In the photo: celebrations for Faith and Light's 40th anniversary in Lviv, Ukraine, attended by communities from Russia, the Czech Republic, Slovakia, Lithuania, and Georgia in 2012
G. (a pseudonym) is a Russian friend of Faith and Light who fled abroad. Through her Telegram channel, she documents what is happening in her country and the immense pain it causes in the lives of so many. We have assembled some of her messages into a testimony both anguished and profound—one to accompany us through this Holy Week, and for which we pray without ceasing.
Maybe it matters to someone to hear how we live, how we feel—both in Moscow and abroad—because so many of us have left. A true exodus, though unseen, since we do not flee from under bombs, yet always painful. I want to tell you my anguish, yes, but also the voices of others. Because before the horror and hatred of an abominable aggressor, it is so easy to forget that behind his back there are also hostages with no way to escape, who have no other home but the one in which they live. Yesterday a new order arrived at the shopping centers of Moscow: remove from sale all items that have—even only on the packaging—the combination of yellow and blue. The use of these colors is now forbidden even in clothing. On Saturday there was a small gathering for the Faith and Light communities of Moscow. Representatives from the communities of Saint Petersburg came too. Those of us who are far away—and unfortunately there are many of us—and those who do not leave home because of COVID or for other reasons, could follow by Zoom. Father Giovanni Guaita spoke, a great friend of Faith and Light; he is a Sardinian Orthodox priest who lives in Moscow and celebrates Mass at my parish of Saints Cosmas and Damian. He spoke of fear and love, of how love overcomes all fear, of how important it is, despite everything, to love one another. We wept, we laughed, we sat together in silence; and even thousands of kilometers apart, we felt held in an embrace. Today is my friend Lera's birthday—Valeria's. She is turning nineteen. With this birthday came bad news. The school at the hospice, which she attended, is closing. Lera went to school for the first time exactly two years ago. Since then she has changed so much, matured, become an adult with her own life. But starting April 1st the school closes because the hospice must concentrate all its resources to buy everything still left in the country's warehouses: equipment and spare parts for oxygen machines, ambulances, cough assist devices, gastric tubes, wheelchairs, medicines, supplies, tools. Because there will be no more. What exists now, exists. Nothing else is coming. Those who eat through a PEG tube will live as long as the supplies last. This applies to our Lera too. Those who take medicines will live as long as the medicines last. This too applies to her. Why don't they escape, you might ask? It is hard to escape with someone who needs all these kinds of care. Lera's story—the story of all our most fragile young people—is the story of total closure imposed by this cursed State. Since the start of the pandemic, the proceedings for "deprivation of legal capacity" have no longer taken place. This means that young people who reach adulthood can no longer remain under the guardianship of their parents. Parents cannot sign any documents for them, cannot submit any applications. No visas, no passports. Why do they do this? I do not think it is because they want to keep them in the country at any cost: it is rather a sign of total indifference, of utter disregard for lives, for people. This is the root of all the evil that our country brings into the world—indifference to human life.