Иван Петрович Федотов: продолжение жизни
Life Goes On
From the Dresden detention centre, after the trial, I was taken to Matrosskaya Tishina prison and placed in cell 181. That was a cell for heavyweights — mostly murderers. “…And he was numbered with the transgressors…” (Isa. 53:12), I remembered. Jesus came to save the lost, and that is why He hung on the cross between criminals. And it seems fitting to me that the same thing happens to those whom He has chosen to follow in His footsteps. The apostle Peter wrote: “But let none of you suffer as a murderer or a thief or an evildoer or as a meddler. Yet if anyone suffers as a Christian, let him not be ashamed, but let him glorify God in that name” (1 Pet. 4:15‑16). These words were my support and encouragement in the fiery trials. Satan raged against the believers, and they scattered us all into different cells, and then into different places.
The Special Department sent me to the Arkhangelsk region, to the town of Kotlas — to the construction of a paper mill. Civilians who had been recruited were already working there, but the labour was so harsh that they could not endure it and left. Soldiers were sent, but they could not cope either. So prisoners were thrown into the work. I had to push wheelbarrows loaded with concrete.
Low‑calorie food, work to the point of exhaustion. You had to meet the quota, or else — a table with a reduced food ration and the isolation cell.
I was in this camp for about a year, because the court had given me the ordinary regime. My mother brought me a Bible, but during a “shmon” (search) it was confiscated, I was given fifteen days in the punishment cell, and they put me in solitary confinement. It was wintertime, 30‑40 degrees below zero. The windowpanes were smashed, the window was covered with some rag, and they also shut off the radiators so that no heat would enter the cell. That is called the press. The KGB men ran everything, even in the camp.
In those first years in the camp, I still lived by my naval athletic toughness and courage. For fifteen days I hardly slept; I would lose consciousness only briefly: the fear of catching a cold worried me and kept waking me up. I would get up and jump around in the cell, warming myself at least a little, and then lie down to sleep again. Glory to the Lord, He preserved me from tuberculosis.
After some time I was put in the cell again for ten days, and then the Code changed, and my case was reviewed. From the ordinary regime I was transferred to a strict one and sent to the Yertsevo Directorate. In the Second Epistle to the Corinthians, the apostle Paul wrote about the dangers he experienced on the roads, dangers from robbers. We too had to go through all sorts of things. I recall, for example, the following incident.
In Kotlas I worked in a brigade together with one inmate, a complete orphan who had grown up in a children’s home. He drew close to me, and I shared with him whatever I could from the parcels I was sent. At that time I still had a relaxed regime. When we were gathered for a transport, he went along with me. We were brought to the Yertsevo transit prison, where we stayed in a cell for half a month. This companion of mine noticed that my suitcase contained belongings, but the kit‑bags were in the storage room, and I kept the keys with me. One day he climbed up onto the upper bunk where I was lying, praying inwardly, in my thoughts; he shoved me and said:
“Give me your keys!”
Taken by surprise, at first I did not understand him, but then I realized that he took me for a weakling and fancied, like a blatnoy, that he would take everything from my suitcase. I turned inwardly to the Lord, and a word came to my heart: if someone takes your outer garment, give him your inner garment as well.
I handed him the keys. He jumped down from the bunk, tossing them up and rejoicing. Suddenly the “feeding hatch” — the little door window through which food is passed to the prisoners — opened, and the head of a young warder appeared. This inmate put the keys in his pocket and, evidently wishing to joke in his joy, poked two fingers as if towards the warder’s face. That joke cost him dearly. The frightened warder jerked back, his cap fell into the cell, and he shouted in alarm. Other warders came running at the shout, opened the door, seized the guilty man, threw him out into the corridor and began to beat him severely, and then we could hear how they dragged him along the floor. Fifteen days later we were distributed among camps, and he, having served fifteen days in the isolation cell, entered our cell, searched me out with dull eyes, climbed onto the bunk, and held out the keys to me. He probably understood that one should not repay good with evil. Everyone in the cell was very surprised that I had given up the keys so calmly, and now they said that God had probably punished him because of me.
We were sent to the same camp, where I remained for two and a half years. After this incident, that man became strange: he no longer lived in the section, but scavenged whatever he found at the rubbish dump. It was very painful to look at him.
So I was brought to the camp at Yertsevo, a model camp under the Directorate, which oversaw about forty camps. The camp administration sent me to a logging brigade. I asked to be on duty under the saw frame, cleaning sawdust out of the pit. There they paid almost nothing, and besides, the wages you had not yet earned were deducted for clothing, food, court expenses, leaving five roubles for the shop. But instead, I had a place for prayer. The work zone was large, so there were places to withdraw for prayer, and I thanked God for giving me this opportunity to converse with Him.
A Christian filled with the Holy Spirit is like a bomb ready to explode. In the camp — drug addicts, card games, alcohol… And suddenly — a Bible in the camp! The camp stirred. A notorious moonshiner, Vladimir Dymov, who distilled and sold samogon, causing much trouble in the camp, turned to God. This was immediately reported to the deputy camp commander Skorikov. He summoned Dymov and asked:
“Dymov, is it true that you have come to believe in God?”
“Forgive me for all the evil I have caused; I am now a believer,” Dymov replied.
“I cannot understand whether you have really come to believe in God, or whether I have simply gone mad… Go, Dymov, you’re being released in two days. But give Fedotov five days in the isolation cell because it is through him that Dymov has become a believer!” Skorikov ordered.
Then came another fifteen days. Solitary confinement, a small cubicle, a plank bed — time for reflection and “rest.” In such a cell you begin to understand John the Baptist well; you understand what it is like to be in solitude — it means having much time to reflect on God and to pray.
John the Baptist was in prison, and you understand him well, because you too are surrounded by walls. And he understands you, and this makes things easier for you. His fiery spirit embraces your heart as well. In his heart was all Israel; in yours — Russia. How close we are in spirit, even at a distance of nearly two thousand years! John the Baptist was an uncompromising man; he spoke openly and directly, regardless of persons. But the day of arrest and imprisonment came, and the stone walls constrained John’s spirit. It is good that before us persecuted saints have passed, have passed and left us an example of their life and deeds that we can follow. It was harder for them than for us, because the least in the Kingdom of God is greater than John the Baptist. The Spirit of Pentecost, the power we have received, sustained me in the cell as well, when Satan, through the sons of disobedience, attacked me with the weapon of hunger.
People usually eat three times a day, and sometimes more. The camp authorities gave orders how they should feed Fedotov during the fifteen days in the isolation cell. “Red‑dragon day” — that is how the regime of the most severe hunger was called in camp slang, to which a prisoner was subjected at the decision of the camp administration. The “red‑dragon” ration: 400 grams of black, raw bread and half an aluminium bowl, i.e. 150 grams, of warm water for the whole day. In besieged Leningrad, in the hardest time, they gave 350 grams of bread a day, as much water as you wanted, and freedom. So you could still live; after all, not all of them died.
I remember how one young lad, who had just turned eighteen and was therefore transferred from the juvenile zone to the adult zone, said to me:
“Petrovich, take your water; at least it will warm you up.”
And an “angel’s day” — that is thin soup and 650 grams of bread; you will be alive — you won’t die. After repeated confinements in the isolation cell, they gave me my first BUR — a high‑security barrack. Finishing my fifteen days in the isolation cell, I tried to move as little as possible — I was saving my last strength. On the eleventh day it was Sunday, a “red‑dragon day”; they gave me 400 grams of bread — I divided it into three portions, lay down on the bunk, and lost consciousness. Suddenly I saw a vision: an Angel came to me, took me, carried me out, and placed me in the corridor in front of the door to the commander’s office, and then he entered. Standing behind the door, I heard how the commission was deciding how many months of BUR to assign me. The colony commander demanded six months, but the voice of the Angel prevailed, and I was given three months. The Angel came out of the office and looked at me with a smile. In his hands were three loaves of bread, which he handed to me. I asked him:
“And can’t I fly just as quickly to Moscow, to our church?”
“It is still too early for you,” the Angel replied, turned towards me, and seemed to disappear, yet I still sensed his presence.
Left alone, I walked along the barrack corridor. At the end of the corridor, a door was opened for me; I entered and found myself in a cell where there were about twenty‑five drug‑addicted inmates. One of them recognized me and said:
“Petrovich, give us some bread.”
I broke the bread and began to distribute it to those in the cell. When the Angel, leaving me, stepped away from my bunk, I was drawn after him with such force that I barely managed to cling to the edge of the bunk so as not to fall to the floor. Coming to myself, I walked around the cell and pondered what all this might mean. The experience in the spirit was magnificent; I was abiding in the Holy Spirit.
In the evening, the isolation cell warder, an elderly man who had served thirty‑five years in this camp, knocked on the iron handle with a huge key and said:
“Fedotov, come out! Tomorrow we’ll feed you from the common pot.”
I came out. He handed me a paper:
“Sign here; they’ve given you BUR.”
I said:
“Three months.”
He asked in surprise:
“And how do you know?”
“The Angel of the Lord told me.”
“Who?!”
“The One who came to me; He is not here now,” I replied.
He locked me back in the cell, still marvelling. Four days later they took me to the transit for BUR, and when they led me along the corridor and brought me to that door, I understood that this was it — the door the Angel had shown me. There indeed were the drug addicts brought from all the camps. It was a terrible sight: people exhausted by lack of food and drug dependence, skin stretched over bones. About three hours later the warders came and said that I had ended up in the wrong place. I replied that I had ended up in the right place, because one of the drug addicts was from the same camp as I; he recognized me and began to ask me to tell them about God. Thus began a sermon for all the camps from which the drug addicts had been brought. It was an evangelization in the cell. You should have seen with what thirst they listened! Truly, God’s love is immeasurable: the lower a person falls, the deeper it descends to the fallen. The Spirit of the Lord was upon me, for it was He who had brought me here to preach deliverance to the captives.
Then I was taken to another cell. There sat violators of the camp regime, mostly young men — card players, those who refused to work, and so on. There were about twenty men in the cell, and each had a bag of cheap tobacco. It was a gas‑chamber. You had to sit on the floor so as not to breathe the smoke.
I noticed there a man with a very swollen face, sitting in only his underpants. It turned out that he had been stripped in a card game, completely undressed, his bread ration taken away, and he was swollen from hunger. I had to start a war for this man.
In the first few days everyone went out for exercise, but then fewer and fewer, until finally I was the only one left. The cook said he would bring them all to the point where they would have to walk along the wall (that is, leaning on it to keep from falling). One day, management from the Directorate appeared in the cell: big, tall, well‑fed, broad‑shouldered, well‑dressed men; their faces glowed with a ruddy complexion, so that, as people say, strike a match and it would ignite. When they entered the barrack, everyone, as required, stood up with heads uncovered. Only under the tsar did they remove their headgear as a sign of respect and loyalty. Here in the camp there were tsars and petty tsars all around. When they entered, their eyes roamed over the exhausted faces of this crowd of prisoners, seeking the one for whose sake they had come. Inwardly, the Holy Spirit told me: these men have come for your soul.
Almost every person knows what premonition is. But the action of the Holy Spirit is above human premonition. He does not make mistakes. When I met the gaze of these men, I felt upon myself the malice with which they had come here; I really sensed their hatred and contempt for me. But in contrast, there arose in my heart no answering feeling of contempt or malice, as usually happens here. I felt sorry for them, and somewhere deep inside I even loved them, as it were. Without saying a word, they left.
I told my cellmates that these people had come to look at me. The inmates began to laugh at me and demanded explanations, which became a reason for conversation and gave me an opportunity to witness to them about Jesus Christ. To attract a zek’s attention to yourself is not so simple; they will not listen to just anyone. But they listened to me. Some seriously, others forcing laughter out of themselves, but something remained in their hearts nonetheless. They listen to the urka, they listen to the thief‑in‑law, but they also listen to the Christian. The soul of almost any person is such that it yearns for the bright and the pure — just give it freedom.
The next morning, one inmate fell ill and signed up to see the doctor. You cannot see the doctor at any time; you have to sign up, and if you receive consent, then you can visit the hospital. When he returned, he told us that the doctor said that the fanatic Fedotov was sitting in his cell. It turned out that the very same documentary film “This Alarms Everyone” had been brought to the settlement where the authorities and guards lived; it told how a minister of a Christian community, Fedotov, was sacrificing a girl. Of course, the film did not show this girl, but it gave the impression that such an attempt had been made. Although it was all a fake, people are ready to believe any lie when it is beautifully presented. Thus the anger of the people was stirred. And when they learned that this very Fedotov was sitting in their camp, the senior authorities wanted to have a look at me.
Atheistic propaganda always accompanied me. Even here, it untied the hands of the authorized officials, who could mock me an extra time by putting me in isolation cells and BURs. Without committing any disciplinary violation in the camp, I was thus subjected to punishment practically only because I believed in God. This was repeated many times. But, on the other hand, this gave me both the opportunity and plenty of time to preach and talk with my cellmates. The zone authorities realized their mistake and decided to get rid of me by sending me by transport to another camp. That is how I ended up in Camp No. 4 at Puksoozero.
There was a different atmosphere in this camp. Here the inmates were distributed according to their trades, and since I had been a carpenter since my youth, I was assigned to a construction brigade. For three years I built houses and administrative buildings in that settlement.
I must say that I noticed one peculiarity in all the camps, of which the proverb speaks: “as the priest, so the parish.” The lieutenant colonel, the commander of the camp at Puksoozero, was a strange man; they called him “the arbitrary one.” He did what he wanted and how he wanted, without regard for any instructions, orders, or rules. When he was informed that a sectarian‑prayer had arrived by transport, and was asked what they should do with him, he asked in turn:
“What is his surname and what is his trade?”
“His surname is Fedotov, and by trade he is a carpenter.”
“Then send him to the construction brigade, let him work there. That sort won’t run away and won’t cause us problems. And whether he is a sectarian or something else interests me very little.”
The political officer also turned out to be an interesting man. It is good when one person complements another and they live in harmony; in such a collective everything goes well. It
At Liberty
My personal account showed 180 rubles — wages for ten years. This money was enough to buy an inexpensive suit in a store and a ticket to Moscow, to my mother. I had only a certificate of release, and ten years of labor for the motherland was not counted toward my overall work record. The state showed no care for former prisoners. That’s what he deserves, the criminal, let him go begging, find a job, and live as best he can. Moreover, with the certificate and a mark in the passport, no one would hire me anywhere, with all the consequences that entailed.
Over ten years, Biryulyovo-Tovarnoye was incorporated into Moscow and ceased to exist as a separate administrative unit. The capital expanded, old houses were demolished, my mother was given another apartment, and my former residence registration lost its validity. Without registration, it was impossible to get a job, and my mother would not register me. I applied to three different authorities, but everywhere I was refused. My search for a way to register continued until I learned that under articles 17/136, 206/2, and 108, registration in Moscow was prohibited.
I attended Christian services and earned money as best I could. This lasted three months. Then a local police officer came to us and ordered peremptorily that I leave Moscow within seventy-two hours. I had only three days. I knew what would follow.
We Are Inseparable
But by this time I was no longer alone. With me was my beloved Valentina. She understood me and my difficulties well and helped me in every way, even if only spiritually, but that meant a lot. She also had been baptized in the Holy Spirit and had served three years in prison in Mordovia for the Word of God, to which we will return later.
Our marriage took place on January 2, 1971. Valentina Borisovna Bashmakova changed her maiden name to Fedotova. It was a serious time. The communist-atheist government was at the height of its power. The bourgeoisie, kulaks, and landlords had long been dealt with. From the dark past only sectarians remained, and it was necessary to finish them off too. The communists could not understand that from among them God would make disciples for Himself, and this would continue endlessly, that they would sooner finish themselves off than Christianity. But at that time they thirsted for victory.
Unregistered Christian communities were in an illegal position. They were persecuted so severely that gathering in twos or threes was impossible, so there was nowhere to hold the marriage ceremony. No one dared to receive prisoners — brother and sister — because they could be imprisoned for it. It required sacrificial love, and in that fierce time it was lacking. Prophets sought God’s will on this matter. But, thank God, not everyone experienced such fear — a zealous Christian and loving brother Nikolai Romanyuk gave me his house.
Because of fear of persecution and the real threat of ending up in prison, weddings were often performed at night, in a narrow circle, so that everything happened quietly and unnoticed. The early Christians, due to the fiercest persecution, held their services in catacombs. Through our marriage we gave all believers the opportunity to gather together. Apart from such an occasion, gathering together was possible only on a birthday or at a funeral. This, as a rule, was not persecuted by the authorities.
Valentina Bashmakova
It is time to tell a little about my Valentina, who became my wife—who she is and how we met. In 1955–1957, Valentina was living temporarily in Moscow at the home of her believing aunt, Anna Nikitichna, and went with her to services at the Baptist brethren’s meeting place in Malovuzovsky Lane. As I have already written, this registered congregation was under strict KGB control: they had to report on every person who visited—who he was, where he came from, why he had come. Perhaps this church would not have existed at all, but they needed to show the capitalist gentlemen that in the USSR faith in God was not banned. It was for this facade that the house of prayer existed, where foreign guests were brought, while real churches were persecuted and foreigners were not allowed there.
It was here that I became acquainted with Sister Valya. For some reason, among all the sisters, I singled her out—just her—and for a lifetime. When, in early 1957, as I already mentioned, the Lord baptized me with the Holy Spirit, with the gift of speaking in other tongues, word of this spread throughout the church and reached the leaders. This did not conform at all to the conditions of registration, because it was a direct act of God. The brother-ministers summoned me for a talk and, to please the authorities who had set the registration terms and the order of services, excommunicated me from the church. I understood that this was God’s will, and that God wanted to create His own church, independent of atheistic authority and subject only to God—just as it was two thousand years ago. A small group of believers, baptized in the Holy Spirit, began meeting in houses and apartments, calling themselves Christians of Evangelical Faith, popularly known as Pentecostals. When our numbers grew and we became cramped in homes, we started going out into the forests.
Valentina heard that we had started meeting separately, independently of the authorities, and that among us (this was the most important thing for her) the baptism of the Holy Spirit was taking place, and she burned with zeal to learn more about what it was. After several conversations with me and other brothers, she wanted to come to our meeting, which took place at the home of Vasily Vasilyevich Ryakhovsky in Sokolovka.
After an invitational sermon by Vasily Vasilyevich at that meeting, the Holy Spirit came upon her with the sign of other tongues. Great joy and happiness enveloped her, as well as us. This feeling can only be understood by someone who has experienced it once. A person will not comprehend what sweetness is until they taste something sweet. So, too, those Baptists who excommunicated Sister Valentina could not understand what it means to be baptized with the Holy Spirit, because they themselves had not tasted it.
After Valentina’s temporary residence permit expired, she had to leave Moscow, and the brothers also advised her to do so. As a zealous sister, a believer in God and moreover baptized in the Spirit, she was undesirable there; they could have even put her in prison. Valentina went to Saransk (Mordovian ASSR). When she arrived, it turned out that even the registered Baptist house of prayer there had been closed. Persecution of believers intensified. First Secretary of the CPSU Central Committee N.S. Khrushchev promised soon to show the last believer on television, so the possibility of going to prison for a living evangelical faith was real everywhere. In Chelyabinsk, for example, not only was the house of prayer closed, but a bulldozer demolished it. Then, on Sunday, believers decided to hold a service on the foundation of the ruins. It began to rain. The police came in cars, a bus was brought up, and all the believers were arrested. The ministers were imprisoned; the rest were released.
This is what was done with the houses of prayer of registered congregations. Unregistered congregations had no buildings of their own and, as already mentioned, met in apartments, private houses, in woods, and even in barns. Services sometimes took place by candlelight, with windows fully covered—illegally. Bibles were in short supply; believers copied Gospels, psalm collections, and Christian stories by hand. When discovered, all this was confiscated and destroyed by the KGB, but… everything was copied again, and it was no longer possible to stop it.
Burning with desire to proclaim the truth of Holy Spirit baptism to brothers and sisters, Valentina began going from house to house in Saransk, talking with people and explaining that they, too, needed to receive this gift. Some accepted her words and some did not, but a small group of believers who wanted to receive the gift of the Holy Spirit formed. Then Valentina wrote me a letter, appealing to the brothers to come to Saransk and help her in this labor. From this small beginning, the church of Christians of Evangelical Faith in Mordovia started—where before there had been no such believers.
The year 1958 arrived. Taking leave, Alexey Zuev and I went to Saransk. Along the way we visited the settlements of Vërdy and Shatsk, where we had fellowship with local Christians and opened to them the truth about spiritual baptism. The Word of God was received there with joy, and many souls were won.
Already in Saransk, I had a dream at night: a river locked in ice, and suddenly a large crack appeared along its entire length. That is how it is in spring, before the ice is about to break up. Then more and more cracks appear, and the ice begins to move down the river, at first slowly and with halts, but it is no longer possible to stop this movement. I told this dream to everyone in the house, and we understood that the effect of the fast we had agreed to undertake had already begun: myself, Alexey, Sister in the Lord Valentina (who would only become my wife twelve years later—at that time I did not even call her my fiancée), and her mother, Maria Nikitichna. We agreed to continue our fast. On the second night—the same dream, but cracks appeared in the ice and became more and more numerous. Our daytime prayers continued, and the fast as well. And then, on the third night, I saw the same dream, but the ice on the river had already broken and was moving downstream with the water.
That same day, people came from the Baptist church to our home—already prepared and appointed by God for spiritual baptism. We simply explained it thoroughly and correctly on the basis of the Holy Scriptures, and all six persons received spiritual baptism at the very first prayer. For this to happen, it pleased God to bring us there from six hundred kilometers away.
Once, after I had returned home, a man I did not know came to me—a small, thin old man who could barely cross the threshold. At first I thought he was a homeless person. He was so physically weak that when he lay down to sleep, I was so worried that I could not fall asleep myself: I kept thinking, what if he died—what would I do with him then, how would I explain myself to the authorities? The next day we held a meeting in the forest, and this elder turned out to be such a spiritually strong man that after his sermon, at prayer, God baptized four people at once with the Spirit. Where did his physical frailty go! In human weakness God reveals His glory. He began speaking like a weak little old man, but when the Holy Spirit came upon him, strength from on high came, he was transformed and spoke loudly, with boldness—it seemed as if power was just pouring out of him overflowing.
The following Sunday another ten people received spiritual baptism, and then I sent him to Saransk, where there was a need for such a person at that time. After his visit, God baptized six more there with the Holy Spirit, and the Saransk church grew, despite the persecution raised against it, and was strengthened in power.
Thus, through a young girl who had returned home from Moscow, the fire of the Holy Spirit spread into Mordovia. God used these fragile vessels for the salvation of human souls, to the glory of God’s name. Everything proceeds from Him and returns to Him. May His name be glorified!
Soon the news that the Lord had begun to baptize with the Holy Spirit reached the KGB, and Valentina received her first summons to appear before the commissioner for religious affairs. After that she was called to the KGB many times; they shamed her: a young girl like you, and you believe in God, Who, they claimed, does not exist. They tried to dissuade Valentina, then threatened to put her in prison. Throughout all this, she never stopped testifying about the baptism of the Holy Spirit, and the fire of the Holy Spirit spread through Mordovia. Groups of those baptized with the Holy Spirit appeared in the town of Alatyr, the villages of Kabaevo, Maidan, and other places.
Since Valentina remained firm in her convictions, she was taken to the head of the local KGB office. He was rather surprised, because he had expected to see an elderly woman, and before him stood a young, slender girl.
“So, this is that archimandrite who travels around Mordovia with a Bible in hand?!” he said in surprise. “I’ve seen ones like you!”
“That means you will have no excuse,” Valentina replied. “And if you do not repent, after death you will go to eternal torment.”
Seeing that the girl answered him fearlessly, the KGB man flew into a rage and said to the employee who had brought her:
“Rake her over the coals at the factory and throw her out of her job!”
Systematic preparations for a trial began. First, the newspaper Soviet Mordovia printed a slanderous feuilleton in which everything except Valentina’s name and surname was a lie. It claimed that she went to Brother Boris Trubenkov, who worked with her at the factory and had come to faith, and said to him:
“You’ve drunk too much vodka! Your sins won’t be forgiven this way; you need to sacrifice your daughter” (he had twin girls).
He supposedly replied:
“Let’s sacrifice Tanya; she’s meek.”
And they allegedly went, the three of them, to the edge of the forest. They came there, and Valentina had a knife and a rope in her hands.
“Here, cut or hang!” she supposedly said to him.
But then, out of nowhere, volunteer squad members ran out of the bushes and “saved” Tanya. The volunteers were always on top of things—in the right place at the right time. It’s just that their names and addresses were not given in the feuilleton, because some curious people might actually go to the given address and the deception would be uncovered. They had thought about how it all needed to be written, after all. And such wild fabrications were passed off as reality, and people believed them! Adult uncles and aunties wrote all this nonsense, knowing they were writing lies. And adult uncles and aunties who often also understood they were being fooled read it. Nevertheless, this whole story served as a pretext to organize a comrades’ court at the factory.
The trial took place in the workshop where Valentina worked. People were assembled from several workshops. Prearranged representatives of the public spoke. The matter did not concern them personally. Just think—one less worker at the factory! But it was a chance to get yourself noticed as a loyal public activist. Should one worry about the truthfulness of one’s own words? “It’s not my business,” they would say; “the higher authorities have already thought everything through; I just need to repeat what the senior comrades suggest.” And as for conscience—these people had none. They thought only about quickly finishing the comrades’ court and handing its decision over to the public court—and then home!
A few days later, it was broadcast on local radio and posters were put up around town, announcing that in the House of Unions a public trial would be held against the Pentecostals and their ringleader, Valentina Bashmakova. The public trial was staged on a grand scale. Komsomol members were rounded up from various educational institutions and herded into the city House of Unions, set aside for such a case, to fill all the seats and prevent believers from entering—believers who would at least have tried to help Valentina, if only to support her by their presence.
A KGB representative from the factory’s first department read the feuilleton in a menacing voice, making expressive pauses for reflection, inflamed the crowd, and drove them into such a rage that people in the crowd began to shout:
“She should be fried in a skillet! She should be hanged! She should be killed with her own knife!”
They shouted so fiercely that even the KGB representative grew frightened and began trying to calm the crowd, but he could not calm them. In such fury people could have resorted to lynch law, which was entirely tolerated during the years of the revolution and later during the period of dekulakization. You just need to skillfully work up a crowd…
Somewhat calmed by the representative of the authorities, the public court decided to pass the case up the chain—to be considered by the people’s court. An investigator was appointed, who concocted an indictment under Article 227, Part 1. The investigator handling Valentina’s case traveled with her to the places where she had preached. He demanded that she pay his travel expenses and feed him in a restaurant. Valentina was so meek and devoted to the Lord that she decided not to resist the investigator and to do as he commanded. And in the restaurant he denied himself nothing—he ate whatever he wanted.
At the trial, pre-prepared individuals also spoke, and everything revolved around that lying feuilleton. The concocted indictment was the same, and on its basis the people’s court sentenced Valentina under Article 227, Part 1 to deprivation of liberty for three years.
In confinement, Valentina worked and conducted herself as befits a Christian: she labored without complaint during the day in a sewing workshop, where she sewed double quotas of work mittens, and at night she washed floors. After a year and a half of this life in the Ruzaevka transit prison, the prison warden, Major A.P. Timonin, brought her case before a commission for early conditional release. At the commission, Valentina was asked:
“And how will you behave when you’re free?”
“According to the law of freedom,” the girl answered.
Knowing her zealous stand in the faith, the officials inquired:
“And how is that to be understood?”
“According to the law of the Bible.”
The commission members tried to coax Valent
On the road again
After the wedding, Valentina and I left Moscow for the town of Alexandrov in Vladimir Oblast. There we stayed with a Baptist sister, Vera Rodionovna, who registered us in her house. But even here we had no peace. In less than three months I was summoned to the police station, where, on instructions from the KGB, they declared that I must be at my registered address by 7 p.m. and could leave the house only at six in the morning. This meant “being placed under surveillance.” I refused and immediately cancelled my registration.
From Alexandrov we moved to the Tula region, to the Prilokskaya station. With our mutual consent, Valentina’s mother sold her apartment in Saransk and bought half a house here. Valya took all our passports, went to the village council, and they registered us there. The KGB records contain information about our deregistration, but not about our new registration: a person vanished. We could have lived quietly, but we could not do without fellowship with believers, so we began attending services in the Baptist community. However, since the registration conditions oblige them to report every guest, literally a few days later the district officer came to place me under surveillance. And once again we moved—this time to the town of Maloyaroslavets in Kaluga Oblast. In this town we bought a house and registered it in the name of Maria Nikitichna, Valya’s mother. It pleased the Lord to keep me in this town for many years, perhaps even forever. And not only to keep me, but also to allow me to become firmly established—more about that a little later. But for now, everything in order.
In 1972, changes occurred in my life, this time pleasant for me and unpleasant for my “friends” in the KGB. Bishops Mikhail Ivanovich Ivanov, Pavel Stepanovich Egorenkov, and Nikolai Martyanovich Kaminsky came to Moscow, sent by the Holy Spirit to accomplish a work ordained by God. My accomplice Ivan Korchagin, who had served five years in prison and five in exile, and I were summoned to Moscow, where these ministers ordained us to presbyteral ministry. Thus the Lord, for faithfulness in small things, entrusts greater work, just as He said in the parable of the talents: “He who had received the five talents came forward, bringing five talents more, saying, ‘Master, you delivered to me five talents; here, I have made five talents more.’ His master said to him, ‘Well done, good and faithful servant. You have been faithful over a little; I will set you over much. Enter into the joy of your master’” (Matthew 25:20-21).
Just three months later, God entrusted me with the ministry of Bishop of Moscow and First Bishop for Russia, and, moreover, He concealed it from the all-seeing eye of the KGB, otherwise they would never have permitted it. But if God conceals something, you can stare at it and not see. Satan knows that if you strike the shepherd, the sheep will scatter, and that is why his servants from the KGB try above all to do this.
Sheep indeed possess a unique ability to recognize their shepherd, and the shepherds know this. When a large flock of sheep is driven to the watering troughs, and a few minutes later two more flocks arrive, all the sheep get mixed together so that they cannot be separated. But after an hour, when the sheep have drunk, the first shepherd calls his sheep and walks away to the pasture. Following the sound of his voice, only his sheep run out of the jumbled mass. The second shepherd calls his—and they follow him. And, amazingly, the sheep never make a mistake. Once, a shepherd in Kazakhstan was asked whether a sheep might confuse its shepherd and follow another. He replied that it only happens in exceptional cases—when the sheep is very ill and has lost its hearing so that it no longer hears the shepherd’s voice, or its sight has weakened and it cannot recognize him, or its sense of smell is gone and it cannot distinguish its own sheep by scent. Such a sheep usually follows no one.
In winter, when a snowstorm overtakes a flock, the sheep inevitably scatter. But if they see the shepherd standing, they surround him on all sides with the whole flock and remain in place. If the shepherd lies down to shelter from the storm, the sheep wander off in different directions and perish. In Kazakhstan it happened that shepherds froze to death standing on their feet. When the storm ended and other shepherds came to help, they would find the sheep standing together in a tight huddle, and none had perished—only the shepherd. None of us will perish if we constantly fix our eyes on our Shepherd—Jesus Christ, who died for us and rose again to take us to His dwelling places.
When they asked me whether I agreed to accept ministry in the unregistered brotherhood, I replied that the Church of Jesus Christ, according to the Apostle Paul, is betrothed to Jesus Christ and to no other, and so she will remain. On that basis I was ordained, and I hold to that word to this very day.
I knew that the structures of our government would not leave me in peace, and I prepared for new bonds: I slept on a hard bed, fasted often to prepare my stomach for hunger, and undertook heavy physical exertion. Here my naval training came in handy again. I divided my time between work and the church; I went home only to sleep.
In Maloyaroslavets we bought house number nine on Zelionaya Street and, as always, registered it in Maria Nikitichna’s name. We knew perfectly well that I could not register the house in my own name because, according to the new legislation, upon arrest all property would be confiscated, and we would lose this house. Valentina was registered in her mother’s house as her daughter. When I brought my passport for registration, the official held it in his hands, turned it over, pondered what to do, and refused me. And that meant that you are a nobody in this town, and no one will hire you for work. Perhaps they might allow you to stay here a little while as a guest, and even that would be good. Usually they gave 72 hours to leave the town. If the town had the status of a closed city (a phenomenon that existed only in Russia), you had to leave within 24 hours. And in a city like Blagoveshchensk in Amur Oblast, you couldn’t even visit without a pass. Everything that went on there was shrouded in secrecy, which to this day has not been illuminated, but some of our brothers penetrated it.
A dialogue arose between me and the head of the passport office. I maintained that he was obliged to register me at my wife’s place of residence, since the family is indivisible, but he insisted that this town is closed to people like me. After a difficult conversation, he agreed to register me temporarily. Everywhere you had to humiliate yourself, beg, plead; everywhere you were made to understand that you were an outsider, a second-class person, a nobody. That was exhausting and demanded tremendous nervous tension, but God, in whom we trust, strengthened and helped us.
Leaving the passport office, I told Valya that they had registered me only temporarily. She looked into the passport and said:
“Permanently.”
“Temporarily.”
“Permanently!”
I looked myself into the passport—and indeed, the stamp read “Registered permanently.” We ran home quickly, before the passport could be taken away. Just think: they mixed it up—instead of “temporarily” they wrote “permanently” in the stamp. What joy that was! We arrived home and in prayer glorified God, because this “permanently” was from Him. That stamp is valid to this day, although the passports have been changed many times.
The next day I ran to look for work, for young, capable, strong hands are needed everywhere, and the Lord says, “Whatever your hand finds to do, do it with your might…” (Ecclesiastes 9:10).
We traveled far to Moscow for services, and once we thought, why not establish a church here in our own town? Then we wouldn’t have to travel to Moscow anymore. In the Gospel, Jesus Christ left us the teaching on how to build a church—living, holy, for reasonable service and the salvation of human souls, one that Satan himself cannot overcome. I decided that we needed to start a fast and begin to pray for the establishment of a local church. My wife and Maria Nikitovna supported me, and we undertook a dry fast for five days—meaning we ate and drank nothing during that time. Our mouths dried up, saliva became thick, stomach pains began, but we endured it all normally, and the power of the Holy Spirit descended upon us.
We went to the Baptists, to the prayer house. The minister of the local registered church gave me an opportunity to preach. I very simply told what is written in the Word of God about the Holy Spirit, but He seasoned those words with grace and descended upon all the believers, so that many in the congregation cried out with joy. After the meeting, on the street, brothers and sisters surrounded me.
“Brother Ivan, are you baptized in the Holy Spirit?”
“How do you know that?” I asked them in return.
“We felt His power!” Then I confirmed:
“Yes!”
“We have been praying about this for a long time, but we had no mentor who could teach us properly. And now God has sent you!”
At that time the Holy Spirit was working so powerfully that God immediately baptized seventeen of them. And because this was a registered church, and by the registration conditions it was forbidden to pray in the Holy Spirit in other tongues, all seventeen of them were excommunicated from the church. Nowadays, there are also those among Baptists who have this gift, but they are usually not excommunicated, though this is not so everywhere.
The following Sunday they all came to me, and that was the beginning of a new, spiritual church in Maloyaroslavets. And right after them came the police. They reacted very quickly, since a report is made to the authorized official for religious cults about every service, and now such a remarkable thing had occurred! The first official act was written for the future case, which was destined to grow and swell. But the church also began to multiply and spread throughout Kaluga Oblast.
My work as Bishop over Moscow and Russia was so extensive that I had to use all kinds of transportation, including airplanes. The territory of the USSR is enormous, and what’s more, I had to be at work on Monday at eight o’clock in the morning. Just try to keep track of me—and think what kind of staff that would require! But the Soviet authorities took that step, sparing no expense (since it is all paid for from the pockets of the workers anyway), because they saw me as a dangerous enemy and criminal, even though they knew perfectly well that I was involved in nothing of the sort. Sometimes it was so hard to fit into the short weekend trips to visit someone that I had to return on the last commuter train or in a brother’s car. However, I was never late for work, because they watched me as if I were a hardened criminal who had spent ten years in prisons and camps—although this criminal taught people to love one another, not to harm one another, and not to sin. Thus to Caesar was rendered what was Caesar’s, and to God what was God’s.
Such work was, of course, wearing out, but thank God, He gave me strength and health. I rested only during lunch, because I wanted to make up for those stolen ten years with labor in the Lord’s field. Zeal for God’s work burned within me. It is impossible to express in words that thirst I felt inside: I wanted to labor, labor, and labor for my Lord. But there were not enough workers; I simply could not cover the entire territory entrusted to me as I wished.
Once I heard that several students at the Stroganov Moscow Art Institute had believed, and of course they were expelled from the institute for it. Among them was Vladimir Murashkin, who moved to Vilnius, the capital of Lithuania. One minister told me about him, I invited him to help, and he responded. How good it is when you call a person and he responds, when you ask for help and hear in reply: “Here I am.” Then it is as if wings grow on you, so strong do you feel. This is power from God; He has poured it into you anew.
Brother Vladimir came to Maloyaroslavets, and our joint work was very successful. The church grew spiritually and numerically. This greatly alarmed our authorities, especially the punitive organs. They took down our names, agitated against us, fined us, and we paid those fines, but continued to gather regularly as a whole community, and not only in our town but also with believers from other cities. Nikolai Kostyanoy and his parents, Vasily Ivanovich Schegolev with his wife Rita and their children came to help us. We were few in this town, but we made ourselves known not only in the town but in the oblast and beyond. In the authorities’ lists, all of us were recorded, but Vladimir Murashkin and I were singled out as the most zealous in serving God. We were like a bone in the throat to the authorities, and they began to gather material and prepare a case against us. In response, we increased our prayers and fasting.
Maloyaroslavets at first did not receive us; the city had yet to be won. They mobilized the public against Christians, though the public, by and large, did not care who believed what. But this fight was directed by the KGB, which was the executive structure of the Communist Party and a tool for imposing its ideology. And the public were merely pawns in the hands of the all-powerful KGB, which skillfully hid behind “the will of the people” and “the power of the people.” The city executive committee, the militia, the Komsomol members, the volunteer patrols, and representatives of the public with party cards—this enormous army was moved against a small group of believers in Maloyaroslavets. We were officially registered here, the town was not a closed city, so we could not be evicted; therefore, they had to either re-educate us or, if that failed, imprison us all. And the people, the so-called public, would shout whatever was required: kill them, tear them apart, destroy them! All that was needed was one ringleader in the crowd to set the tone, shouting the first words, and the rest would help, support, chime in—and the spectacle was ready, just as it was at Murashkin’s wedding. They took down our names, drew up official reports, fined us, dispersed us, shouting “This is an unsanctioned assembly!” and, naturally, threw us into prison. But we gradually won the city, and little by little it was becoming Christian, because we brought the world the teaching of Jesus Christ—the teaching of love and forgiveness, peace and building up—which, if the planet would accept it, would bring peace to the world.
The fiery assault was directed, first of all, against the ministers, and only trust in Jesus Christ gave us strength. He was the Pioneer there in Palestine, and by His death He brought us victory and the salvation of human souls. In Maloyaroslavets we became pioneers, strengthened even to this day by Jesus Christ, who gives us power. As the Apostle Paul wrote, “I can do all things through him who strengthens me” (Philippians 4:13).
I was subjected to especially strict surveillance; they surrounded me with red flags on all sides, literally and figuratively. These flags were especially numerous during Communist holidays. Wherever you looked, everything was red: shops, administrative buildings, and often residential houses. Across the streets stretched red banners, mostly with one phrase: “Forward to the victory of communism!” The owner of the house next door asked me to cut down a tree that was in his way, and I knew that it hindered him from watching my house and my windows. I fulfilled his request, because it is better to know the person watching you; it is easier then to slip away somewhere unnoticed than to guard against a new, unfamiliar observer.
A small group of Christians confronted an enormous army of atheism. And once again there were official acts, reports of meetings and sessions—material was being gathered for the investigation and trial, and all this proceeded at a forced pace, ahead of schedule. One fortunate prisoner who received nine years told me about how Soviet justice was sometimes administered. A sleepy judge, exhausted from the previous day’s drinking bout, says at the judicial conference to his colleagues:
“We haven’t had a ‘nine’ for a long time; tens we have plenty, but it seems we’ve forgotten the number nine… Let’s give him a little nine.”
A lucky one—he was fortunate to get only nine years! Sometimes it would happen: a judge would reach into his pocket, rummage around, pull out a three-kopeck coin, and make a dissatisfied grimace. But the second assessor showed him up: he too reached into his pocket and pulled out a ten-kopeck coin. Adding the two together, they gave a man thirteen years in prison. He was out of luck, because nine and thirteen is a difference of four years, and four years in a camp, especially a strict-regime or closed one, is a very long time; one year of life in a camp is equal to ten years in freedom.
In this difficult time, the time came for Vladimir Murashkin to settle his life, and he chose a good girl after his own heart as his bride, Olga Zakharova. The wedding was to take place in Kaluga, where he lived and worked. Guests were invited from Moscow, Maloyaroslavets, and other cities. We prepared for the upcoming wedding, and our opponents also prepared intensely. The plan was to hold only the wedding and no other gatherings, but enormous forces had already been set in motion against us: KGB officers, militia, volunteer patrols, representatives of the authorities. We knew this.
On the night before the wedding—it was set for August 4, 1974—our neighbors’ dog barked loudly. I looked out the window—a man was walking along the street without moving away from our house. It was not difficult for me to figure out who it was; I already had a great deal of experience. I calmly went to bed; after all, the guard is on duty outside, so no one will disturb me, rest as much as you like. Only the restless dog recognizes no authorities, barking and barking. To its barking I fell asleep.
Early in the morning we went to catch the commuter train to go to the wedding in Kaluga. In my spirit I sensed that I was being watched, and although no one was visible, I was sure that this feeling was not deceiving me. Four people sat down in our carriage not far from me, and they behaved not like ordinary passengers but warily. Our believers were traveling to the wedding dressed festively, with flowers, and all were supposed to get off in Kaluga. But these four were not like the rest, the Holy Spirit prompted me.
One stop before Kaluga, I decided to test my suspicions. I went out into the vestibule and stood by the door, as if resting, and those four also came out and stood, tensely, beside me. The train stopped, the automatic door opened, I stood still, and they also stood. So, it was all clear: I would not make it to this wedding. I relaxed and even leaned against the wall—and they were calm. But at the moment the door was closing, when the hiss of air in the brake system was heard, I pushed off the wall, took a step—and I was already on the platform. The carriage doors closed. Oh, you should have seen their faces! What didn’t they display—everything from astonishment to vicious hatred.
The train started moving, but suddenly stopped again because they pulled the emergency brake. However, the engineer did not open the carriage doors; his swearing was heard over the public address system:
“Blockheads, close the valve!”
And I did not linger on the platform (what if the engineer opened the doors), waved my hand to them, and set off on foot toward Kaluga. There are many back roads, and so I arrived just in time for the wedding. I had no right to return home, and I guessed at the consequences. But as Jesus said, “No one who puts his hand to the plow and looks back is fit for the kingdom of God” (Luke 9:62). The Holy Spirit was telling me within that the work begun must be finished, without retreating, but fixing my eyes on the Founder and Perfecter of faith—Jesus Christ, who went to Golgotha and went further, through death on the cross, to resurrection. It is good, of course, when you are free and surrounded by friends, and your beloved wife awaits you at home; besides, I knew what the prison zone was, but I also knew what divine leading was, and therefore I said in my heart: lead me on, Lord!
When I approached the house, I saw that the militia stationed there was not allowing our sisters to enter. A man in civilian clothes was speaking with the sister cooks. The Spirit of the Lord came upon me, and I realized that today I am the master here. Seeing that the sisters hesitated, afraid to go into the house, I went up to the militiamen and literally commanded:
“Let them through, they’ve come for the wedding!”
They obeyed me, and we all went into the house together.
There, a representative of the authorities was sitting on a chair in front of a small cupboard on which lay a pen and a sheet of paper. Looking at me, he asked:
“Do you have permission for this meeting?”
“Here there will be a wedding,” I answered. “Are you invited to this wedding?”
Without waiting for an answer, I took the small cupboard, moved it to another spot, and said loudly:
“I am invited to this wedding! Brothers and sisters, let us pray and ask for God’s blessing.”
We began to pray. Slipping unnoticed along the wall, pushing through the crowd, this man went outside. But he called for reinforcements, and a few minutes later additional militia forces arrived in cars and on motorcycles. Our brothers and sisters were entering the house, while outside, goaded by militiamen and people in civilian clothes, people gathered from all the surrounding houses. They ran up and down the street shouting:
“The sectarians are sacrificing children! They are meeting in that house!”
The situation was heating up. I could not retreat, but I remained amazingly calm. The lying propaganda that Pentecostals sacrifice people was penetrating the hearts of gullible citizens. This was the official policy of the Communists in their fight against the unregistered church, baptized in the Holy Spirit, which stood in this battle like regiments with banners. The enraged crowd was held back by the militia themselves—after all, they could not permit disorders in the city, especially since this wedding had already been reported to Moscow. From the capital came an order:
“They won’t disperse, these are Fedotovites! Lift the siege, so that nothing worse happens and it doesn’t get even more publicity.”
In Moscow they already knew whom they were dealing with, but the Kaluga militia were only just getting acquainted with Pentecostals. They tried to disperse the crowd using the very militia that had gathered it, but they failed. Tired—or rather for another reason—they drove off, leaving two militiamen with a motorcycle on duty outside the house.
People had been given a false idea about believers. To dispel it, we opened the windows and preached the Word of God to everyone. Then the young people went out into the street and sang Christian hymns. Every resident of the nearby houses, deceived by Soviet agitation and the incitement of the authorities’ representatives, could come up and speak with us, and see with their own eyes whether Evangelical Christians were sacrificing anyone. And people did come and talk with us. And on this edge of the earth, reckoning from Jerusalem, we as followers and disciples of Jesus Christ proclaimed Him. A respectable man from among those surrounding us came up and said:
“You have won! Stand firm in that.”
That was the first open-air evangelization in Kaluga—August 4, 1974. And for a whole week afterward the Spirit of God brought joy to the Christians.
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