The Malorussian diocese with its bishop is constructing a monastery for the Russian Orthodox Church Abroad near Kyiv.

"Look for traitors in the Verkhovna Rada. They are not here."

"Wow, what is this?" asks the taxi driver who is taking me to the village of Malaya Soltanovka, located 45 km from Kyiv. Here lies the St. John the Theologian Monastery of the Russian Orthodox Church Abroad. More precisely, one of its branches that emerged after the schism — the Little Russian Diocese.

The luxurious domes and tall towers resemble a huge castle rather than a temple. Beneath the church, red bricks are piled up — construction has been ongoing here for nearly twenty years. In the yard, I meet Vadim. He has a gray beard, a bandana, and headphones. The man stands on a platform near a chapel. He is an artist creating mosaics and is currently laying out a figure of Archangel Gabriel.

The artist gestures towards a large wall opposite, which depicts the city of Jerusalem. It took him a year to complete this mosaic. I ask how much it costs. He laughs in response: "A lot."

Vadim mentions that the war has affected his creative work: previously, he used smalt from a factory in the Luhansk region (which was destroyed by the Russians) or from Italy, but the war has complicated this process.

Vadim witnessed when the Security Service of Ukraine visited here. Special forces come more frequently to the nearby monastery belonging to the so-called Moscow Patriarchate. "There’s nothing here; many of the construction workers have gone to the front," says the artist.

An elderly man walks by carrying a bucket of garbage. He works here as a builder and comes from Kyiv. "We are also Christians," he replies when asked why he attends this monastery.

Alexey appears in the yard — a broad-shouldered man dressed in a white cassock, with a black kufiya over it. He has blue eyes and a long silver beard. He hands Vadim a bundle of money — I notice that it consists of folded 100 euro bills. He confirms Vadim's words about the visits from the SBU.

"The SBU was looking for weapons: some idiot-deputy wrote that he saw green boxes. They brought six cars. Thirty people. In helmets and body armor. It’s ridiculous," says Alexey.

My conversation with Alexey does not start off well. "You seem like you arrived not from Kyiv, but from some backwoods." He is the Bishop of Soltanov and Little Russia. Essentially the owner of this place. My request for him not to speak from a position of superiority seems to touch him. "We cannot talk with you," he says, and heads toward a gazebo in the yard.

I make a second attempt to talk. A nun is sitting next to the bishop. Alexey either hears me poorly or doesn’t understand — the nun translates my questions into Russian for him, specifically asking why the diocese is called Little Russian. Then the bishop responds in Russian: "Is the Lavra not Russian? Are Anton and Theodosius not Russian? Just because the Muscovites took that name for themselves does not mean they are already Russian. This is not the Moscow Patriarchate."

In his view, the term "Little Russia" lacks political, ethnic, or linguistic connotations. He believes it often refers to the initial or central part of a country or city. Similar to the Greek tradition, where the native lands were called Little Greece, and the colonized ones — Great Greece.

Alexey, also known as Yevgeny Pergamentsev, was born in Kyiv. He says he studied in a Ukrainian-speaking boarding school but does not want to switch to the state language. He claims it’s difficult at 77 to "change articulation," and he cannot stand surzhyk: "I do not speak Ukrainian to avoid distorting the language, but I understand everything."

The nun who translates for him is his ex-wife. They have three children. At some point, they divorced and both took monastic vows. According to church canon, only a monk can become a bishop, so perhaps it was for Alexey's career, in the world Yevgeny, that his wife took such a step.

When asked where he gets money for the construction of the monastery, Alexey responds:

"The church always exists on donations. I have no major sponsors, but I have 10-20 thousand donors. If for 20 years you don’t steal or buy cars and apartments — that’s the result. There’s also a box in the church (a donation box — ed.)." He also mentions that parishioners from Canada, the USA, France, and Germany help.

In 2007, Alexey, as stated by the Russian Orthodox Church, appealed to "a wide circle of Russian entrepreneurs, political and public figures, leaders of various state institutions." He asked for an icon as a gift and to donate for the construction of a "Russian Orthodox village" near Kyiv.

However, Alexey believes that none of this justifies closing the monastery due to the law banning religious organizations linked to Russia:

"Am I not Ukrainian? Three deputies wrote that I am a collaborator. Look for traitors in the Verkhovna Rada. They are not here and cannot be."

Alexey openly criticizes the Ukrainian Orthodox Church of the Moscow Patriarchate but also questions the canonical status of the Orthodox Church of Ukraine: "I don’t want to talk about the OCU at all; I’m not even interested because it’s not for me. Where did they get a bishop? Filaret? He’s a colonel, a defrocked monk, and he has children. There’s a law: no bishop — no church. Where I got it — I know: I went to Canada, where I was ordained."

However, he refuses to disclose the number of monks and parishioners in his diocese.

"Do you want me to believe in the Tomos?"

I visited the monastery for the second time on a Sunday with my colleague Natalia Mazina. The nun immediately scolded Natalia for her pants. Alexey supported her, saying whether it’s cold or not, women "should think about the inner self."

We were invited into the building where the bishop resides. We were seated at the end of a carved dining table. Alexey sat at the host's place. They served pastries, candies, cashews, and neatly shelled walnuts, and poured tea.

On Alexey's teacup holder, Natalia noticed a two-headed eagle. The bishop caught her surprise and immediately explained: meticulously crafted old items are his weakness. And the teacup holder was a gift.

The conversation flowed warmer than last time. Although Alexey warned that he is picky about strangers. He does not baptize or marry "someone from the street." He asks guests of the temple to stay for a conversation; otherwise, he won’t let them in again.

"Do you want me to believe in the Tomos? I know: those who paid for the Tomos, no one has read it," says Alexey when the conversation turns back to the canonical status of the churches.

Alexey criticizes other monasteries for immorality, claiming that there are no true monks left in the Kyiv-Pechersk Lavra. He often contradicts himself. He believes that power is from God but criticizes the Ukrainian leadership. He belittles the UOC MP but does not support their eviction from the Lavra — because "the government should not interfere in church affairs." He refers to Russia's war against Ukraine as God's punishment, yet he recounts how he helped dig trenches and build checkpoints in May 2022. He emphasizes that his parishioners are also fighting.

"War is punishment. The UOC was expelled from the Lavra, but 6 million followers remained silent. There are no women in the churches, but for 15 million (paid for the death of a soldier — ed.) they stand in line. During the plague, the bishop was torn apart when he did not let people into the church," says the bishop.

"Some kind of internal rejection, the place is not consecrated"

By evening in Malaya Soltanovka, there are almost no people. The wind has chased everyone home. It’s already freezing. The village is shrouded in smoke rising from the chimneys of the houses. A couple walks down the street. The man initially speaks in Russian and introduces himself clearly in military terms: "Stepan, born in 1962, gender — male, military retiree." His wife Maya admonishes him: "Switch to the state language, officer." They speak about the St. John the Theologian Monastery