Inside the Church
These two or
three years were probably the happiest; my faith was not
separating me from the environment but transformed it.
There were no conflicts any more; I even managed to get
a permission to make an Orthodox magazine instead of
some other project themes which were given to us at the
Institute. Also, I was advised by one of my confessors
to start painting
miniature icons. (I began studying the
icon painting using the book The Work of an Iconographer
by nun Iuliania Sokolova, the most important figure in
Russian icon painting of 20th century after I bought the
book by pure chance: nobody told me where and how to
learn). The only people who suffered were the members of
my family to whom I preached ceaselessly, urging them to
go to the church immediately and confess. After one of
my particularly passionate sermons my brother said to me
with an ironical smile “Do you know who is your Alexiy
II (Patriarch)? – I know him, he is one of us, a KGB.” I
thought he was saying rubbish just to annoy me.
My mother, still fearful of me becoming a nun was
present at my first Easter, in the monastery where I
regularly confessed. When we came there Saturday evening
it was surrounded by very unfriendly Kazaks who swore at
us and even waved their whips. They shouted out that
only those who have a VIP pass can come in. Mother did
not give up: she said to them that I had a confessor
there and even asked to call him out. I was standing
before them like an idiot unable to understand why
anyone would need a VIP pass to come to the Paschal
service. I attempted to deliver my thoughts to the
Kazaks (very much in manner of my speech before the
solders on the tanks) but to no avail. All this looked
hopeless but suddenly one of Kazaks said “go, sister but
quickly”.
The monastery was an official Patriarchal residence thus
the Kazaks and the VIPs. I did not know that – I was
concerned only with my confessions and communion. The
Easter service made me quickly forget about the whips
and VIPs. My first and following experiences of God
present in the Church were such that that many bad
experiences, from “nasty old grannies” to far more
serious matters never prevented me from remaining inside
the Church. Perhaps the grace made me insensitive to
them.
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