I was riding the metro one day. Next to me was a drunk man—a tall guy. Clearly, he was looking for someone to latch onto. He tried to joke with a girl, then commented on an advertising poster on the subway car wall. A restless fellow.

Everyone is silent. We fear the drunkards. From a Russian drunkard, you can expect anything. And I remain silent, reading the Bible on my phone.

Since childhood, my mom told me that unusual situations stick to me. And now, in this moment—reading, glancing at the drunkard from the corner of my eye—I understand it's happening again.

At first, the drunkard just looked at me. Then he became interested. He came closer—from behind. He started peering over my shoulder to look at my phone. I pretend not to notice. I'm flipping through the pages, no longer absorbing the text.

A breath from behind, then I'm overwhelmed by the smell of alcohol. A cheeky voice says, "So, you're a believer, huh?" It begins, I think.

"Well, I am. So what?"

"Well, it means you believe weakly."

I didn't expect that. I turn around, looking at him. What does "believing weakly" mean? Seeing my confusion, the drunkard croaks contentedly.

"Have you seen your head?"

"What's wrong with it?"

"It's that you're half bald—just like Lenin. A young guy, but with Lenin's bald spot."

People around us smile. I'm in shock. What does he want from me? But he's laughing, triumphing.

"Look," he says, "at my head."

I look. Thick, curly tufts. Well, what?

"And now look here."

He pulls out some photo from his pocket. In the picture—it's him, completely bald. Triumphantly declares:

"See the baldness? What was I like?"

"Well, I see."

"Do you know where the hair came from?"

He reaches into his pocket again and triumphantly pulls out a battered... prayer book! Waving the book in front of my face, he explains:

"I had no hair left—not a single one! And I didn't want to be bald. I prayed to God for a miracle. And believe me— they started growing! And they grew back again! All of them! Thicker than before. And why? Because I have strong faith. When I pray, I pray firmly. And you have weak faith, and you pray weakly, like a fool—so you're bald. Got it?"

People are laughing. I'm a bit embarrassed, but I'm also laughing. I leave the subway car. The mood is cheerful. My mind starts collecting some biblical puzzles about "hair": Samson and his locks, the Nazirite vow prohibiting cutting hair; the thick hair of Absalom, the cause of his demise; the vow of the Apostle Paul in Cenchreae, accompanied by cutting his hair. There's something in this.

But, of course, it's not about hair. It's about the fact that the Lord, figuratively speaking, drags this boozer by the hair into the Kingdom of Heaven. Maybe He'll manage it, who knows? Dostoevsky told how angels from hell dragged a woman by the pigtail because she threw an onion at a beggar. And here the Lord Himself, so to speak, pulled a person into the Kingdom of Heaven by the hair.

Christ is trying to attract each of us to Himself, trying to find something in us to hold onto. And if a person can't say anything else to God except, "Lord, give me back my hair"—the Lord won't take offense. To get a prayer book and come to the church. And there, who knows, perhaps confession and communion are not far off.

Long after the incident, whenever I saw some bald man's head, I recalled the unsteady voice saying, "You pray weakly, that's why you're bald. So that's why I'm telling you that you don't believe well. Got it?" And every time, smiling, I answer to myself: "Got it." And I thank God for the wonderful life lesson.


Original article: https://radiovera.ru/bog-i-volosy.html