The icon depicts a legend in which Stalin, at the outbreak of World War II, secretly visits St. Matryona of Moscow, a blind and paralyzed woman to whom many people came for spiritual guidance until her death in 1952. According to the legend she counseled the Soviet dictator not to flee Moscow before the invading German Army, but to stand firm against the onslaught.

The chapel's pastor, Evstafy Zhakov, is a fiery nationalist highly regarded by his flock for his charismatic sermons. In an interview with the right-wing newspaper Zavtra, he defended the icon by explaining that Russia has a long tradition of saints blessing warriors before battle.

"But Stalin was an atheist," the interviewer interjected.

"How do you know?" Father Evstafy retorted. Two wartime patriarchs proclaimed Stalin a believer, "and I will believe them before I believe all these liberals and democrats."

While in some dark corners of the church priests such as Father Evstafy recast mass murderers as champions of Holy Russia, many mainstream pastors pursue a more enlightened agenda: rehabilitating drug abusers, rescuing neglected children, and extending Christ's forgiveness to criminals.

In a brightly lit foster home in St. Petersburg, four-year-old Nikita shows me his toys and proudly tells me that his mama will soon give him a gift. He doesn't yet understand that he has just been placed in this home because his mother is a drug addict—a fast-growing blight in Russia—and she can no longer care for him.

Father Alexander Stepanov has been caring for castoffs ever since he left a job in physics to join the priesthood some 20 years ago. "I was ordained right into prison," he quips, recalling how he started his ministry by discussing the Bible with inmates. "I had no idea about that world of gold teeth and tattoos."

All private humanitarian work had been strictly banned in the Soviet Union—social problems don't exist in a workers' paradise—but after the collapse of communism, Father Alexander found no shortage of people willing to plunge in, and Western churches were quick to offer help. Today, working out of two restored buildings on St. Petersburg's waterfront, Father Alexander oversees a parish church, a foster home, an orphanage, a halfway house for teenagers in trouble, and a corps of volunteers who visit hospitals and prisons. He also has a radio station in the attic, and the offices of a summer camp in the basement. No space is wasted, and no time—his cell phone rings (to the tone of church bells) repeatedly.