The brightest Easter holiday is approaching. Children love him very much, but perhaps they do not fully understand him. How to tell children about Easter? Introduce your child to the history of the holiday, its traditions.
The most important holiday in the Christian calendar is Easter. In general, Easter is a very ancient holiday, but for Christians it has acquired a special meaning. The Son of God Jesus was crucified on the cross for the sins of men. But on the third day after his death, he rose again! Therefore, we know that our soul is immortal. And it happened just at Easter. Since then, we have been celebrating Holy Sunday every year! By the way, the seventh day of the week was called "Sunday" for this very reason. Easter is preceded by a strict 40-day fast, during which adults eat only fast food, pray, repent, thus spiritual cleansing takes place. Even all family holidays that fall during Lent are transferred to Easter.
On Easter Sunday, people visit the church, where the priest blesses Easter cakes and eggs. Only after the church, the family gathers at a rich festive table, they are treated to Easter cakes (pasochki), and the children play with painted eggs. Everyone congratulates each other, kisses, says: “Christ is risen” and they hear in response: “Truly he is risen!”.
And this is where the tradition came from: on Easter, Mary Magdalene came to the Roman emperor Tiberius with the good news: “Christ is risen!” - she said and presented a chicken egg as a gift to the emperor.
The emperor laughed and said that the egg would sooner turn red than he would believe it. And before the eyes of the astonished audience, the white egg in the hands of Mary Magdalene turned red! When Tiberius saw this, he was amazed and replied: "Truly risen!"
Since then, a tradition has arisen to paint eggs red and greet each other.
Later, eggs for Easter began to be painted in different colors and called them "krashenki", eggs on which various drawings are drawn are called "pysanky". And it happens that eggs are covered with wax, painted, then various patterns are scratched out with a needle. These eggs are called "drapanki".
Easter symbols: LIGHT (therefore, they try to bring a lit candle home from the church), LIFE (it is symbolized by eggs - a symbol of new life, a rabbit - a symbol of fertility), EASTER KULICH and, of course, the CROSS, because Jesus was crucified on it. The cross has become the main symbol of Christianity. The LAMB is considered a symbol of purity and innocence. It used to be customary to bake lamb from dough on the Easter table.
Here we have such a lamb made of pies (pies with cherries).
So, we got acquainted with the history, now you can start preparing. Let the baby help you in any way he can: decorate the eggs, sprinkle the pastries (you will bake them, right?), Make postcards for relatives. And be sure to take the baby to church, he will receive an incredible charge of emotions. Print for the kids, do together.
Watch with your children a beautiful video about the life of Christ from birth to miraculous resurrection:
Happy Easter to you!
We will see you again on our website.
A fascinating and interesting story for children about the creation of the world of birds, about divine miracles on the great Easter day. Easter stories for schoolchildren.
Selma Lagerlöf
(1858-1940)
REDNECK
This happened in the first days of creation, when God created heaven and earth, plants and animals, and gave names to all of them.
If we knew more about that time, we would better understand God's providence and much of what we cannot understand now ...
So, one day the Lord God was sitting in paradise and painting birds. When the turn of the goldfinch came, the colors ran out, and he could have remained a completely colorless bird. But the brushes are not dry yet. Then the Lord took all his brushes and wiped them on the feathers of the goldfinch. That's why the goldfinch is so colorful!
At the same time, the donkey also received its long ears - because he could not remember his name in any way. He forgot it as soon as he took a few steps through the heavenly meadows, and three times returned and asked again what his name was. Finally, the Lord God, losing patience, took him by the ears and repeated several times:
Donkey is your name. Remember: donkey, donkey!
And while saying this, God pulled and pulled the donkey by the ears, so that he would better hear and remember his name.
On the same day, the bee was also punished. As soon as God created the bee, she immediately flew to collect nectar. Animals and the first people, having heard the sweet smell of honey, decided to try it. But the bee did not want to share with anyone and began to drive everyone away from her hive, using a poisonous sting. The Lord God saw this, called the bee to him and said to her like this:
You have received from me a rare gift: to collect honey - the sweetest thing in the world. But I did not give you the right to be so greedy and evil towards your fellow men. Remember! From now on, as soon as you sting someone who wants to taste your honey, you will die!
Many miracles happened that day by the will of the great and merciful Lord God. And just before sunset, the Lord created a small gray bird.
Remember that your name is redneck! - the Lord said to the bird, placing it on the palm of his hand and releasing it.
The bird flew around, admired the beautiful land on which it was destined to live, and she wanted to look at herself too. Then she saw that she was all gray and that her neck was also gray. The redneck turned in all directions and kept looking at its reflection in the water, but could not find a single red feather in it.
The bird flew back to the Lord.
The Lord sat, merciful and meek. Butterflies flew out of his hands and fluttered around his head. Doves cooed on his shoulders, and roses, lilies, and daisies blossomed at his feet.
The little bird's heart was beating strongly with fear, but, describing light circles in the air, it nevertheless flew closer and closer to the Lord and finally sank on his hand.
Then the Lord asked why she had returned.
I just wanted to ask you about one thing, - answered the bird.
What do you want to know? - said the Lord.
Why should I be called a redneck when I'm all gray from beak to tip of tail? Why is my name redneck when I don't have any red feathers?
The bird looked pleadingly at the Lord with its black eyes and then turned its head. She saw around her fiery, with a golden sheen of pheasants, parrots with magnificent red necklaces, roosters with red combs, not to mention colorful butterflies, goldfish and scarlet roses. And she thought that one red drop on her neck would be enough for her to become a beautiful bird and rightfully bore her name.
Why am I called a redneck if I'm all gray? she asked again, waiting for the Lord to say to her, “Ah, dear! I forgot to dye the feathers on your neck red. Wait a minute, I'll fix it now."
But the Lord only smiled softly and said:
I called you redneck, and you will always bear that name. But you yourself must earn red feathers on your neck.
And the Lord raised his hand and again let the bird fly across the white world.
Redneck flew across the paradise, deep in thought. What can a little bird like her do to get her red feathers?
And she came up with only one thing: to make a nest for herself in a wild rose bush. She settled among the thorns, in the very middle of the bush. She seemed to hope that someday a flower petal would stick to her neck and give it its color.
An infinite number of years have passed since that day, which was the happiest day of the universe.
Long ago, animals and people left paradise and dispersed throughout the earth. People learned to cultivate the land and sail the seas, built majestic temples and such huge cities as Thebes, Rome, Jerusalem.
And then the day came, which was also destined for eternity to leave a memory of itself in the history of mankind. On the morning of that day, the red-neck was sitting on a low hill outside the walls of Jerusalem in her nest, hidden in the very middle of a bush of wild roses.
She told her children about the wonderful day of creation and how the Lord gave everyone names. This story was told to their chicks by every redneck, starting with the very first one, which heard the word of God and flew out of his hand.
And you see, - the red-neck finished sadly, - how many years have passed since that day, how many roses have blossomed, how many chicks have flown out of the nest, and the red-neck has remained a small, gray bird. She still hasn't managed to earn her red feathers.
The little ones opened their beaks wide and asked: did their ancestors not try to perform some kind of feat in order to get these priceless red feathers?
We all did what we could, said the mother, and we all failed. The very first redneck, having met another bird, her mate, fell in love so much that she felt a fire in her chest. “Ah,” she thought, “now I understand: the Lord wants us to love each other hot, hot, and then the flame of love that lives in our heart will turn our feathers red.” But she was left without red feathers, like everyone else after her, just as you will be left without them.
The chicks chirped sadly, they began to grieve that red feathers were not destined to decorate their necks and fluffy breasts.
We also hoped that our singing would turn our feathers red, ”continued the mother ruby-neck. - Already the very first redneck sang so wonderfully that her chest trembled with inspiration and delight, and hope was born in her again. "Ah," she thought, "the fire and ardor of my soul - that's what will turn my chest and neck red." But she was wrong again, like everyone else after her, as you are destined to be wrong.
The sad squeak of distressed chicks was heard again.
We also hoped for our courage and courage, - continued the bird. - Already the very first red-necked bravely fought with other birds, and her chest burned with military courage. Ah, she thought, my feathers will redden the heat of battle and the lust for victory burning in my heart. But she was disappointed again, like everyone else after her, just as you will be disappointed.
The chicks squealed bravely that they would also try to earn red feathers, but the mother sadly answered them that this was impossible. What can they hope for if all their wonderful ancestors have not reached the goal? What can they do when...
The bird stopped in mid-sentence, because a crowded procession came out of the gates of Jerusalem, heading for a hill where a nest of rubythroat was hiding in the thick of the wild rose.
There were riders on proud horses, warriors with long spears, executioners with nails and hammers; here priests and judges marched solemnly, bitterly weeping women and many disgustingly howling street vagabonds walked.
A small gray bird sat trembling all over on the edge of its nest. She was afraid that the crowd would trample the rosehip bush and destroy her chicks.
Beware, she said to the defenseless little ones. - Snuggle up to each other and be silent! Here comes the horse right at us! Here comes a warrior in iron-studded sandals! This whole wild crowd is rushing at us!
And suddenly the bird became silent and quiet. She seemed to have forgotten about the danger that threatened her and her chicks.
Suddenly she flew to their nest and covered the chicks with her wings.
No, it's too terrible, she said. - I don't want you to see it. They will crucify the three thieves.
And she opened her wings wider, blocking her chicks. But they still heard the booming blows of hammers, the plaintive cries of the executed and the wild cries of the crowd.
Redneck followed everything that was happening, and her eyes widened with horror. She couldn't take her eyes off the three unfortunates.
How cruel people are! said the bird to her children. - Not only did they nail these sufferers to the cross. One of them they put on the head a crown of thorny thorns. I see that the thorny needles have wounded his forehead and blood is flowing down his face. And yet this man is so beautiful, his eyes are so meek, that it is impossible not to love him. Like an arrow pierces my heart when I look at his torment.
And pity for the crucified more and more filled the heart of the redneck. “If I were an eagle,” she thought, “I would tear the nails out of the hands of this sufferer and with my strong claws drive away his tormentors.”
The redneck saw the blood on the face of the crucified and could no longer sit in its nest.
“Although I am small and my strength is negligible, I must do something for this unfortunate one,” thought the red-necked one. And she fluttered out of the nest and flew up, describing wide circles in the air above the head of the crucified.
She circled for some time above him, not daring to fly closer, because she was a timid little bird, never approaching a man. But little by little she plucked up courage, flew right up to the sufferer and tore out with her beak one of the thorns piercing his forehead.
At that moment, a drop of the crucified's blood fell on her neck. It quickly spread and stained all the delicate feathers on the neck and chest of the bird.
The crucified one opened his eyes and whispered to the redneck: “As a reward for your mercy, you received what your whole family dreamed of from the very day the world was created.”
As soon as the bird returned to its nest, the chicks cried out:
Mum! Your neck is red and the feathers on your chest are redder than roses!
It is only a drop of blood from the brow of the poor sufferer,” said the bird. - She will disappear as soon as I bathe in the stream.
But no matter how much the bird bathed, the red color did not disappear from its neck, and when its chicks grew up, the red, like blood, sparkled on their feathers, as it sparkles to this day on the neck and breast of any ruby.
Alexander Kuprin. Inna (The story of a homeless man).
Easter story for older children. Human meanness can separate for several years, but forgiveness of old grievances makes friendship even stronger.
Ah, this Kiev! A wonderful city, all looking like a rich, glorious popadyu with oily eyes and a red mouth. How can I forget those hours when, excited by the warm poplar scent of a spring night, I went from church to church, not passing by fellow believers, Greeks and Old Believers. Ah, the beauty of women's faces, illuminated from below by living fire, this gleam of white teeth, and the charm of smiling tender lips, and bright sharp glare in the eyes, and thin fingers making wax pellets.
As if from the outside, like a boy turned off from the game, I saw that everyone, for no reason, wanted to laugh and dance. And the motives of the irmoses were all so ancient and cheerful: tram, tram, tra-la-lam. And everyone laughed: they laughed at the new spring, Sunday, flowers, the joys of the body and spirit. Alone, I looked like an exile, who looks through the crack in the fence, hiding from everyone, at someone else's merry festival.
Her name was Inna. Later, according to the investigation of the Church Fathers, it turned out that the names Inna, Pinna, Rimma and Alla are not at all feminine, but, on the contrary, very masculine names. Then she was for me the only, incomparable, adored Inna. Three years ago, it seemed to me that she had reciprocity for me. But quite unexpectedly for me, I was refused their house. Refused very politely, without misunderstandings and quarrels. This was done with a sad look by my mother, a fat lady, a big smoker and a specialist in preference. I myself understood this in such a way that, due to my youth, meager salary and lack of prospects for the future, I by no means fit in the suitors of a girl who is very beautiful, well-bred and with decent means. I submitted. What was I to do? Do not climb with explanations or forcibly rub yourself into a house where it turned out to be superfluous? But the image of Inna stuck in my heart and did not want to leave. I never tolerated cheap cupids. I must confess that at first I strove to get into those places where she most often visited in order to see her at least for a second. But once, when at the pier of the famous Prokop, she, surrounded by cheerful youth, got into a boat and caught a glimpse of me, I noticed how displeased, almost hostile, her lovely, allied, flying eyebrows, with down on the bridge of her nose, moved. Then I felt ashamed that I was persecuting her, against her will, and I stopped.
However, every time at the Great Matins, in memory of our past Paschas, I came to her favorite church - Tithes, the oldest in Kiev, dug out of the old ruins, and waited on the porch for her to leave after mass. It seemed to me that here, among the poor, I was beyond reproach and contempt. After all, I was then very religious and always moved over one of the Easter hymns:
Sunday day.
And shine with triumph
And hug each other..
Rcem, brethren,
And those who hate us
I'm sorry ... Yes! Even from afar, from afar, I saw how she noticed me through the crowd, but she always passed me with lowered eyelashes. What? Shouldn't I beg for an Easter kiss from her? Although it sometimes seemed to me that some fold of pity touched her rosy lips.
So on this holy night, after waiting for time, I stood on the Tithes porch, waited and waited.
We met her eyes ... I suddenly became frightened and somehow became disgusted with myself with my importunity. He turned and walked wherever his eyes looked.
I climbed, I remember, up a long slab staircase with wide, low steps to the very top of Vladimirskaya Gorka, dominating the whole city, and sat very close to a high and very steep cliff, on a bench. The city lay at my feet. From the twin chains of gas lamps I could see the streets climbing up the neighboring hills and winding around them. The shining belfries of the churches seemed unusually light and as if airy. At the very bottom, right below me, the still unmoving river was white with blue, with ominous thawed patches blackened on it. Near the river, where the barges moored in the summer, the street lights huddled together in a huge tangled heap: it was as if a large procession with lowered lanterns suddenly stopped in one place. A slightly damaged moon shone. In the quivering air, in the sharp, deep shadows from houses and trees, in the trembling overflows of bell ringing, one felt spring tenderness.
Suddenly I heard hurried and light footsteps. I turned around - I see a slender woman walking. “Well, - I think, - it must be a love date, we have to leave,” and got up from the bench.
And suddenly I hear a voice, from which my heart first poured boiling water, and then jumped. Inna!
- Wait! Where are you going? she says and sighs a little. - As soon as you walk, I run after you from the Church of the Tithes itself. But first, Christ is risen.
I barely had time to take off my hat. She kissed me earnestly three times, then kissed me again on the forehead and stroked my cheek with her hands.
"Let's sit down," she said. - I have very little time. And I'm so afraid that people are already worried at home. And I want to tell you a lot. Judge me, but also forgive me.
And here before me appeared a terrible, meanest story that has ever happened in the world.
At that very time, when I was still entering Innin's house, where they seemed to willingly tolerate me, I had a friend, the most bosom, Fedya. We even lived in the same room for a long time. Joy, sorrow, a piece of bread, a bottle of beer - all in half. No secrets from each other. After all, youth is pleasant because friendship is so responsive, disinterested and attentive in it, and besides, a friend is also a confidant and a willing listener to all your secrets and plans. In a word, with this Fedya I shared all the sweet, sweet secrets that were associated with Inna. He knew all our meetings, conversations, charming, meaningful words for me alone, random long looks and handshakes. I did not hide our correspondence from him either: completely childishly innocent notes about a picnic day in Borshchagovka or Kitaev, gratitude for flowers and music, an invitation to a theater or a circus. Everything is like that.
And suddenly Fedya suddenly moves out of our apartments, and then completely disappears from my eyes ... Then I didn’t pay attention at all to the fact that Inna’s notes disappeared along with his disappearance. I thought then that our common numbering servant, grandmother Anfisa, a deaf and half-blind woman, besides, a very stupid one, took them and threw them away like unnecessary scraps in the trash; I even rummaged through the garbage, but in vain.
And then suddenly Inna receives a letter, not written, but made up of block letters cut from a newspaper. The signature below, in ink, is immaculately similar to mine. Fedya, I must tell you, very often, out of nothing to do, jokingly forged my facsimile.
The text of the letter was the most disgusting. A mixture of low clerk wit, dirty innuendo and obscene words. All this in the spirit of disgusting mockery of Inna, of our feelings and of her entire family. But the signature, the signature was completely mine. And besides, the whole letter was based through and through on those facts and phrases that, with all their childlike purity and innocence, were known only to Inna and me, down to numbers and days.
Why he did it - I can not understand. Just out of a wild desire to do a causeless dirty trick to a person.
At that time, they showed me the door. Who could I blame then?
Fedya turned out to be a completely scoundrel, a longtime criminal, a specialist in blackmail and forgery. He managed to fall into the hands of justice, first in Odessa, and then, recently, in Kiev. All his papers passed to the magistrate. Among them, not only Inna's notes, but also Fedka's diaries have been preserved. This is strange, but it has long been known: professional criminals very often keep their diaries, memoirs, which then expose them. This is a kind of disease, like megalomania.
The investigator, a friend of the family, withdrew from the investigation everything that concerned Inna, because the rest of the material contained enough data to send Fedka to prison for three years. However, from his diaries it was possible to clearly establish his authorship in a pseudonymous letter signed by my name.
Inna told me about all this. I listened to her, hunched over on the bench, and she sympathetically wiped the tears that rolled down my face with a handkerchief, while I kissed her hands.
“But now,” she continued, “I am the fiancee of Ivan Kirillovich, that same investigator. I will not hide, I loved you a little, but three years, three whole years of resentment, grief and distrust, incinerated in me everything that I had good and kind for you. But never, you hear, never in my life will I forget how faithful you were to me, despite the suffering you did not deserve. My dear, hug me tightly like a brother. Let's be brother and sister for the rest of our lives.
We kissed again.
"Don't bother escorting me," she said. - And remember: in every grief, need, misfortune, illness - we are the closest relatives.
She left. For a long time I sat on Vladimirskaya Gorka. My soul was clear and calm. Almighty fate passed over me.
Maria Lvova. Shirt.
One family had a tradition of sewing clothes for the poor for Easter. And so, on the eve of the holiday, my grandmother tells about an amazing incident ...
Spring. The snow has almost melted. The earth turns black and some special fresh damp smell speaks of spring. We all gathered at Grandma's and work hard: we sew shirts for the poor. Mom and nanny are tailoring, grandmother sweeps shirts, Natashenka quickly sews them on a typewriter, aunt Masha hems them in her arms, Vera overcasts buttonholes and sews on buttons. Even crumbs Kolya and Mashenka cut the threads and thread them into needles.
“And you tell us, grandmother,” asks the eldest grandson Nikolai, “why do we always sew men's shirts before Easter?”
“According to the will of my grandmother, my friend ... It was a long time ago - even before the revolution. My grandmother, Nadezhda Sergeevna, spent Great Lent in strict abstinence, prayer and work for the poor. She sewed both herself and all domestic women and girls clothes for the poor: dresses, sundresses, shirts. All this was put together and distributed during Holy Week to the poor, so that they would have the opportunity to go to matins in a new clean robe. Shirts then were not sewn from chintz, as we do now, but from white homespun canvas, and a great many of these shirts were sewn together.
Once, a year or two before her death, Nadezhda Sergeevna distributed all the sewn things to the poor during Holy Week, and she was left with one shirt. Something strange happened to this shirt: it returned to my grandmother several times. One beggar left the city, another died, the third got rich and no longer needed alms.
“How strange,” said the grandmother to her maid Ustenka. - Apparently, God intended this shirt for someone. Let us keep it with us, and you will give it to the first one who comes to ask for Christ's sake.
Two more days passed, and Holy Saturday arrived. Nadezhda Sergeevna was sitting at her window, and Ustenka was already lighting up the lamps for the holiday. Suddenly a tall, handsome old man, dressed in a tightly buttoned zipun, came up to the window. He asked to help him for Christ's sake by the Bright Day.
Grandmother sent Ustenka to give him bread, money, painted testicles. “And don’t forget to give the shirt that was meant for him,” Grandmother shouted to the departing Ustenka.
She handed everything over to the old man, and when she took out a shirt with a request to put it on in church for the Bright Morning, the old man suddenly raised his hands to the sky and burst into tears. “Lord, I thank You for the great mercy towards me a sinner! - he exclaimed, - and you, kind, dear benefactor, may the Lord bless you for covering me for the Bright Day after so many years.
With these words, he opened his zipun, and there was nothing on his chest. “For 16 years now I have been walking naked, and I made such a vow before the Lord: do not ask for anything for myself. What will be served, for that and thank you. You are the first, angelic soul, to cover my nakedness! And on what a great Holy Day, on the eve of the Bright Holiday.”
And he again wept tears of joy, and his grandmother also wept with him at her window; she understood that the Lord had blessed and accepted her labor and work.
When she was dying, she bequeathed to her daughter and me, her granddaughter, to always sew shirts for the poor during Great Lent and also to command her children and grandchildren. We are trying to fulfill grandmother's will as much as we can, and I hope, my friends, that you will not forget it either, ”grandmother ended her story.
1940
Anton Chekhov - At Holy Week
Go ahead, they're calling. Yes, look, do not shawls in the church, otherwise God will punish.
My mother shoves a few copper coins for my expenses and immediately, forgetting about me, runs with the cold iron into the kitchen. I know very well that after confession they will not let me eat or drink, and therefore, before leaving the house, I forcefully eat a loaf of white bread and drink two glasses of water. It's spring outside. The pavements are covered with a brown mess, on which future paths are already beginning to be marked; roofs and sidewalks are dry; under the fences, tender, young greenery makes its way through the rotten last year's grass. In the ditches, merrily murmuring and foaming, dirty water runs, in which the sun's rays do not disdain to bathe. Chips, straws, sunflower shells quickly rush through the water, spinning and clinging to the dirty foam. Where, where are these chips floating? It is very possible that they will fall from the ditch into the river, from the river into the sea, from the sea into the ocean ... I want to imagine this long, terrible path, but my fantasy ends before reaching the sea.
A cab driver is passing by. He smacks his lips, pulls the reins and does not see that two street boys are hanging on the back of his cab. I want to join them, but I remember about confession, and the boys begin to seem to me the greatest sinners.
“At the Last Judgment they will be asked: why did you play pranks and deceive the poor cabbie? - I think. “They will begin to justify themselves, but the unclean spirits will seize them and drag them into eternal fire. But if they obey their parents and give the poor a penny or a bagel, then God will take pity on them and let them go to paradise.
The church porch is dry and flooded with sunlight. There is not a soul on her. Hesitantly, I open the door and enter the church. Here in the twilight, which seems to me thick and gloomy as never before, I am seized by the consciousness of sinfulness and insignificance. First of all, the large Crucifixion and the Mother of God and John the Theologian are striking. The chandeliers and stavniks are dressed in black mourning covers, the lamps flicker dimly and timidly, and the sun seems to deliberately bypass the church windows. The Mother of God and the beloved disciple of Jesus Christ, depicted in profile, silently look at the unbearable suffering and do not notice my presence; I feel that for them I am a stranger, superfluous, imperceptible, that I cannot help them either in word or deed, that I am a disgusting, dishonorable boy, capable only of pranks, rudeness and sneakiness. I remember all the people that I know, and they all seem to me petty, stupid, evil and incapable of even one drop to reduce the terrible grief that I now see; the church twilight grows thicker and gloomier, and the Mother of God and St. John the Theologian seem lonely to me.
Prokofy Ignatich, an old retired soldier, an assistant to the church warden, is standing behind the candle cabinet. Raising his eyebrows and stroking his beard, he explains in a half-whisper to some old woman:
Matins will be this evening, immediately after Vespers. And tomorrow the clock will strike at eight o'clock. Understood? In the eighth.
And between the two wide columns to the right, where the chapel of Barbara the Great Martyr begins, near the screen, waiting in line, confessors stand ... Here is Mitka, a ragged, ugly-haired boy with protruding ears and small, very angry eyes. This is the son of the widow of the day laborer Nastasya, a bully, a robber who grabs apples from the stalls of the merchants and more than once took away my money. He looks angrily at me and, it seems to me, is gloating that not I, but he, will be the first to go behind the screen. Anger boils in me, I try not to look at him, and in the depths of my soul I am annoyed that this boy's sins will now be forgiven.
In front of him stands a luxuriously dressed, beautiful lady in a hat with a white feather. She is visibly agitated, tensely waiting, and one cheek flushed feverishly with excitement.
I wait five minutes, ten ... A decently dressed young man with a long, thin neck and high rubber galoshes comes out from behind the screens; I begin to dream about how I will grow up big and how I will buy myself the same galoshes, I will definitely buy them! The lady shudders and goes behind the screen. Her turn.
Through the gap between the two halves of the screen, you can see how the lady approaches the lectern and makes a prostration, then rises and, without looking at the priest, bows her head in anticipation. The priest stands with his back to the screens, and therefore I see only his gray curly hair, a chain from a pectoral cross and a broad back. But the face is not visible. Sighing and not looking at the lady, he begins to speak quickly, shaking his head, now raising, now lowering his whisper. The lady listens obediently, as if guilty, answers briefly and looks at the ground.
"What is wrong with her? - I think, reverently looking at her meek, beautiful face. - God, forgive her sins! Send her happiness!
But here the priest covers her head with stole.
- And I am an unworthy priest ... - his voice is heard, - by his authority, given to me, I forgive and forgive you from all your sins ...
The lady bows to the ground, kisses the cross and goes back. Both her cheeks are already ruddy, but her face is calm, clear, cheerful.
“She is happy now,” I think, looking first at her, then at the priest who has forgiven her sins. “But how happy a person should be who has been given the right to forgive.”
Now it’s Mitka’s turn, but a feeling of hatred for this robber suddenly boils up in me, I want to go behind the screen before him, I want to be the first ... Noticing my movement, he hits me on the head with a candle, I answer him in the same way, and for half a minute I hear panting and such sounds, as if someone is breaking candles ... They separate us. My enemy timidly approaches the lectern, without bending his knees, bows to the ground, but what's next, I don't see; from the thought that now after Mitka it will be my turn, objects begin to interfere and blur in my eyes; Mitka's protruding ears grow and merge with the dark back of his head, the priest hesitates, the floor seems to be wavy...
The voice of the priest is heard:
- And I am an unworthy priest ...
Now I'm moving behind the screens. I don’t feel anything under my feet, as if I’m walking on air ... I go up to the lectern, which is higher than me. For a moment, the indifferent, weary face of the priest flickers in my eyes, but then I see only his blue-lined sleeve, the cross, and the edge of the lectern. I feel the close proximity of the priest, the smell of his cassock, I hear a stern voice, and my cheek turned to him begins to burn ... I don’t hear much from excitement, but I answer questions sincerely, not with my own, in some strange voice, I remember the lonely Mother of God and John the Theologian, the Crucifixion, my mother, and I want to cry, ask for forgiveness.
What is your name? the priest asks, covering my head with a soft stole.
How easy now, how joyful in the soul!
There are no more sins, I am holy, I have the right to go to heaven! It seems to me that I already smell the same as from the cassock, I go from behind the screens to the deacon to sign up and sniff my sleeves. Church twilight no longer seems gloomy to me, and I look at Mitka indifferently, without malice.
What is your name? asks the deacon.
- Fedya.
- And by patronymic?
- I do not know.
- What's your daddy's name?
- Ivan Petrovich.
- Surname?
I am silent.
- How old are you?
- Ninth year.
Arriving home, in order not to see how they dine, I quickly lie down in bed and, closing my eyes, dream of how good it would be to endure torment from some Herod or Dioscorus to live in the desert and, like the elder Seraphim, feed the bears, live in a cell and eat only prosphora, distribute property to the poor, go to Kiev. I can hear how the table is set in the dining room - they are going to have dinner; will eat vinaigrette, pies with cabbage and fried pike perch. How I want to eat! I agree to endure all sorts of torments, to live in the desert without a mother, to feed bears from my own hands, but first I would like to eat at least one cabbage pie!
God, cleanse me, a sinner, I pray, covering my head. - Guardian angel, protect me from the unclean spirit.
The next day, Thursday, I wake up with a clear and pure soul, like a good spring day. I go to church cheerfully, boldly, feeling that I am a communicant, that I am wearing a luxurious and expensive shirt, sewn from a silk dress left after my grandmother. Everything in the church breathes with joy, happiness and spring; the faces of the Mother of God and John the Theologian are not as sad as yesterday, the faces of the communicants are lit up with hope, and it seems that all the past has been forgotten, everything has been forgiven. Mitka is also combed and dressed in a festive way. I look cheerfully at his protruding ears and, to show that I have nothing against him, I say to him:
You are beautiful today, and if your hair didn’t stick out so much and if you weren’t so poorly dressed, then everyone would think that your mother is not a washerwoman, but a noble one. Come to me on Easter, we will play grandmother.
Mitka looks at me incredulously and threatens me with his hollow fist.
And yesterday's lady seems beautiful to me. She wears a light blue dress and a large sparkling horseshoe brooch. I admire her and think that when I grow up, I will certainly marry such a woman, but, remembering that it is a shame to marry, I stop thinking about it and go to the kliros, where the deacon is already reading the hours.
How to tell children about Easter?
Children prepare for the holiday of bright Sunday together with their parents: they paint eggs, paint them, bake Easter cakes, make curd Easter. Children love Easter preparations. When they are with you in the kitchen, tell them the story of Easter, its traditions.
History and traditions of the holiday
In the Christian calendar, Easter is the main holiday. The Son of God Jesus was crucified on the cross for the sins of men. On the third day after his death, he resurrected and it happened on Easter. Since then we have been celebrating Holy Sunday!
On Easter Sunday, people go to church, the priest blesses Easter cakes, eggs. After the church, the family gathers at the festive table, treats itself to Easter cakes. children play with easter eggs. Everyone congratulates each other, kisses and says: "Christ is risen!" and they hear the answer: "Truly risen!"
Where did the tradition of giving painted eggs come from?
This custom appeared thanks to St. Mary Magdalene, who came to convey the good news "Christ is risen!" and brought the emperor an egg. Maria was poor and took an ordinary chicken egg as a gift. This gift had another meaning. The egg is a symbol of life, a chicken, a living being, is born from it. The emperor laughed in response and said that the egg would sooner turn red than he would believe in the resurrection of Christ. Before the ruler had time to finish the sentence, the egg turned red.
Since then, the tradition of dyeing eggs has arisen.
Eggs are painted in different colors and called "krashenki" And with drawings - "pysanky." They also cover the eggs with wax, paint and make patterns with a needle. Such eggs are called "drapanki."
On Easter, they also bake Easter cakes, make cottage cheese Easter.
Children can help you decorate Easter cakes.
EASTER
The sun shines brighter today
Stronger wind beats in the window.
And the cry goes up to heaven:
"Christ is risen! Christ is risen!"
Easter games
Egg rolling.
Free up space on the floor. Wooden grooves are installed from which the eggs were launched. on the way put various souvenirs, small toys. The children took turns rolling the eggs and picking up the toy that collided with their egg.
Find an egg.
Children love surprises. You can hide the chocolate eggs in advance and ask them to find them. This can be done indoors or outdoors.
Strong egg.
There is a tradition of "clinking glasses" with eggs on the holiday. pick up an egg and hit the opponent's egg with it. The one whose egg remains intact wins.
Christ is risen! Christ is risen!
The sun is shining from heaven!
The dark forest has turned green
Christ is truly risen!
Spring has come - the time of miracles!
The spring murmurs - Christ is risen!
There are no words brighter in the world -
Indeed, Christ is risen!
Here are more proverbs and sayings about Easter, as well as old postcards.
Tell children about Easter, read poetry, watch cartoons. This is a good holiday.
And I wish you that there are no negative events in our life. Do not lose faith in goodness!
Let's remember how in winter we look at bare, dead tree branches. But spring comes and the trees bloom. This is life. We must live with faith and hope.
Do not fall into despondency, despair. Believe that good always triumphs over evil. After all, we read fairy tales to children, where good triumphs over evil.
Joy to you on Easter bright days. Hope for the best, bright, kind and move forward!
Easter in the works of Russian writers
Nikolai Vasilyevich Gogol (1809-1852)
The Russian person has a special participation in the feast of the Holy Resurrection. He feels it more vividly if he happens to be in a foreign land. Seeing how everywhere in other countries this day is almost no different from other days - the same routine activities, the same everyday life, the same everyday expression on faces, he feels sadness and involuntarily turns to Russia. It seems to him that this day is somehow better celebrated there, and the person himself is happier and better than on other days, and life itself is somehow different, and not everyday. He will suddenly imagine - this solemn midnight, this universal bell ringing, which, like the whole earth merges into one rumble, this exclamation "Christ is risen!" he is ready to almost exclaim: “Only in Russia this day is celebrated the way it should be celebrated!”
Mikhail Evgrafovich Saltykov-Shchedrin (1826-1889)
CHRISTMAS NIGHT
“...God has risen and filled the universe with Himself. The wide steppe stood up to meet Him with all its snows and snowstorms. A mighty forest stretched beyond the steppe and also sensed the approach of the Risen One. Raised seasoned spruce shaggy paws to the sky; century-old pines creaked with their tops; ravines and rivers hummed; animals ran out of holes and lairs, birds flew out of their nests; everyone sensed that something bright, strong, radiating light and warmth was coming from the depths, and everyone cried out: “Lord! You're Lee?"
Vladimir Galaktionovich Korolenko (1853-1921)
OLD RINGER (SPRING IDYL)
(excerpt from the story)
“In the wonderful story of V.G. Korolenko "Old ringer (spring idyll)" the action takes place on Easter night. And Easter joy is mixed here with the sadness that always lives in Russian nature, the Russian village, and especially when an old person who has seen a lot of grief in life looks at all this.
Anton Pavlovich Chekhov (1860-1904)
BISHOP
(excerpt)
“... And the next day was Easter. There were forty-two churches and six monasteries in the city; a booming, joyful ringing from morning to evening stood over the city, unceasingly, stirring the spring air; the birds were singing, the sun was shining brightly. It was noisy in the large market square, the swings were swaying, the barrel-organs were playing, the harmonica was screeching, drunken voices were heard. On the main street in the afternoon, trotting began - in a word, it was fun, everything is fine, just like it was last year, as it will, in all likelihood, be in the future.
COSSACK
“...Torchakov was driving and thinking that there is no better and more fun holiday than Christ's Sunday. He had recently been married and was now celebrating the first Easter with his wife. Whatever he looked at, whatever he thought about, everything seemed to him bright, joyful and happy. He thought about his household and found that everything was in order with him, the home decoration was such that it was better and not needed, everything was enough and everything was fine; he looked at his wife - and she seemed to him beautiful, kind and meek.
LETTER
“... The deacon was a widow and lived in a small, three-window house. His older sister, a girl who lost her legs three years ago and therefore did not leave her bed, was in charge of his household; he was afraid of her, obeyed and did nothing without her advice. O. Anastasy went to see him. Seeing his table, already covered with Easter cakes and red eggs, for some reason, probably remembering his house, he burst into tears and, in order to turn these tears into a joke, immediately laughed hoarsely.
STUDENT
“The student remembered that when he left home, his mother, sitting on the floor in the hallway, barefoot, was cleaning the samovar, and his father was lying on the stove, coughing; On the occasion of Good Friday, nothing was cooked at home, and I was agonizingly hungry. And now, shrugging from the cold, the student thought that exactly the same wind blew under Rurik, and under Ivan the Terrible, and under Peter, and that under them there were exactly the same severe poverty, hunger, the same leaky thatched roofs, ignorance , melancholy, the same desert all around, darkness, a feeling of oppression - all these horrors were, are and will be, and because another thousand years pass, life will not get better. And he didn't want to go home."
Nikolai Aleksandrovich Kolosov (1863-?)
CAN NOT BE
"…O. Peter ran up to the gatehouse and mercilessly pounded on the windowsill:
Prokhorych! Prokhorych! Overslept! Overslept in the morning!.. Hurry!..
There was no answer.
Prokhorych! shouted even louder. Pyotr pounded his fist on the windowsill even louder.
The window opened, but it was not Prokhorych's head that stuck out, but someone else's, clean-shaven and resembling a porter.
What Prokhorych? What's happened? Fire? Where is the fire? - asked the head. - A? What?
Yes, we slept through matins, - Fr. Peter, - call soon ... Hurry! .. Understood, or what? Today is Easter... By morning soon... Well?”
E. Poselyanin (Pogozhev Evgeny Nikolaevich, 1870-1931)
MYSTERIOUS NIGHT
“Moscow is calming down, preparing for a bright morning. The shops were closed, all the people went out and hid in the houses. In some places, the sound of a wheel is rarely, rarely heard, and that inexpressible mysterious night descends on the quiet city, on its “seven hills”, which brought renewal to the world. Everything is quiet over Moscow under the impending wings of this night. Churches are still locked, fires do not burn around them. And before the living earthly Moscow rouses, before it, another, eternal Moscow rises to meet the Resurrected Christ.
Alexander Ivanovich Kuprin(1870-1938)
INNA
“... every time for the great matins, in memory of our past Paschas, I came to her favorite church - Tithes, the oldest in Kiev, dug out of the old ruins, and waited on the porch for her to leave after mass. It seemed to me that here, among the poor, I was beyond reproach and contempt.
FAMILY
“... Then Easter came up with its beautiful, joyful, great night. I had nowhere to go to break my fast, and I just wandered around the city alone, went into churches, looked at the processions, illuminations, listened to ringing and singing, admired the cute children's and women's faces, lit from below by the warm lights of candles. There was some kind of intoxicating sadness in my soul - sweet, light and quiet, as if I regretted without pain the lost purity and clarity of my childhood.
EASTER EGGS
“... Tomorrow we have a Bright Sunday, and I can see from all these bags of yours, bundles and cardboard boxes that you are bringing holiday gifts home: different testicles with snakes, compound testicles with rings, lambs, flowers. I see how you ran all day shopping in the crowd, in a crush, forgetting even about food, and now, happy, tired and hungry, came here to the tavern to have a quick bite to eat. Well, here I will tell you how, through one Easter egg, I lost my inheritance, relatives and support, and all this in my most adolescent years.
Leonid Nikolaevich Andreev(1871-1919)
BARGAMOT AND GARSKA
“... The street is empty. Called for lunch. Then the joyful, iridescent peal, so cheerful after the mournful Lenten bells, spread the good news of the resurrection of Christ throughout the world. Bargamot took off his hat and crossed himself. Soon home. Bargamot cheered up, imagining a table covered with a clean tablecloth, Easter cakes, eggs. He, without hurrying, will christen with everyone. They will wake up and bring Vanyushka, who first of all will demand a painted egg, about which he had long conversations with a more experienced sister for a whole week. That's when he opens his mouth when his father presents him not with a molted, magenta-colored egg, but with a real marble one, which was presented to him by the same obligatory shopkeeper!
HOTEL
“Easter is the moment of enlightenment, the soaring of a person, his liberation from his weakness. It is for this reason that the awakening of the hero - both moral and physical - falls on the Easter week in the story: L. Andreeva "Hotel". For St. Andrew's heroes, Easter is a moment of universal rejoicing of man and nature, an opportunity to unite earthly and heavenly things and cleanse a person from everything dark and base. L. Sokolova, the newspaper "Grapevine".
How, when and how should children learn about Easter? If we are talking about a child or teenager from a non-Orthodox or non-Christian family, then it would be a reasonable and honest decision on the part of the parents to ask the child to ask a question about Easter to a teacher of the Basics of Orthodox Culture at school, a priest or one of their Christian relatives. It is very important to see the personality in your children from a very young age and give them the opportunity to make their own judgment on such a serious issue.
Easter is one of the brightest holidays and children from an early age should understand its meaning.
If we are talking about a Christian, in particular, Orthodox family, then one of the closest family members should tell the children about Easter.
It is desirable that this is a person who has the greatest authority among children. Mom, dad, grandmother or grandfather - it doesn’t matter, the main thing is that this person sincerely believes in what he is talking about and enjoys the trust of children. This is the very question, in the coverage of which it is important not eloquence, but the sense of confidence of the narrator in his words. The relationship the narrator has with the children is also important. It is desirable that children, thanks to him, see that faith in Christ makes a person kinder, more condescending to other people's shortcomings, more patient, etc.
At what age is it better to tell a child about Easter
Most likely the best moment for such a conversation will be the age when the child first realizes that human life is not endless. Usually, this happens at the age of 4-5 years. It is then that children develop the fear of losing their parents, brothers and sisters, or their own death. At this moment, it is important to convey to the kids the joyful news of the Easter of Christ. Surely, you should not talk about this topic, standing at the stove or doing car repairs. It would be nice to choose a time when we can all sit together and listen carefully to each other.
Talk about Easter should be conducted during preparation for the holiday It is advisable to tell the children about Easter before the start of Lent or a few weeks before the holiday, so that they can prepare, feel the upcoming holiday.
Great Lent childlike
In order for the first Easter to become a significant event for children, it is especially important for the family to walk the path from Forgiveness to Bright Sunday together. It is wonderful if children fast together with their parents. For a five-year-old kid, a post can be considered a refusal to watch your favorite animated series for a while, and the child must clearly understand why he is doing this.
If you can correctly tell about the meaning of Easter, children will gladly accept the need to infringe on themselves for the sake of the upcoming holiday.
Suitable mood
Be sure to approach this conversation responsibly. What matters is the mood of the children and the narrator himself. You should not tell what Easter is to children when they are excited by an outdoor game, and mom is annoyed by troubles at work. Of course, it’s good if children listen to this story at home, in a warm, tidy room and feel that their mother or grandmother has some especially solemn and joyful mood.
Visiting the temple with children will create the right mood The narrator must first read the relevant chapters of the Gospel. You can replace the story with a joint reading of the Children's Bible, along the way commenting on what was read.
Suitable environment
The environment in which the conversation takes place is also important. Let the children have the kindest and warmest memories of the first acquaintance with the good news of the Resurrection of Christ. Many parents watch cartoons about Christ with their children. This issue is up to them. But, it is necessary to take into account that it is desirable that the image of God in the mind of a person is not linked to cartoon pictures. It is better to watch a cartoon with a good instructive plot and discuss together how this story can be interpreted from the point of view of Christianity. And God must remain for the child someone unknowable, not a person, but an image, a person with a capital letter.
You can use special children's books What to talk about
In the story of Easter for young children, the emphasis should be on the Divine Resurrection
Children need to understand the main idea - death does not stop the life of the soul, thanks to the sacrifice of Christ, we can gain the continuation of life and the opportunity to reunite with deceased relatives after the death of the body.
sample story
An example of such a story: “More than two thousand years ago, a girl named Maria lived on earth. She was the most kind, patient, modest, merciful girl in the world, and for this the Lord wished to make her the Mother of his son. They named him Jesus. When He grew up, he realized that he wanted to devote his life to people. After all, He loved them very much, as did His Father. Jesus began to travel around the country and everywhere he helped everyone who needed it. He healed the sick, gave bread to the hungry, comforted those who were suffering, and told everyone about God and how He really should be served. 12 friends traveled with Him, whom He called apostles.
Because people began to listen to the words of Jesus about God, the priests decided to kill Him. After all, they taught the people quite differently. Among the friends of the Savior was a traitor - Judas. For money, he betrayed Christ. Jesus could have avoided arrest, but He was willing to voluntarily accept suffering and death so that people, thanks to His sacrifice, would be cleansed of their evil deeds. Then they can all be forgiven and live forever. When Christ was executed, there was a solar eclipse. The earth was plunged into complete darkness for several hours. On Sunday night there was a terrible earthquake and the stone that closed the entrance to the cave where Jesus was laid fell off. It turned out that Christ is alive again. He appeared to his friends so that they would know about it and rejoice. This is how Easter was born.
Information to help parents Children need to be explained that if a person tries, as often as possible, to do as the Savior did, then he will be able to come to life after death.
About Easter traditions
One of the versions, quite suitable for children, sounds like this: “After the Resurrection, Mary Magdalene went to Rome, to the court of Emperor Tiberius, to tell him about the miracle that happened in Jerusalem. It was impossible to come to the king without a gift, but since Mary had almost no money, she was able to buy only one egg. When she was let in to the emperor, she handed it to Tiberius with the words: “Christ is risen!”. The emperor replied that he would believe it if the white egg turned red. At that very moment, the egg in Maria's hands turned red. “Truly Risen!” exclaimed the astonished king. This story can be told to the kids while painting Easter eggs together.
Children's crafts for Easter What else will be useful for children to know
It would be appropriate to mention other myrrh-bearing women, especially when it comes to girls. They will benefit from an example of gratitude and care for a person, even after his death. You can draw their attention to the fact that the myrrh-bearing women were not too lazy to get up very early, before sunrise, they were not afraid to set off in the dark, if only to quickly pay their last tribute to love for the Savior. If it is customary in the family to bake Easter cakes at home, then this activity can be combined with the story that Christ is the bread of life. Therefore, it is customary to bake the most delicious bread for Easter. Butter dough and decorations symbolize the special joy of the upcoming holiday. If the listeners are boys, they can be told about John the Theologian, the most devoted friend of Christ. Draw their attention to the fact that he accompanied Jesus until the last minute without fear of arrest and punishment. It is useful to mention that John gladly took upon himself, at the request of Christ, the care of His Mother.
It is necessary to tell that Easter is celebrated for forty days, because it was during this time that the Savior appeared to the disciples after death.
Be sure to take your child to the Easter Blessing Ceremony Easter joy is expressed by the fact that people go to visit each other, exchange Easter cakes, colored eggs and "Christ" - friendly hug and kiss each other with the words: "Christ is risen! He is truly risen!"
