Read the book Blessed are the Dead online. Jun Lindqvist - Blessed are the dead

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...

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.

With what sorrows does the soul of a sinner enter into eternal life, having not repented, lying in his sins, not having washed them with the grace of repentance, having forgotten 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).

The one who, according to the commandment of Christ, sought first of all the Kingdom of God and His Truth deserves to 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 sweeten the 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 Supreme Apostle 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 that we can die this way: after all, our earthly life 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

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.