package had broken off while he was fishing it out of someone's car window, and now he walked with the box tucked under his arm. His own head now seemed huge to him, like a balloon—he even touched his forehead, just in case.
Everything seemed to be fine to the touch, except that his fingers were swollen from the heat and wine.
Damn the weather. Some kind of damn thing.
The street climbed steeply. Grabbing the railing, he climbed step by step, carefully moving his feet. Every unsteady step resonated with a loud ringing in my head, causing pain. The windows on both sides of the stairs were wide open, and lights were on everywhere. Music could be heard from some apartments.
At that moment, Henning agonized over the darkness. Darkness and silence. For this alone it was worth drinking until you lost consciousness.
As he climbed the stairs, he stopped to catch his breath. He was getting worse - either he was completely unstuck, or all this devilry with electricity was taking its toll. The pounding in my temples was replaced by a hellish pain that pierced my brain right through.
No, it was clearly not him.
He noticed a car parked hastily at the sidewalk. The engine is on, the driver's door is wide open, "Living Doll" is playing at full volume from the speakers. And the driver is squatting, right in the middle of the street, with his head in his hands and sitting.
Henning closed his eyes, then opened his eyes again.
Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord. To her, says the Spirit, they will rest from their labors, and their works will follow them.(Rev. 14:13), - the word of God preaches to us.
We dedicate the minutes of our conversation with you on the day of remembrance of the dead, my dears, to these holy words. The sacred saying that we reminded you encourages us to think not only about them, who have already tasted their hour of death, but also about ourselves, the living, who are still approaching the threshold of death with every hour of our lives.
Death is the end of all earthly worries, human anxieties, earthly vanity, and the end of numerous, often serious, illnesses and suffering to which we are subjected so often, one might say, throughout our entire lives. You and I are still alive, we are traveling on earth, and they, the dead, have already reached the Heavenly Fatherland. We, the living, are still floating on the waves of life, but they have already entered the quiet harbor of eternal life. We are still in the bonds of our flesh, but they are already in the freedom of the spirit.
All earthly joys, earthly sorrows and earthly lures are now nothing for them. They are dead in body. If you were to scatter the treasures of this world near the coffin with the lifeless body of the deceased, cold hands would not reach out for these treasures. No cries of joy and no sobs will awaken the bodily hearing of the deceased, which has died out forever. No hot tears will warm a cold, lifeless body.
Death - peace for the husband(Job 3:23). Death is rest for the human body. But the peace in the body that comes for every deceased does not mean peace in the soul of our brother who has left the earth. For them, our departed, there are no earthly joys and sorrows, but they have their own joys and their own sorrows in eternal life, where they moved with an immortal soul.
What sorrows does he enter into? eternal life the soul of a sinner who did not repent, who lay in his sins, who did not wash them with the grace of repentance, who forgot both about God and about his immortal soul! And what joy, what happiness, what consolation is the lot of that soul devoted to the Lord, who prepared herself for the life of the next century and moved there, to the land of endless life, with faith and her good Christian life!
This is why the word of God tells us: Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord. The word of God did not say: Blessed are the dead, but adds: dying in the Lord. Having passed into a life that knows no end, they entered the House of their Heavenly Father.
One who dies in the Lord is one who in his earthly life directed his soul towards God, who lived by faith in Him, our Sweetest Savior and Heavenly Father. He believed in Him as the Source of our life, Who gives us countless blessings, and among them is one of the first and most precious blessings - earthly life in preparation for eternal life. It was with this faith that he crossed the threshold of death.
He who met death with peace in his soul loved the Lord, in the days of his earthly life, with all the strength of his soul and heart. He wanted to live as the Lord tells us to live; He strove for the Lord to reign in his soul, so that He Himself would control his thoughts, his feelings, his desires. A true Christian loves his Lord with such love.
The one who ends his earthly journey in the Lord is the one who, fulfilling Christ’s commandment to love one’s neighbor, hastened, while walking this earthly path, to wipe away the tears of the crying, to help the needy, with all his heart forgave insults, grief, insults, and never repaid good with evil, did not return evil with evil. The goal of his life was to do as much good as possible for people. Even his enemy could not treat such a person differently than Saul said to the prophet David, being his worst enemy: “You are more just than I, for you repaid me with good, and I repaid you with evil” (1 Samuel 24:18).
Those who, according to the commandment of Christ, sought first of all the Kingdom of God and His Truth deservedly enter into eternal life. He never forgot about his immortal soul, feeding it with Divine spiritual food. Among his everyday labors and concerns, he always remembered that his first thought, his first desire, his first action should be the salvation of the soul, so that the immortal soul would appear before the Face of God ready for eternal life, in order to go there as a faithful servant of the Lord, faithful and filled with gratitude. reciprocal love by the son of the Heavenly Father.
Moves from death in the stomach(John 5:24) that Christian who was obedient to the Holy Church, at her call came to the holy temple of God, loved the holy holidays, experienced with a believing soul the sacred events remembered on the days of our great holidays, revered the saints of God, reverently listened in the temple the words of prayers, the words of the Divine Gospel of our Lord Jesus Christ and pastoral preaching.
He who desires to die a true Christian throughout his life seeks at the feet of Christ justification for his iniquities and sinful defilements, and does not put off repentance of sins until the unknown “tomorrow.” He knows how to cry about his falls, which offend the holiness and love of the Heavenly Father for him. With fear, faith and love, he accepts the Holy Mysteries of Christ as a guarantee of eternal life and our eternal, never ending in the life of the next century, communion with the Sweetest Lord.
He dies in the Lord who - if the Lord blesses him to die in consciousness - calls on a servant of Christ's Church and gives himself a final farewell, saying goodbye to earthly life, standing at the mysterious threshold of death, which we will all inevitably cross when this death comes for each of us last hour.
He who dies in the Lord is blessed, the word of God tells us.
Whenever the Lord captures his soul to Himself, whether in deep human old age or in the prime of earthly life; whether this person will go through long life trials, illnesses and sorrows or will not yet have time to taste suffering and temptations; will he die, surrounded by his loved ones and relatives, as if in the arms of the people dearest to him, or, perhaps, the Lord will send a person death far from everyone, abandoned by everyone and left without any worries, perhaps, among grave torments from which no one could not save him or ease them - the one who lived his life in the Lord, dying, will say with his believing heart: “Now do you let go of your servant, Master!”
Such a servant of God will say in his heart: “You, Lord, bring my soul out of the bodily prison, take it to Yourself from the land of crying, tears and sorrows to a place where there is no sighing, no illness, no sorrow. You call my soul to You "So that I can see You there and bow to You there before Your Most Pure Face. Thy good will be done!"
And with this strong hope of his meeting with the Lord and the hope that the Lord will have mercy on him in His Eternal Dwelling, he will delight and terrible hour of his death.
Or perhaps one of you, my dears, will say: in order to die like this - in peace, with joy - one must be a saint, one must reach the heights of holiness. But what should we do, weak, sinful, falling into new and new sins every day? Here's the thing, dear ones: there is a big difference between someone who falls and remains lying in their sins and between someone who falls but gets up again from the pit of his fall. The Word of God tells us that a righteous man falls seven times a day, but when he falls, he gets up (Proverbs 24:16) and the power of God strengthens him.
Judas once sinned a grave mortal sin. He found himself in a net, in captivity of the devil, the enemy of the human race. But Judas made no attempt to break with tears of repentance those devilish networks with which the primordial enemy of our salvation entangled him. He did not repent and died an eternal death by hanging himself.
The Apostle Peter denied his Lord, his Divine Teacher, three times, denied - and immediately cried tears of repentance. These tears saved him from death; they attracted the love and favor of Christ to him. Strengthened by the grace of the Holy Spirit, the Apostle Peter became the Supreme Apostle of our Holy Church, the great bearer of holiness in the Lord.
Is it possible for us to live our lives sinlessly? No. Not a single person “will live and sin.” But we must be afraid of sin, we must hurry to move away from it, because sin leads to eternal destruction.
Can any of us say that he will fulfill all the commandments of God in his life? No. The invisible enemy of our salvation lies in wait for the human soul at every step in order to push it to sin. But if we cannot remain sinless, we can and must, loving the commandments of God, with all our souls desire to live by these commandments of God, to fulfill them in our lives.
Can we say that we will remain pure for the rest of our lives? No. But we must love purity and strive for it, so as not to leave our heart and soul in sinful filth, in slavery to the devil, who only wants to destroy the immortal soul of man forever, for he, as the holy apostle says, is like a roaring lion seeks someone to devour (I Peter 5:8), and whomever he finds, he subjugates.
There is not and cannot be a sinless person - there is only God without sin. But we must bring repentance to God for our sins. This is why the Lord left the holy sacrament of repentance, so that our immortal soul would be washed more often from its sinful defilements. For this reason, the Lord instituted the holy sacrament of communion, so that, feeding on the Divine Body and Blood, through this we would become small leaves and twigs on the Vine, with which the Lord Jesus Christ compared Himself (John 15: 1-6); so that we are saturated from Him with the juices of God’s grace, strengthening us to fight sins, giving us strength and strength to endure sinful temptations, to overcome all the snares of the devil, the father of all sin (John 8:44).
Listen to what St. says. John Chrysostom, that great teacher of the fourth century of Christianity, reflecting on the words of Christ: “Blessed are those servants whom the master, when he comes, finds awake” (Luke 12:37). Here are the words of Chrysostom: “A Christian must always be vigilant over his heart. If we strive with all our souls to fulfill the covenants of Christ, with all our hearts we want to protect ourselves from sin, we want to bring to the Lord sincere tearful repentance, cleansing our bad soul, but we will not have time to do all this and die will come to us suddenly, - the Lord will accept both our intentions and these unfulfilled impulses with love, for He welcomes both the intentions and the good desires of the heart.” This is what St. preaches to us. John Chrysostom and in his fiery word on the holy night of Easter.
You just can’t be careless for a single day of your earthly life. You cannot remain lazy slaves who forget or do not want to remind themselves of the impending death, day after day they remain with their sins, with their weak faith, weak hope, not firm and unfaithful love for God. A faithful servant of God must strengthen this faith, make this love ardent. We need to hurry - life is so short - sow as many good deeds as possible in our earthly life, so that these good deeds go there, into eternal life, even before us and meet us there when we, with our immortal souls, go through the path of posthumous ordeals and guardian angel we will be brought to the judgment of the Heavenly Father and the All-Righteous Judge.
And so, whoever lives with the Lord mourns his falls, always reminding himself that he will move from this life to another, for which he must prepare every day; whoever puts at least a small amount of his good deeds into the piggy bank for good deeds every day; comes to the temple of God for the cleansing grace of Christ; approaches the Holy Chalice with reverent awe; who atones for his sins with a pure life and feasible deeds in the name of Christ; whoever, perhaps with lame, stumbling feet, but in such a sure way goes to the Kingdom of the future life, goes to his Heavenly Father blessed, dying in the Lord.
That we must die in the Lord is reminded to us, my dears, by all the saints who have walked their earthly path with glory. All servants of God, our pious ancestors, who knew how to live according to God and died with the Lord in their hearts, remind us of this. And we must learn to live in such a way as to die this way: after all, our earthly life- this is only a moment compared to the eternity that will unfold before each of us.
To save your soul from eternal destruction, to bring it to where the eternal Easter of Christ is celebrated, where the faithful servants of God, the faithful children of their Father, glorify their Lord with one jubilant family and have the joy of worshiping Him and never being separated from Him - this, dear ones my priceless, incomparable happiness!
May none of us be ashamed, may we not be put to shame, may none of us be rejected by the Lord when He rewards everyone according to his deeds!
By the grace of God and the help of God, by the power and action of the Holy Spirit who dwells in a truly Orthodox soul, may the days of our earthly life make us worthy to enter the open gates of the Kingdom of Heaven.
And to all those who, with faith and hope in God’s mercy, went into eternity, may the Lord rest in His Heavenly Home!
Metropolitan Nikolai Yarushevich
Journal of the Moscow Patriarchate, 1950, N10
