Metropolitan Anthony of Sourozh   ARCHIVE
АРХИВ   Митрополита Антония Сурожского



All information and materials provided on this website are for educational,

non-commercial purposes only, and can’t be changed or published.

Please use them with respect. 

For several decades a number of parishioners and disciples of Metropolitan Anthony of Sourozh (1914-2003) recorded his talks, interviews and sermons on audio tapes, video recordings and photographs. Some of the audio tapes were transcribed. All of these documents, stored on fragile media, were widely spread among many people across the globe – in the UK, France, Russia, USA, Switzerland, etc. 

Metropolitan Anthony did not prepare an official will, with regard to his works or wordly possessions, however in 1987 he gave his blessing to his spiritual son and friend Boris Khazanov to collect all his works and in 1998, memorialized that blessing in a written statement.

Attached is a copy of the original statement, memorializing Metropolitan Anthony’s instructions to Mr. Khazanov:

Translation of the attached document:

"I entrust and charge Boris K. Khazanov with collecting, storing and preserving in the computer form my talks, sermons and other materials which could be found anywhere." M.A.

(The document was typed on the computer of the London Cathedral by Fr. Michail Fourtunatto and signed by Metropolitan Anthony in 1998.)

Mr. Khazanov collected these materials and converted them to computer-accessible form, to preserve them in a more permanent medium and to permit ease of duplication and distribution.  He spent over twelve years on this task, including development of new computer programs and a special equipment configuration.

At the present time the Archive consists of over 2,000 text files, 800 photographs, 1,600 audio files, and 200 videos in Russian, English, French, and eight other languages, with the ability to add additional materials upon discovery or contribution.

It was Metropolitan Anthony’s desire that these works be preserved and shared with the public.  By introducing the Archive on the web, we hope the spiritual wisdom and Christian love, which Metropolitan Anthony offered to everybody throughout his life, will continue to shine forth. "Neither do men light a candle, and put it under a bushel, but on a candlestick; and it giveth light unto all that are in the house." (Mt 5:15)

The copyright in most of the works preserved in the Archive has passed to Mr. Khazanov through the original, unpublished documents.  Given the volume and variety of the works preserved and the preparation of derivative works, it is not possible for Mr. Khazanov to verify copyright ownership of every interest in every work made available on this website.  However, it would not serve Metropolitan Anthony’s wishes to allow the uncertainty as to a few prevent publication of the whole.  In the event a third party claims copyright to any of these documents and objects to its publication here, please contact Mr. Khazanov, as he will be happy to address such claims on file-by-file basis.





About the Archive

History of the Archive


Memory of the Heart




The light from his candle 

Boris Khazanov

August, 2010 

Metropolitan Anthony (Bloom) of Sourozh passed away seven years ago.  For more than thirty years, this beloved pastor for many Christians, both in the East and the West, led the diocese of the Russian Orthodox Church in the United Kingdom.  One of his spiritual children reminisces about his friendship with Bishop Anthony...

I probably make a grammatical mistake when I write the word "Vladyka" with a capital letter.  But for me this name is a proper name, not a common noun.  He was a servant of us all—laity and priests.  He often repeated the words of father Sophrony (Sakharov), that the Orthodox Church is like a pyramid standing on its apex—and that apex is Christ.  We are all standing on His all-bearing shoulders.  His church has no superiors and subordinates; all love and serve each other.  And the last one of us will be first, and the first, last… 

I first met Vladyka in September 1981.  I was directed to him by my priest from Boston, Father David Black.  At one o’clock I rang a bell at the bright blue door.  After some time, I heard quick and easy footsteps.  The door was opened by a man of medium height in a gray habit.  He put his arm around my shoulders and led me through the whole church into his "reception room," which was then located north of the altar.  On the way, he told me of a new icon and of church news.  A minute later, when we arrived, I had a feeling that I had known him a long time and that he had known me.  I began to tell him things I had never told anybody before, and he sat in his chair with a rigid wooden back, listening.  Never before had I seen somebody listen in this way.  For him I was the only person in the whole world, nothing else existed.  I asked him what love is, and he said that he himself would like to know.  "Learn to love yourself because God created you with His love, and certainly if He loves you, then it is a sin for you not to love yourself.  This way you will learn to love others," he said. 

An hour later Vladyka stood up and escorted me to the door.  Since then I have always been struck by his great sense of time—he never looked at his watch.  He just knew:  it is time to end the 45 minutes of conversation or the five minutes of the sermon.  This unusual sense of time could be explained, in part, by the accuracy and density of his thinking and his speech.  He used no introductory words, no flowery expressions, nor any kind of "sweetness."  He knew the Scriptures and the works of the Fathers of the Church perfectly.  He usually paraphrased them without references to chapter and verse, which distract rather than focus the listener's attention. 

A few years later a misfortune befell me.  I was suffering from depression, and my life had crumbled to pieces which could not be put back together.  I arrived in London for a six-week stay, hoping that Vladyka would help me put these pieces together.  I came to the church in the morning for the Liturgy of Lazarus Saturday. 

I had decided that if Vladyka did not recognize me, he would not be able to help me.  When reading the Gospel, he came to the words, "Lazarus, come out,"  I had a physical sensation that he descended from the pulpit, came close to me and said these words to me alone.  And I "came out of the dead." 

When I came up for communion, he called me by name.  Years later, I told Vladyka how I feared that he would not recognize me.  His answer was remarkable:  "Encounters are not get forgotten.”   For him each one of us is the Encounter.  In each—and there are thousands of us—he seeks, and finds, the Light of God. "Do the same.  Seek this light in everyone whom fate brings to you,” he told me, “because people are there, not to block your path, but to meet in order to look at each other—and to see each other, rather than just to pass by.  Everyone who just passes by is a loss, both for you and for that person. " 

Vladyka was persistent in working with me:  Twice a week we talked, and he tried to pull me out.  People had hurt me badly, and he advised:  "If you cannot forgive, do not force yourself.  It is better simply to pity them:  they have done wrong and have hurt you, but most of all they have hurt themselves.  Pity them, and then gradually you will forgive them."  When I asked him what forgiveness is, he recalled:  "You have already asked what love is (the discussion about love was five years before that; all of our conversations resumed, as if following a comma in a sentence, years after they were started).  Forgiveness is just as difficult.  Learn to pity, and find, if not justification, then an explanation for the actions of those who have hurt you, and always put yourself in the place of these people.  Hatred only burns you.”  He said: "Do not seek justice from God, but seek mercy.  If we are to be judged, we are all condemned.  But through mercy and grace we are forgiven and loved." 

Often Vladyka's words seemed strange to me, and at first I thought that he was showing off:  "Yes, I am no metropolitan.  I'm just a parish priest," or:  "My sins are like sea sand ...."  It took me many years to understand, of course, that Vladyka was, and is, the metropolitan and the ruling bishop.  But for all of us, not only for his parishioners, but for many people around the world who have not seen him, but only have read his books or received a letter (he has written thousands and thousands of letters), he is a good father, who warms your heart, directs you, and illumines your path.  When he said, "I am no theologian," that was true despite his extraordinary education and knowledge of texts.  He did not know "all about God.”  He knew God, and he wanted to convey to us this knowledge and this thirst for an encounter, for live interaction, rather than mere knowledge of the scribes.  Vladyka advised:  "Do not ascribe to God ‘properties.’  It only reduces and diminishes Him, making Him ‘understandable.’  But he is incomprehensible. You can get closer to Him, but you cannot reach Him.” 

Honesty and trust in God were his keys to prayer.  I once asked him why God often “does not hear" our prayers.  Vladyka answered, "He always listens, but through our “noise” He cannot hear.  He has "perfect pitch.”  Any falsehood can be heard.  When you speak with Him, cleanse your spirit of all extraneous thoughts.  Speak totally honestly, without compromise.  When you have doubts, tell him so.  If you do not believe, do not conceal this.  If you do not speak with complete honesty with your friend, why do you need a friend?" A remarkable example of this - the history of getting rid of mice and cockroaches in the parish house in Upper Addison Gardens.  Vladyka recited a prayer of John Chrysostom, which was supposed to help, but before he recited it, he said:  "St. John, I do not believe this, but all the same—help!"  And it helped....


For him, faith and trust in God were inseparable.  And he believed in us.  I told him once that I had no real faith, that I would not be able trust God as true believers did.  He said, "Nobody knows what he or she is capable of.  When the hour of trial comes, people are capable of great deeds.  And he added, "And look for light in others, even if it seems that there is no chance to find it.  If you find it, you will help the person to heal." 

I recently watched a film shot during the Easter service.  Hundreds of people come up to him, and for each he found a separate warm word, a special smile.   And so it was always.  Even when Vladyka was very ill, he went out and blessed us—not the crowd, but each one of us separately.   He protected and cherished his parish.  Once, in Russia, when I told someone that Vladyka was "my priest," the man replied, " No, he is a priest for the whole world.  The whole world is his parish.” 

Vladyka dressed very simply.  Many will recall his army belt, slightly torn in one place, and an old brown  vest lined with the fur of who knows what animal.  To match the vest were glasses with a broken frame.  No attempts to dress him in "something decent" were successful.  Cashmere sweaters disappeared and were found on someone else's shoulders.  The same, incidentally, happened to money.  It immediately ended up in someone else's pockets.  Vladyka cannot even be called generous.  That was simply his nature. And he did it, not out of a sense of duty, but out of joy and love. 

When Vladyka conducted a service, his every word was weighty.  He never "speed-read" during a service. He did not bungle the texts.  He neither hurried unduly nor stretched the service out.  For him the service was a prayer, said aloud and internally.  His voice and movements were a necessary and natural part of this complete prayer.  In prayer, as in speech, he had no “parasite words.”  What a thrill you experience when you say, "In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit!” and,  “In the name of the Holy Trinity!” You cannot pronounce these words simply as something accessory, as if in passing.  His approach to the service, not as speed-reading, but as heart felt and understood, explains, I think, why his everyday speech did not contain any "rubbish." 

When Vladyka was first appointed to serve as a priest in England, he did not yet speak any English.  He wrote his sermons in advance and read them, haltingly, from a piece of paper.  After one such service, an elderly and acerbic parishioner told him, "Father Anthony, you speak better than you read.  They will be laughing when you speak, but this would still be better than yawning."  Since then, he has spoken without notes (that is why it is so difficult now to collect his works—although they are preserved in sound recordings in various places). 

I usually came to the service an hour early, when the church was still closed.  I would sit on the stone fence and read the morning paper.  Because he usually unlocked the cathedral a half hour before the service, Vladyka spotted me reading.  I was very embarrassed that I was doing such a mundane thing near the church, especially during Holy Week.  He comforted me: "Father Lev Gillet always read the newspaper before the service—to know what to pray for," he said to me.

I often asked Vladyka about church rites and the rules of the church service.  My questions were naive and often ridiculous.  I was a "recent" Orthodox, and for me it was important to establish the relation between faith and religion, i.e., loyalty to Christ and the prescribed ways of expressing it.  Vladyka would tell me about church rules and the traditions of worship. 

On the daily prayer rule:  "Do not so much ‘pronounce’ all the prayers, but say at least one of them with all possible faith.  If you do not find your own words, say the prayers of the saints, but keep in mind that these prayers are the fruit of their deep faith and experience.  Avoid ‘false notes!’....  Sometimes you cannot pray. Do not declaim; this does not help.  In such a case, think about the people who love you, remember them, and pray that they will pray for you." 

Vladyka used to be a doctor.   He would come home completely exhausted, and still he would say the whole prayer, often barely aware of what he said.  He told me that when his spiritual father Athanasius Nechaev heard of this, he forbade him to pray in the evening. 

On reading the Psalms:  I made an unsuccessful attempt to read the book of Psalms.  Some left nothing but a superficial impression and did not touch me.  And many even frightened me, for example, when the Psalmist calls for terrible retribution against his enemies.  Vladyka advised, "Try different psalms until you find one to which you will respond.  Stay with it and read it until you internalize it.  You are not the first to have this problem.”  And then he told me this story:  A simple peasant came to see Anthony the Great: "Teacher, how do I learn the scriptures?"  "Read the Psalms," said Anthony. "But I am illiterate."  "Okay, then repeat the first psalm after me:  ‘Blessed is the man who does not sit on the council of the wicked…’"  "Stop,” said the peasant, “I have to think about this and understand."  He left and returned 30 years later.  "Why did you disappear?  You were going to study," Anthony the Great said to him.  The peasant replied, "I was trying to understand these words and live by them.”  I knew how to read, but I had little real spiritual literacy.  This is what Vladyka was teaching me—not to analyze the text, but to try to live by it.

I complained to Vladyka that I could not keep pace with the texts during the service. They were too fast for me.  He gave me an unexpected answer:  "And do not even try.  You will not be able to do it.  Instead, try to slide on the wave of the words as if on a surfing board; do not lose the rhythm of the service."  And then, as if in passing, he added:  "Before each liturgy, I conduct the service alone, in silence, for two or three hours." Vladyka performed the worship in this state of full of prayer—words, movements, silence.  I told him once that the air in our church was blue.  "Yes,” he said, “a well-prayed-in church."  Often, I stood and thought about the people waiting for communion.  They were completely different people from whom they were an hour earlier—they had peace and quiet.  It is a pity that we often cannot keep this quiet and carry it with us into the "outer darkness.” 

On the language of worship:  “Old Church Slavonic is my prayer language, but for many people the Russian language is more comprehensible and allows them to avoid ambiguities, confusion, and sometimes even absurd interpretations of the texts.  If we were to go to the original language of the service, we would have to use Greek.  The language of the service should not be changed administratively.  It should happen naturally, depending on the needs of parishioners.” 

On clothes:  The length of the skirts is often given a truly sacramental significance. Often you see parishioners who are dressed inappropriately.  "Do not drive them out.  If they stay, they will gradually learn how to dress.  Do not begin with the length of the skirts.  It is easy to drive people away." 

On confession:  Vladyka regarded a confession both as a repentance and as a reconciliation with God—and as a healing.  I would prepare for a long time, making a list so as not to forget anything, and would send it to him in advance.  Vladyka read it and then began the confession.  "You do not confess to me but to the Lord.  I stand here as a witness."  Vladyka listened to the confession and began to discuss it item by item.  He tried not to condemn, but to console, to guide.  To hear confession as he did is not science and not art, but a gift from God.  And often, he said:  "No, I do not know the answer to this.  Let us pray together." 

I was troubled by the question of the relationship between confession and communion, and several times I asked Vladyka if it was right to come to communion without the obligatory confession beforehand…until one day he flew into a rage (and this sometimes happened):  "I'll tell you when you can not receive communion! It is decided not by the ‘rules,’ but by your spiritual father."  And he told me this story:  "During his travels, Gregory Scovoroda passed a village church during a liturgy.  He entered.  The priest stood with the chalice in his hands, waiting for parishioners to receive communion.  But no one came.  “Could we reject God’s sacrifice?" Gregory said, and ‘boldly took communion’ just as he was, dusty from the road.  Because his heart was pure. " 

A couple of years ago I often saw in the cathedral a sweet young woman who was expecting a child.  She went to all the services, prayed diligently, but did not come to communion.  After communion, I offered her a piece of the non-consecrated bread and asked why she had not received communion.  "I have tea in the morning before service.  I do not feel well without it, and my baby needs it, but then I cannot receive communion."  “But the baby needs communion even more,” I said.  "But it is not allowed," she replied.  "Come up to Vladyka and ask."  "I do not want to trouble him.  I'll ask a priest."  The priest, however, forbade her to partake in the communion.  When I told this to Vladyka, he was upset and said,  "I did not teach this priest well."  The service, the rules, Lent—the meaning of all this for him was love, not rejection.

Once during Great Lent, he was invited to dine with poor parishioners and was offered a piece of chicken—the cheapest food.  "What was I to do?  Reject it? These people offered me the best they had. Remember what Christ said:  ‘What defiles a person is not what goes into his mouth, but what comes out.’  Isaiah said that Lent  is when you share your bread with one who is hungry, shelter one who is wandering, break the chains of injustice—but not when you select Lenten dishes from the menu.  Orthodoxy is not a ‘dietary religion.’  It is love and forgiveness. " 

Vladyka allowed himself the same "liberties" during the Liturgy.  He read the secret prayers aloud while he could.  "It's so wonderful.  Why deprive the believers of them? After all these prayers are “secret,” not from worshipers.” 

Does all of this mean that Vladyka took liberties with the rules, canons, precepts?  Quite the contrary.  He strictly observed all the rules.  He was disturbed by something else:  an approach of "scribes" to the Church and its traditions.  The danger was the same as from those treating the Gospel in this way and from Pharisees:  they knew exactly how things should be done; and those rules were given the character of the final, immutable dogma, replacing by this dogma the true meaning of church life, forgetting that the meaning of church life is not the number of bows one makes or the clothes one wears.   

Everything I wrote here does not capture what was truly wonderful in Vladyka.  I will dare describe three events that particularly touched me deep down in my soul.   

One day, on a Bright Monday (Vladyka did not conduct a service that day), I saw him, through a side door of the altar,  standing at the altar table.  He stood straight, leaning on a staff, with closed eyes and in silent prayer.  He was like a pillar of flame.  No, it was not a hallucination.  Limpid flames surrounded him. 

Another event occurred during the service of anointment on Wednesday of Holy Week.  In his monastic robes, bareheaded, he was performing the prayer of the blessing of the holy oil.  He was alone, completely alone, surrounded by silence, gone somewhere far away, probably where he is now.  He did not want to come back….

And one more painful memory:  About our last meeting.  Two days earlier, on April 27, 2003, he celebrated his last Easter service on this Earth.  Proclaiming "Christ is  Risen!" Vladyka marched towards the altar.  Giving the congregation light from his candle, he carried the light to us to the very end.  It was difficult for him to speak and to move.  All those days he walked with a cane.  Vladyka told me that he wanted to talk and that he would come to the office at one o’clock on Bright Tuesday.  About that time I heard someone's rapid footsteps on the stairs. I thought, "Who could it be?"  It was Vladyka—no cane, quick and energetic.   We spoke for an hour and a half, and I got tired first.

At that time he complained of his "uselessness":  "I am becoming deaf. I cannot hear confessions anymore.  Before, I received people for many hours daily.  Now I cannot."  But he went on and continued to see people and to read letters and answer them.  He used an ancient typewriter and complained that it became difficult to find the ribbon for it.  I gave him a small computer, a notebook as they are known, and he was learning how to use it when he was 88 years old! 

With friends, priests, and many parishioners, he used the Russian informal "thee," as they did with him.  With me he used the Russian more formal "you."  I resented this, but did not argue:  love cannot be forced.  But then I understood.  He knew that I could not call him "thee," and he did not want any inequality between us.  He was a subtle and sensitive man.

Vladyka created a wonderful bilingual parish.  First there were only Russians, who, with open minds, accepted new English-speaking parishioners who eventually became the majority.  Then came the wave of new immigrants who brought with them not so much faith as customs, forgetting that you do not come into another monastery with your charter.  Vladyka did not believe in Russian, Serbian, or Ukrainian Orthodoxy. He believed in the Orthodox Church, Universal Orthodoxy, and viewed the Diocese of Sourozh not as a Russian ghetto, but as a center and a hotbed of Orthodoxy in the West. 

We should cherish, love, and appreciate our bishops and our priests.  They give their life for us, live and die with us, meet us in the world, and see us off when we leave it.  Vladyka gave all of himself to us until the last minute, living for only a week after his retirement.  Was he “retired"?  Christ said, "The poor will always be with you, but I will not."  The same applies to each of us.  Look at others as the image of God.  They will not always be with you.  Do not waste a single minute that you can give to another, a single minute that you can give to love.

And pray for the sainted Anthony—our pastor and our friend. † † 

Boris Khazanov,

Mont Vernon, NH, USA


We express our deep and profound gratitude to all the contributors to the Archive, especially to the members of the Sourozh Diocese, who faithfully recorded, collected, and transcribed the works of Metropolitan Anthony! And to those who generously supported this project in many ways, — to all the people whose caring efforts help to keep Vladyka’s memory alive and active in the world!


Boris Khazanov

November, 2010

Translation from Russian by Oksana Nikolajchuk,

Proofreading by Lee Browne-Beed

The archive of Vladyka Anthony has now appeared on the internet and has been accessible to the world since August 1, 2010.  Now I would like to write the history of creating this archive, which has roots reaching into decades past. 


I first met Metropolitan Anthony of Sourozh in September 1980, but started attending his services regularly only in April 1985.  Since I lived in the United States, I became a visiting parishioner in England, trying to get to the services at the London Cathedral of often as I could.  Vladyka's services, sermons, and talks were so impressive that I was certain the archive was being made already.  When I asked Vladyka if it were true, he expressed some doubt.  Nevertheless, I decided to try to create the comuterized archive anyway. 


My first problem was that Metropolitan Anthony had recorded almost nothing.  When he was appointed to the London parish from France, he spoke practically no English.  For that reason he wrote his sermons and then read them.  Finally, a female parishioner told him that it was a bit boring to listen to him read.  He replied that people would make fun of his English, and she answered that it would be better than snoozing through the monotones of his reading.


From that time on, Vladyka delivered his sermons extemporaneously and in his own voice.  This urged many, including me, to attempt to record and collect his works, but it opened a new world of complications!  For instance, from my very first days at the Cathedral, I noticed that tape recorders were ready before Vladyka's sermons (and that cameras were clicking so audibly that the church warden banned them).


Also, I noticed that recordings were made of Vladyka's talks.  I did not realize then why this was done and where the recordings were going.  Some pictures and recordings made by visitors disappeared without a trace, and some emerge now and then. 


Vladyka was also making his own recordings.  Whether he was doing this all the time or how often, I didn't know; he kept it a secret.  His own collection of recordings was discovered only in 2004. 


In spite of these desultory and often anonymous efforts, more or less "regular" audio recordings were made by the parishioners of the Cathedral:  Tanya Maydanovich, Esther Williams, and Lyuba Rezvaya.  Many people in the world would not have been able to hear Vladyka's sermons, services, and talks if not for these people's truly dedicated and heroic efforts!


It took me two years to find and combine computer hardware and to modify or write programs to realize the idea of the computer archive.  The computers I obtained were very slow by modern standards and did not have enough memory to work with scanned texts.  There was too little disc space for both scanning and for the computer programs, and small floppy discs were the only means of storing archive material.


It was clear at the beginning that we needed to start with texts.  We could not even dream about audio recordings or photographs.  The most difficult part was scanning the texts because the programs available at the time could scan only English texts (Latin script) and were mostly incapable of working with undecipherable typewritten text.  We had to look for additional programs that could decipher unclear letters, and then--the great challenge--the Cyrillic alphabet!


In spite of all the difficulties, by some great good fortune, when I reached a deadlock, something always popped up to help me find a way out:  additional computer memory, discs that could hold more information, even better programs...


But new computers and programs were not our only help.  I met a kind man at the Cathedral who, having seen me suffering from back pain during the long Holy Week services, showed me exercises to endure the long time on my feet.  Later, having learned about my work on Vladyka's Archive, he offered financial assistance and help with equipment.  Since then he has become the "White Knight" of our work.  In particular, he later helped to acquire the video equipment that allowed us to make, edit, and process almost all the video recordings at the Cathedral and in St. Petersburg.  Much later, when the computer archive was put together, it was he who suggested--and insisted--that we put the archive on the internet.  God bless him. 


Then came the problem of how and where to find materials for the archives.  Fortunately, from 1993 to 1996, I discovered and was able to work with the collection of Tanya Maydanovich.  In her tiny flat, a real encyclopedia of Vladyka's recordings was preserved--not only audio tapes, but eighteen (!) huge volumes of transcripts of the audio recordings--in Russian and English.  I think her collection of Vladyka's works is the most complete of any and was done with both sincere love and with understanding and a deep sense of Vladyka's language.


Tanya readily placed at my disposal all 18 volumes, which consisted of the second copy of typewritten texts.  The paper was of low quality, and the typewriter tape was either brand new or too worn (the letters could hardly be seen).  The typewriter itself was also very old, with worn type (print).  Tanya sent me one volume at a time while I was "teaching" my computer to make sense of unclear text.   


I would have been completely lost had I not been joined by Tanya's sister, Alyona Maydanovich, who owned the first copy of Tanya's volumes.  And so, we, with our four hands--Alyona's and mine--read all 18 volumes into the computer, first onto the floppy discs, and then, when compact discs came onto the market, onto CDs, which are long lasting and easy to copy.  In addition, Alyona recorded many of Vladyka's sermons and talks given in Russian churches, in Moscow and Leningrad seminaries, and in private apartments, where Vladyka met with the believers and answered their questions.  Alyona also recorded Vladyka's talks that were broadcast over BBC radio to the Soviet Union. 


Alyona's main contribution--a true "podvig" (feat)--was to publish Vladyka's works in the Soviet Union, and later, in Russia.  At first they were small brochures, but later more substantial publications, with the two fundamental volumes of Vladyka's works as a pinnacle achievement, published by "Experience" Publishers in Moscow.  In fact, the efforts of the publisher Maksim Osipov and his colleagues made the publications truly academic editions. 


Alyona also gathered and edited Vladyka's materials for many Russian Orthodox magazines.  Therefore, thanks to Alyona Maydanovich, the printed word of Vladyka can be found in multiple book stores in Russia--in addition to the churches. 

When after the first year of work with the computerized Archive, I showed Vladyka a small black floppy disc that held several hundreds of his talks and sermons, he was impressed and, I think-- happy: “Everything I said is here--on this small piece of plastic?!..”

Several years later, when the first CD with his texts came out, as insisted upon by Alyona Maydanovich and Father Michael Fortunatto, I asked Vladyka for a formal, i.e. written blessing for this work.  Father Michael typed the text, and Vladyka signed it.  The document was entitled "Doveritel'nost" (Trustfulness) instead of "Doverennost'" (Power of Attorney).

Our Archives began to come out “into the world” (a copy for Vladyka, Tanya, Alyona, and myself) one edition a year.  The first edition contained the first year’s work, second edition--the first and second years’ work, etc.


After the first edition, I realized that I could not cope with all of my archive work and my day job simultaneously.  Then I was hired by a small startup company that offered me "mountains of gold" if I accomplished my assignment on time.  I finished the work ahead of time, got my "mountains of gold," and began working solely on the archives.  Earlier, when I had said I was going to quit my job, Alyona said to me, "Many have tried to quit," meaning that many wanted to dedicate their entire time to Vladyka's works but were not able to.  However, that was exactly what Alyona herself and Tanya were doing--and what I was fortunately able to do also. 


After several years of our work with Tanya and Alyona, a parishioner from the London Cathedral, Kelsey Cheshire, introduced me to another person who was collecting and storing Vladyka's works--Esther Williams, who, together with Rosslyn Nicholas, recorded sermons and talks in English and made many transcripts.  Unfortunately, I met Esther too late.  She was already ill and had difficulty working.  During the last two years of her life, Esther, with Vladyka's blessing, organized and edited the monumental series of his talks about the Creed.  Besides collecting the materials, Esther contributed to compiling, editing, and publishing Vladyka's books in English. 

Unfortunately, all of the materials (including audio recordings and transcripts) made by Lyuba Rezvaya disappeared.  After her death, these materials were stored in the garage and, little by little, perished.  So, the manuscripts do burn…


Many other people participated in our work.  Father Michael Fortunatto possessed many materials, including Vladyka's books that were not re-published and were impossible to find.  Also, Father Sergiy Hackel, who before his death led religious programming on BBC, helped us to access the invaluable recordings of Vladyka's participation in these programs.  Anya Yelyutina, our parishioner living in London at the time, copied these materials onto tapes.  This was tremendous and also very urgent work--because there was a rule at BBC that recordings were disposed of when they were ten years old.  These recordings were on reels, and BBC supplied Anya with equipment to record them on tape. All of these records are of excellent quality. 

Another parishioner of the Cathedral, Tatiana Wolff, translated Encounter, a very important work of Vladyka's into English. 


Please note that until now we have been discussing only texts typed and digitally preserved in print by the people mentioned.  With the advent of compact discs, however, we achieved had the ability to store audio recordings and photographs in the archive. 


Several people contributed to our audio collection.  With the efforts of Yasha Geronimus and support and encouragement of Alyona Maydanovich, a considerable portion of Tanya Maydanovych's collection was recorded on CDs.  However, the quality of the records needs improvement. 

Many audio recordings were also contributed by Esther Williams. 

In addition, for many years Father Joseph Skinner digitally recorded Vladyka's sermons.  Digital recordings produce much better quality sound, and he now puts these into a standard format and sends them to the archive. 

The archive contains a considerable collection of photographs.  They came from Anna Garrett, a legendary warden of the parish council of the Cathedral for decades--and from her daughter Xenia Bowlby.  Also from Tatisha Behr, Tanya and Alyona Maydanovich, Elena Sadovnikova, Elena Orlova, Kelsey Cheshire, Father Michael Fortunatto, Tatiana Wolff, Esther Williams, Florence Roffey, Nick Hales, and Alexandra Smirnova.


Finally, when video disks (DVDs) became available, it was possible to make video recordings.  As far back as 1995-1997, Lena Sadovnikova made many video recordings of Vladyka's talks in VHS format; therefore, their quality is not perfect.  But, since these are the only video records of that period, they are particularly valuable. 


In 1995, Olga Clodt video-recorded a series of Vladyka's talks, which are now in the archive.  They were once shown on Russian television and later disappeared, so we are fortunate to have the originals.  

As early as 1998-2003, digital video recordings were made by Svetlana Zhulay and Nick Hales. 


Magnificent video recordings of the services, talks, and especially an interview with Vladyka, were made by Valentina Ivanovna Matveyeva, who also made several wonderful and well-known films about Vladyka, including Apostle of Love.


The more I worked with Vladyka's archive, the more it seemed that until everything was gathered, copied, and stored in one place, a real archive was not yet in existence.  Even after I created and stored the computerized archive, with the great contributions of the people I mentioned above, I thought that it was not yet the completed archive.  It was supposed to be safe and stored in many places. 


The nearest way to accomplishing this was to open the archive online.  Happily, I had a group of supporters in America who were Metropolitan Anthony's followers.  For over 30 years I have been a parishioner of the Holy Resurrection Orthodox Church in Claremont, New Hampshire, a town near the Connecticut River and only several miles from Vermont. I have a long way to church – about a 100 km, but warmth and faith which surround me there, give me strength to surpass difficult times. I would not have been able to cope with the work on the Archive and overcome my hardships if it were not for the support of Father Andrew Tregubov and the parish.


The priest at Holy Resurrection Orthodox Church and his wife became involved in the work of the archive, and not by accident.  They met and talked with Vladyka Anthony and since have become his admirers.  (Here at church they hold discussions on the topics started by Vladyka, i.e., Churchianity vs. Christianity.)


Father Andrew, Matushka Galina, and several parishioners (with the professional help of computer programmers Timothy Tregubov and Mark Montague) created, developed, and gave life to a website of the archive--all in eight months.   


Vladyka asked me once, "Who are you doing this work for, Borya?"  What could my answer be?  For God?  But what can I do for Him that He cannot do Himself?  For Vladyka?  Of course, partially.  But mainly the work was done so that others could hear Vladyka's sermons.  Because "No man, when he has lighted a candle, puts it in a secret place, neither under a bushel, but on a candlestick, that they which come in may see the light."  (Luke 11:33)