Cassock

I live in a small town. Its population is about fifty thousand. Naturally, everyone knows one another. And so one day, I had to go to the bank to add cash to my debit card account. I had to do it urgently, because the month was coming to an end and I had some unpaid utility bills for my apartment. But, because of my vacation last month, I had to pay for two months at once and the amount I owed was quite large by my standards. But with God’s help I had saved the sum I needed and so I faced the task of “feeding” a stack of cash (and some of it was honestly borrowed from trustworthy friends) to the nearest ATM machine.

I’ve already served as a priest for a long while, to be sure, for the last fifteen years, and so I’ve gotten used to wearing a cassock everywhere I go. I rarely wear something else, the only exception being when I am on vacation. I also wear it even when I go to a local bank. But I actually don’t like going there wearing a cassock—it always seems as if everyone is looking at me thinking: “Look, here comes a priest who made some money selling candles and picking grannies clean, and now he is lugging his cash to the bank. So, here he is, putting his stash away at high interest…” That’s why I prefer to visit a bank in my civilian clothes, so as not to attract attention.

But on that day, I went there dressed in a cassock. I got up early. I thought: I’ll arrive before the bank is open, when no one will be around. I’ll go to the ATM and deposit the money unbothered. I must have gotten the timing wrong or had a delay on the way there, but I came when the bank had just opened. People were already scurrying about. Well, I still had to make a deposit, since the payment was due today. So, I thought I should be fine. I also had no choice—I simply had to go inside. I got out of the car and walked into the bank in my cassock. I stepped inside and walked to the ATM. I inserted my card, typed in my pin code, and selected “Deposit cash.” While I was performing all the necessary operations, I heard someone slam open the front door and enter the bank. This someone came in and stood right behind me. A thought immediately passed through my head: Here we go… Now, this someone must be standing there counting my money. Like, “How many candles has this priest sold?!

I slowly turned halfway and, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a young woman. She realized that I made notice of her and approached me at a fast pace:

“Father! Bless!”

I blessed her and heard how at the same time the ATM’S cash counter furiously and lengthily began to count my change. The woman, once she received my blessing, lit up and smiled:

“I just couldn’t believe my eyes! I saw how a priest entered the bank at such an early hour. My heart even skipped a beat! My husband’s going to war today! Don’t go away! I’ll bring him now! Bless him!”

And she hurriedly ran away. The terminal finished counting the money, rumbling sweetly, and having “consumed” another portion of cash, it hiccupped and fell silent. The door to the bank opened again and the perky woman showed up on the threshold, only this time she was followed modestly by a tall, sturdy man who was pushing a child in a stroller.

“You see!” she said to her spouse.

“I told you it’s a batiushka! And you—‘it can’t be so, it can’t be so!’ Bless him, batiushka! He’s leaving today!”

I took the pectoral cross out of my cassock, blessed him and gave him the cross to venerate. I was leaving the bank as if I was treading on air! As if it were not me who had just given all my savings to the ATM machine, but as if I had been given an “unscheduled salary.” I was walking away feeling happy and thinking:

“Now I will always go to the bank wearing a cassock!”