The blue cupolas of Moscow's Novospassky Monastery blend into a cloudless sky just as they did in the 15th century when it was first built.

The building once housed the burial vault of the Romanovs and in 1918 served as a concentration camp for political prisoners. Today, majestic white walls guard the monastery from roaring cars and just-washed laundry hanging from balconies of neighboring apartment buildings.

But while those walls seem impenetrable from a distance, a closer look reveals a different reality: Pieces of stone fall with a thunderous crash with every peal of the tower's church bells, coating passers-by with dust. Workers swarm behind a protective net on top of the bell tower, sweeping the debris off the roof.

Moscow is slowly restoring its churches, after more than 70 years of neglect. In Soviet times, most were turned into gyms, stables or storage rooms. Today, the cupolas and soaring roofs of many of the capital's churches are hidden under green construction nets.

Last year, Moscow spent 64 million rubles ($2.1 million) on restoration of the city's churches, according to the Main Department of Monument Protection (GUOP). In 1999, during preparations for the 2000th anniversary of Christianity, the total expenditure on restoration from state and private sources in Russia was six times as high, the department reported.

Restoration work on St. Basil's Cathedral on Red Square is expected to cost the federal budget 100 million rubles ($3.2 million). However, the price of a large church's restoration could be even higher, up to $5 million, said Sergei Sitnikov, general manager of Tsar Pushka, a Moscow restoration company. Over the last decade he has restored cupolas or iconostases of 20 orthodox monasteries and churches in and outside the capital.

Sitting in a workshop of the Kremlin Palace of Congresses, where his restorers are repairing the gilded tables and chairs from the Tsars' Throne hall, Sitnikov said he refurbishes everything from churches to apartments. Restoring churches alone does not bring in a regular salary, he added.

Sitnikov said he remembers better times, in the middle of the 1990s, when Russians rushed back into religion. The number of churches was small then and, strange though it may sound, that was more lucrative for restorers: Parishes' incomes were almost three times higher at the time, said Sitnikov's colleague, Arkady Sazonov.

"Then, they sold a candle for 2-3 rubles and had some 300 visitors a day," he said, estimating an average church's monthly revenue to be about $7,500 at that time.

Sitnikov added, "Before, there was just one church per region, where [people] from half of Moscow used to go. Now they put up a cross, they find a priest, old women gather, and everybody comes to pray. The number of parishes has grown. The amount of money [that churches can spend on reconstruction] has decreased."

The businessman with a golden signet ring on his finger said that his passion for carving and gilding iconostases has not made him rich.

"I have been trying to finish on my dacha for 10 years already," he said , smiling. Half of his fellow restorers have left for other businesses over the last decade.

The reason for that is simple, insiders say. Getting a tender for church reconstruction in Moscow is not easy, an anonymous industry professional said. For this, one has to have personal connections in the mayor's office. Moreover, among some 15 companies that are engaged in the restoration business in the capital, three or four take the bulk of the work, insiders say.

But getting a tender is only half the problem. The unwritten law of restoration is that one has to pay 10 percent of the sum of money allocated for reconstruction to those who helped get the order. Sitnikov said he has to share his income with up to two other companies that mediate between him and the customer. These are usually people close to the city authorities who are made aware of upcoming restoration projects. Some 70 percent of Tsar Pushka's orders come from mediators.

But Sitnikov, like other restorers, would be run off his feet with work, if the authorities ever decide to open their wallets to churches located outside the Garden Ring, which encircles the center of the capital.

Most wealthy sponsors – the nouveaux riches who can make or break a restoration project – live in the city center and are concerned only with their immediate environment.

"They worry about a church that they see from their window," said Pyotr Galitzine, who represents the Village Church Center, a charity fund created 10 years ago to help restore religious monuments in Russia's provinces.

Galitzine, the descendent of an ancient Russian prince, said that he decided to join the Fund to help it raise money. No matter how narrow-minded New Russians may be, if they decide to help, they donate lavishly, Galitzine said.

The Fund has accomplished its largest restorations with the help of donated capital. The center manages to collect some $70,000-$80,000 annually from private investors in Russia and the overseas diaspora to invest in the restoration of churches mostly located in the areas of Tver, Vladimir, Kaluga, Ivanovo and Saratov – which are often unattractive to investors because of their distance from the capital.

Galitzine and his 11 colleagues have helped 32 churches, often limiting their donations to a modest sum that allows a church to cover its roof with ruberoid, a composite bitumen sheet for roofing, to save the building and interior frescoes from rain and snow.

"There are churches to which we offered $1,000 and others to which [we gave] several hundred [dollars]," said the American businessman, who said he believes that, if not for him, no one would have taken up the work. Galitzine is against gilding churches in cash-strapped Russia, but insists on conservation of historic churches that would otherwise fall apart.

Unfortunately, Galitzine's small fund cannot help all those who are in need. Churches that are 100 or 200 years old, and sometimes located just a few dozen kilometers away from the money-drenched capital, go without roof, while their frescoes are stained with mold.

One of them is Georgy the Victory Bringer church in the village of Kapustino, a two-hour drive from Moscow. Trees and bushes grow through its roof and walls, and the village residents have long since carried away the stones from its parapet.

"Many people have built houses out of them," said 35-year-old Father Vyacheslav, pointing at missing stones at one side of the church's front wall.

Father Vyacheslav has written more than 50 letters to the Moscow's Mayor's Office, the Central Bank, Gazprom and other wealthy organizations, none of which have replied. The priest said he now believes the state has to help save the cultural monument. But GUOP officials argue that not every old church can be considered a cultural monument. They only spend money on those that are designated as historical sites by UNESCO.

Old women in kerchiefs carrying plastic shopping bags walk out of Kapustino's church one by one, trembling: It is chilly in the church, even on a hot July afternon.

The authorities have cut off the electricity, and the church's windows are covered with planks and plastic instead of glass.

"In winter, the floor and walls are covered with ice here," the priest said. Father Vyacheslav drives to Kapustino several times a week to conduct a liturgy for 10 or 15 old women from six nearby villages who gather in the church.

The only investor in the church is the nearby collective farm – which has donated just 2,000 rubles ($64). A single door costs 8,000 rubles ($258), Father Vyacheslav said, standing in the middle of the church where a small carpet covers broken-off floor tiles.

His other church in the small town of Chekhov near Moscow, which he has restored, doesn't bring in much income either – about 15,000 rubles a month ($484).

A candle there costs 3-5 rubles, a baptism 200 rubles ($7) and a burial service 180 rubles ($6).

Reconstruction of Kapustino's church would cost the parish $140,000 according to an estimate made three years ago. Today, Father Vyacheslav, a former Navy cook, says he can't remember if that was for the whole project or just for one icon stand – but the sum is so out of reach that remembering the details is not important.

"We have never even held such money in our hands," he said. His own salary is 438 rubles ($14) a month. "No one sees our little hole," he said.