The Agony of Indecision

“Then dipping the piece of bread He gave it to Judas Iscariot…as soon as Judas took the bread, Satan entered into him. ‘What you are about to do, do quickly,’ Jesus told him” (John 13:26)

It was the Soviet times, 1974. Trying to talk over the noise of the TU-114 on the tedious flight back to Moscow from Novosibirsk, Father Vitaly and I were discussing Christ’s enigmatic advice to Judas after the Last Supper: “What you are about to do, do quickly.” Decide, then do.

The priest theologian was most likely a “number two” on the Frolov loyalty list of the three possible categories. It meant that he was conditionally reliable when let out of the USSR, most likely to follow the party line, but not necessarily. The first rank included the trustworthy [to the state], those with some reason to fear exposure if the Soviet regime deemed it necessary to punish them; however, it was not likely. They had something to hide—homosexuality, adultery, mismanagement of church funds, or having been caught up in some sort of scandal. The last category was the brave and heedless that the watchdogs guarded carefully. They could not be trusted. They may have opened churches without full disclosure, ordained clergy without clearance, or held secret meetings with dissidents. Borderline rebels: “Not guilty but it’s still his fault,” as the saying has it.

The Lord was being merciful to the traitor, not wishing him any more anxiety over his decision. Many choices in a lifetime are not clear and simple. Father Vitaly used his own situation as an example of the agony over options. He himself was often chosen to represent the Russian Orthodox Church in various ecumenical and interfaith meetings in freedom, as they called the world beyond communist control. He knew it was important to the Soviet government to give the illusion of religious liberty to all believers in God despite the basic atheist conviction imposed on the inhabitants of the USSR. It was important for the façade to continue until the end, and it was the means of survival for the Church according to the officially recognized Orthodox Christian structure.

Finally, when the last session would end and it was time to return, the free atmosphere of the west breathed at the airport and recalled on the flight back to the Red Sector of Berlin, just before leaving the American or British Sector, the temptation to remain nibbled at his conscience. How simple it would be to just walk off. Were there KGB agents in the shadows? Certainly. Could they be outmaneuvered? What freedom-loving human with any common sense would not concoct a scenario that would make escape a success? To teach in a western seminary, to write without worry of censorship, or just to move about and walk without concern for being followed. To daydream of such a life free of intimidation or apprehension—if only.

Carrying the tattered suitcase, touching the essential papers while moving towards Checkpoint Charlie, one must put all the fantasies aside. Ignore them, reject them and continue walking. Show again the credentials to another fresh faced, unsmiling aluminum-colored guard who scrutinizes them as if they were the Rosetta Stone, then, barely nodding, gives the gesture to proceed. Abandon All Hope, as Dante wrote. Would there be a long “shampoo” [harsh interrogation] at the other end of the flight? Who knows? If he were not taken to be grilled but merely left to return to his apartment, then from the first phone he came to he would dial Matushka, always with the same ritual phrase to let her know that, glory be to God, all is well and he would be able to go home directly:

“Yes, it’s me. I’m at the airport. I will go to the Ukraina Hotel restaurant. I will order borscht, meat and vodka. Then I will come home.” Exactly those words, in that precise order. It meant that all is well, at least for the present.