Wedding during Great Lent

;"He plays at funerals and dances..."
— Andrey Makarevich
;"You know, I am a real musician now, not just a certified musicologist," I once noted to myself with pride.
;I truly do play at funerals and weddings. To be more precise, at weddings and funeral services, not to mention the weekly Liturgies. It’s just that my husband and I serve as organists in the Catholic Church.
;The catch is... all of this happens in Thailand. This is where Shurik and I unexpectedly found ourselves useful.
;...It had been a dream of his youth: to play the organ in some village church. Imagine this: the Lord fulfilled his dream to the letter, though, in His usual fashion, with a slight twist. The "village" turned out to be a small Thai island in the Pacific Ocean, complete with roosters and water buffaloes. And the organ itself is electric—or rather, a digital piano with an organ sample.
;I’ve always said that God has a peculiar sense of humor. Maybe we just need to pray more specifically? Or, on the contrary, we shouldn't over-formulate and instead just completely surrender to His will.
;For instance, this past Christmas, I asked the Lord for a spiritual gift for Shurik—something that would change his life for the better. I never imagined or guessed that the Almighty would answer my prayer so wonderfully... He sent a large organ with a real pedalboard!
;The Thai priest hauled it right into our house. "Practice," he said. "Next Christmas, we’ll hold a classical music concert in the church!"
;Shurik couldn't believe his eyes. We set it up at home as best as we could, wherever we could—right between the dining area and the bedroom door. Now, in the Thai tropics, Bach resonates, brought to life by our fingers. Our hands and feet still remember the movements; after all, those elective organ classes at the conservatory weren't for nothing!
;You must admit, not everyone has an almost-authentic organ sitting in their kitchen! Granted, once we had to sweep a snake—a green palm viper—out from under the pedalboard, and our cats (all three of them, taking turns) grew fond of sleeping on the special organ bench. On this Island, snakes and cats move into your house without asking, what can you do. But hey—it all happens to the music of Bach.
;"...Lola, can you play for a wedding?" asked Pearl, a Filipina.
;She is a true gem of our vocal ensemble—tall, elegant, unbelievably slender, and well aware of her worth. Though her voice is a bit weak, she doesn't even really need to sing; she looks so stunning that success is guaranteed.
;On the other hand, Amalia Tanada-Borromeo, short and stocky, is the loudest one. True to her colorful surname, which carries the colonial history of the Spanish conquest of the Philippine islands, she infuses an unexpected flamenco drive into every religious chant.
;The third one is Almira, my favorite. Almira is kind and gentle, unlike the fierce Amalia. She used to be plump, looking as if she had stepped right out of a Gauguin canvas. Now she has lost weight. She's a beauty, of course, but I miss that old Almira—the goddess of fertility with her wild, raw beauty.
;All of us serve in the church as volunteers, meaning we play and sing for free, but weddings are our legitimate "gig." Shurik and I usually play four-handed piano, but for a wedding, just me and our "gypsy choir" are more than enough.
;"...When and where?" I ask.
;"March sixth, in Nathon, morning. They promised to pay ten thousand baht for everyone," Pearl shares slyly.
;"I'm in. But why on earth are people getting married during Great Lent?"
;On our relatively small Island, there are as many as two Catholic churches. The first one is in Nathon—this is where the settlement of the Island originally began. It is a true piece of Christian Europe right in the middle of the jungle. Standing in the center of a huge cleared plot of land, set against uninhabited mountains, is a red-brick Gothic church, asymmetrical, with a single bell tower.
;The Church of Saint Anna is small and very lovely. Catholic statues of Jesus Christ and the Virgin Mary are lovingly placed across the grounds, integrated into the landscape design with grottoes, gazebos, and flower beds.
;The second church grew right before our eyes. At first, it was a simple chapel without any architectural pretensions, but it was located right in the center of the Island, next to the police station. It was attended by foreigners, and the Masses were held in English, unlike the Nathon church, which catered to Asians.
;Then, suddenly, the chapel was demolished. For quite a long time, services were held under a canopy until a massive white modernist church, the size of a sports gym and shaped like a bishop's mitre, emerged out of nowhere. That is where we serve as organists.
;But this wedding is scheduled in Nathon, where I rarely go now, as it's on the other side of the Island. The Filipinas and I arrived early to rehearse the psalm and the entrance hymn for the solemn procession.
;I was a bit nervous. My only thoughts were whether we could get the organ and amplifier hooked up properly, if Almira and I would mess up the psalm, and if I could manage the pedalboard. Meanwhile, the church filled with French guests. I noticed that the bride was "dazzlingly young," as Magomayev used to sing, and that the groom was a tall blond man.
;The girl wore neither a traditional wedding gown nor a veil, but her long, dark, loose hair was neatly pinned at the crown and adorned with a white flower. This couple radiated happiness, love, and natural desire—something that, alas, has become almost a rarity in our post-LGBT world. They will certainly have wonderful, beautiful, and intelligent children, and they will raise them in Christianity, I thought to myself as I accompanied the Communion hymn, silently blessing the couple.
;After the service, the groom, bride, and guests spent a long time taking photos outside against the backdrop of the church, while the Filipinas took pictures inside. Finally, I walked up to the now-empty altar, to the familiar wooden Crucifix. A sudden wave of d;j; vu washed over me...
;That very same Jesus, my miracle-working Savior.
;It is beneath this exact Crucifix that I find myself every single year during Great Lent.
;I first ended up here fifteen years ago. ...I was so exhausted back then, having walked all the way from the hospital where my husband lay, broken after a crash. On the other hand, I was so relieved to suddenly find a Cross in this strange Asian country.
;Alas, the slender, bearded Jesus on the Cross, wearing a loincloth with pierced limbs and a purple chasuble draped over his shoulders, was an almost exact replica of my Shurik. Shurik was also lying there at that moment, in a purple loincloth, on metal surgical pins, emaciated and unshaven.
;Strangers were singing unfamiliar songs around me, praying in a foreign language, and this Jesus was the only familiar face. I remember the despair and helplessness that consumed me.
;"I am so lonely, I don't know anyone here but You," I complained. "Please, send me some friends."
;The answer to my prayer didn't keep me waiting. As I was leaving the church, a blonde lady stopped me:
"What's your name? Where are you from? Where do you live? Wait, you don't have a car? Come on, let me give you a ride."
;Her name was—believe it or not!—Maria. That is how our friendship began.
;Even so, I began to dread Great Lent. You never knew what other disaster might strike in this unfamiliar territory, in the Land of the Relentless Sun.
;"What more could anyone wish for someone living in paradise!" my Facebook friends would envy me nonetheless.
;Paradise? Well, yes, our resort Island is often called Paradise. Though, when you're running around in the scorching heat with your tongue hanging out, solving one problem after another, you don't really notice it.
;"Am I in Paradise?" I ask my Jesus on the Crucifix.
;"I promised," He replies.
;"Really? When?"
;"Truly I tell you, today you will be with Me in Paradise," Jesus reminded me.
;"Ah, that... But that wasn't said to me, it was to the Thief. Though... who among us isn't a thief," I sighed.
;And speaking of thieves...
;There was another Great Lent. ...When my friend Katya and I entered this church, the priest was already waiting for us. He wasn't wearing a cassock, just a simple T-shirt. He was praying alone, looking at my good acquaintance—Jesus on the Cross.
;We had no one else to turn to—our husbands had just been arrested. Not that they were actual "thieves." The reason was utterly idiotic: as it turned out, a Thai lawyer had filed their work permits incorrectly, while managing to keep himself completely out of trouble.
;We didn't even know where they had taken our two "thieves," or where that damn prison was. Father Michael calmly and efficiently called over a policeman from his congregation, who tracked down Shurik and Oleg over the phone in just five minutes.
;Father Michael even offered to drive us to the prison in his car. This was invaluable help, since moving around the Island without your own transport was terribly expensive. It turned out the priest, who regularly visited inmates, knew exactly how to package a delivery and how to fill out the visitation forms in Thai. What would we have done without him!
;Fortunately, by Easter, the guys were released—our Jesus had answered our prayers once again.
;...Mr. George managed to pass away not only during Great Lent, but also during the pandemic.
;His relatives miraculously made it across the ocean for the funeral. Unfortunately, our Filipina "gems" refused to sing, terrified of catching the virus in a crowded place. Only Lina, an Indonesian lady who was incredibly responsible, agreed.
;So, we had to battle not only the organ pedalboard but also sing along with Lina—wearing masks, in English, a language that had never quite become comfortable for us despite years of living in Thailand. In short, it was another somber event, very much in the spirit of Great Lent.
;...The casket rested on a large gurney. The deceased couldn't even be seen under the abundance of flowers. As soon as we started singing Amazing Grace, to my surprise, the wheeled casket was suddenly rolled away. I thought they were going to load it onto a bus and take it to a cemetery.
;But the mourning crowd suddenly turned behind the church. Singing the hymn while marching behind the coffin, I observed what was happening with keen curiosity. Quite recently, an ordinary garden had occupied this very spot, where spring rolls ingredients and asparagus beans were grown.
;But instead of garden beds, small white tomb-crypts appeared before my eyes, one of which was already occupied. When did so many people manage to die!
;The coffin was slid into a prepared niche, and the wreaths and bouquets were placed inside as well. A mason approached with a bucket of cement and a trowel, climbed a stepladder, and sealed the cell with a memorial brown tile. Smiling from the tile, looking very much alive, was Mr. George, beneath the inscription: "I regret nothing."
;The whole thing left a deep impression on me. I found myself almost envying the late Australian—how fortunate he was to rest in such a beautiful, quiet place, where people pray every day, right next to Jesus on the Cross. Truly, in a real paradise...
;"...How much does it cost to be buried here?" I inquired of the priest at the next opportunity.
;He named an unbelievably modest sum—eight thousand baht. Well, that's very reasonable.
;"So cheap?" I wondered.
;"People in Thailand are not very rich," he replied.
;Well, that suits me perfectly, I decided. Surely they can spare a tiny chamber in the crypt for their organist. I'll be here in Paradise, with my miracle-working Jesus.
;I hope that won't be anytime soon. But one thing I know for sure: it will happen during Great Lent.
;Koh Samui, 2026