Edifying film 'Forgive me, Sergei' based on Sergei Kurdakov's book 'Forgive me, Natasha'
The book “Forgive Me, Natasha” by Sergei Kurdakov came into my hands almost immediately after I arrived in America. It was presented to me with a hint: “This is a hero of faith!” “And what about you there! There! In Kamchatka! Now that’s something! They persecuted believers—killed pastors, raped girls, beat and maimed people indiscriminately—that was real persecution!” After a quick look through the book “Forgive Me, Natasha,” I immediately said: “Amateurish nonsense!” What nonsense! Nonsense with a special purpose, with a commercial aim to scare the average person senseless. But the cost of this in the future will be to devalue the suffering of those who are truly persecuted.
My arguments did not please Kurdakov’s admirers at all, and some even asked me to keep them to myself and not “destroy” God’s work. My arguments were as follows:
Sergei Kurdakov on a tour of American churches with his testimony.
First, there were not as many believers in the entire Far East as Kurdakov claims there were in that provincial town in Kamchatka at the time. As far as I knew, if you gathered all denominations together in Kamchatka, you wouldn’t even get a hundred people, not five thousand as the author claims—that is a wild lie!
Second, if events anything like what Kurdakov describes had taken place there, I would certainly have known about it by virtue of my work, and not only I—it would have resounded throughout the Union and the world. Remember the case of Ivan Moiseev. And the most interesting thing is that right before the book was published, he dies mysteriously. No, not at the hands of the bloody KGB, but simply shot himself in a hotel, while “resting” with some lady. (They say he was playing Russian roulette!?) Can you imagine! A fiery, newly converted, repentant commissar, persecutor of the church in Kamchatka, passionate preacher and witness of the Lord’s miracles, and… suddenly he ends up with some lady in a hotel, and even plays Russian roulette with a revolver? Can you imagine that? I can’t!
Yes! The American “missionaries” made quite a pretty penny off of him. And it’s not even clear who was more interested in his “suicide”! “The Moor has done his duty, the Moor can go.”
The book came out, and Kurdakov is gone! Now Kurdakov’s directors, the “missionaries,” if anything, can say: it wasn’t us, he dictated it all to us—Kurdakov.
A young Christian woman—an admirer of Sergei Kurdakov—decided to look into this; she conducted a wide-ranging investigation, traveling to the scenes of the events, and we introduce you to it in the film “Forgive Me, Sergei.”
This film is a lesson for those “evangelists” and “preachers” who, to enhance the effect and impression they make on the audience (or simply to get more money, which is more truthful), invent all kinds of tall tales—that is, they “lead” people to God with lies, and, by and large, those lies will eventually bear their fruit, and then they have to defend the lie with the reason: “But people came to faith through it! So, what, now you want me to destroy their faith?”
The original book by Sergei Kurdakov “Forgive Me, Natasha”, which is what we are actually talking about.
———————-
For reflection, we add critical remarks from an unknown respondent on the evangelie.ru forum:
«I worked for 9 years in the Far Eastern Shipping Company, a navigator by trade. We carried grain from Vancouver to Vladivostok and Petropavlovsk-Kamchatsky, and I know the sailing conditions in that region very well. I don’t know who the author of this book is, but it was written by someone who has never worked on Far Eastern vessels, let alone fishing boats.
For example:
«A storm struck unexpectedly when cold northerly winds clashed with warm air currents coming from Japan.»
The author has it wrong, because in that area it is the cold CURRENT from the Arctic Ocean and the Japanese Kuroshio Current that collide. Storms in that region come from typhoons that rise out of Southeast Asia and stall in the Bering Sea.
«Many of our experienced, sea-tested sailors, washed by all the waters of the world, got sick from the unusual pitching of vortex waves.»
Not even a boy who grew up by the sea could have written that. A normal person gets sick during their first pitching but quickly adapts and NEVER gets sick again, let alone an experienced sailor. And there’s no such thing as vortex waves. A vessel experiences longitudinal pitching from head seas, rolling from beam seas, and the most complex motion from following seas.
«of waves that would dash against the coastal cliffs and then roll back to the sea with undiminished force.»
It feels as though the author has never been to sea; waves at sea NEVER come back with undiminished force. Just think, waves moving in two opposite directions.
«Within the limits of Canadian coastal waters, which we had permission to go around due to the bad weather, I approached my goal.»
A sailor would never say go around, as if he were on a bicycle. Later it says the ship was half a mile from the shore, so how exactly did they GO AROUND the coastal waters? Perhaps the author meant to enter the coastal waters.
«The night, usually dark blue, was a dense, pitch-black because of the heavy storm clouds. Sailors speak of such nights with fear.»
The author should have at least talked to some sailor, because sailors never speak of such nights with fear (what an invention). For fishermen, that kind of weather is normal!
«At such a moment, doubts might have come to someone else in my place. But here I was Sergei Kourdakov. A candidate for an officer’s rank in the Russian Navy, one of the meritoriously decorated leaders of Soviet youth; in every school I attended since I was eight years old — elected leader of the youth Communist organization.
In five days I was expected back at the naval base, where I was to present myself as a full member of the Communist Party, where a good job in the militia awaited me. From a practical standpoint, I had every reason to return to Russia.»
What a heap of fabrications, a pack of lies! To be a radio operator on a fishing vessel, you had to graduate from the Fishing Maritime School, which was in Petropavlovsk. What does a naval base have to do with it? Fishermen return from a fishing season to the fishing port, not to a naval base. What candidate for an officer’s rank? Only a graduate of a naval academy could be one. And as a fisherman radio operator, coming back from a voyage, he was supposed to get a good job in the militia? Isn’t it obvious that the person who wrote this book never lived in the USSR?
„Three and a half miles,“ — I pondered, quietly checking over my chances.
A nautical mile is 1,852 metres. Three and a half miles is 6.5 kilometres. Even walking in a straight line, that’s ideally an hour, but at night in a storm — you’d be 100% dead. Only an idiot would, in such a situation, QUIETLY CHECK HIS CHANCES. There are none!
«Comrade Captain, — I replied, — I’m so tired from the long hours on watch these last nights. I think it would be better if I turned in earlier. I’m just very tired!»
Outright lies! No one ever addresses the captain that way on these vessels; they use the captain’s first name and patronymic. What a thing to invent: the captain suggesting a game of chess with the radio operator at night during a terrible pitching, when not only chess pieces but even an ashtray wouldn’t stay on the table.
«Since we were in the north, I wore my winter uniform: heavy military boots, a light woollen jacket, and a thick sweater. The weight and restricted movement from such clothing would, of course, cause me a great deal of trouble when I was in the water, but I was determined to reach the populated place fully dressed and in my boots.»
In clothing like that, you’d go straight to the bottom, at any time of year and in any weather. I hope that’s clear even to people who have never seen the sea.
I don’t care to list more such inventions. The author of the book could not have been a Soviet sailor; he is most likely an American writer‑journalist. Nobody knows what really happened to Sergei, and it is naïve to judge events on the basis of an American book and an American film. The lad fled to America and it destroyed him. He should have fled to God.»
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