Молитва о всеисполняющей радости / 47 псалом Леонида Королева

Lord, I do not ask for the joy that is built on another's fall, for every triumph over the weak is a wound inflicted not only on one's neighbor but also on one's own soul. But grant me the joy that You, the Merciful One, breathe into my heart as Your own breath. The joy of which it is said: "The joy of the Lord is our refuge." If I see someone fail, let my soul never mock it. For true joy, Lord, lies not in rising above the loser, but in suddenly realizing that he, too, is Your image, as battered as my own. Fill me with joy, so that I can look upon someone fallen on their path and not turn away in proud laughter, but freeze in that sacred sorrow that transcends all joy. For You, Lord, wept at the tomb of Lazarus, because You sympathized with the family of the deceased, and yet You were the cause of joy after Lazarus's resurrection. Grant me, too, to experience this joy within human tears. May human pain never destroy hope for the best. And for our smaller brothers—those who breathe without words. Help me to greet the beasts of the forest and the birds of the air not as hosts, but as guests. Let my joy touch the dog that licks my hand, the cat that basks at my feet, and the old horse that stands in the corral. For when I stroke them, You, Lord, invisibly stroke me. This melts my heart, and in this melting lies true rapture. Help me rejoice in the rain that wets my clothes, for the rain is Your water, rushing to water the root. Help me rejoice in the wind that tears my cloak, for the wind is Your messenger, reminding me that I am not the center of the universe, but Your beloved stranger. Help me rejoice in the bread I break, for in each piece is the sweat of the earth and Your "This is My Body." Oh, that my joy were unconstrained by circumstances! That it were like a spring at the bottom of the sea—salty water all around, but fresh within. Let me remember: when I hurt, You are near. When I am ashamed, You do not turn away. When I am alone, You are the One who never sleeps. And this knowledge is greater than all consolation. Make my joy as quiet as the breathing of a sleeping infant. Make it deep, like the root of an oak that holds the tree in a storm. Make her modest, so that she doesn't flaunt herself, but shines from within—like a hidden lamp that illuminates a house, though no one knows where the light comes from. Lord, I have seen people who laugh at the fallen. Their laughter is like the crackling of twigs in a fire—loud, but quickly burns out. I don't want humor or satire, for it often builds on mockery of those who have failed. Teach me to rejoice and smile. I don't seek laughter, but the smile that comes from being in goodness. And I want to rejoice in nature, God. When I see a tree that has been bent by the wind for a hundred years, yet it still blooms, let this be a sermon on joy for me. When I look at a river that flows to the sea and doesn't ask "why"—let it be my kind teacher. Every creature speaks to me of You, and in this conversation, let there be such joy that if I were to express it all, my heart would overflow. But You, Lord, know how to contain. Integrate even my small joy into Your immeasurable one. Teach me to rejoice in the morning, when I don't yet know what the day will bring. Teach me to rejoice in the evening, when I'm tired and perhaps have made mistakes somewhere. Teach me to rejoice when I hear the greeting "Christ is risen," and in the field, when I see an ear of grain bending to the ground—let me rejoice in these small things. Cleanse my heart from malice, from mockery, from cynical snickering at another's downfall. All these are signs of fear, when a person tries to exalt himself through the humiliation of another. But he who knows that he is loved by God has no need to exalt himself. He already stands at the summit, and from this summit one can see: all are brothers, even those who are ridiculous and absurd. And pity for them becomes the sweetest joy, because in this pity lies Your gaze, Lord. Grant me today, at this very hour, to feel how You love the cat sleeping on the windowsill, and the sparrow pecking at a crumb, and the person cursing in line. If I feel Your love for them, I cannot be unhappy. For to be in love is to be in joy. Not loud, not showy, but that of which it is said: "Let your joy be full." Perfect it in me, Merciful Lord. Bring it to its fullness. So that I need not seek joy elsewhere, for within me lies an ocean of joyful exultation. Amen.