I had already heard bits and pieces about the women’s farmstead linked to Saint Elisabeth Convent. In my mind, I pictured the Nun in charge as someone stern — a headmistress type running a sort of “rehab centre”. So it caught me off guard when we arrived and were greeted by Mother Varvara, a petite, frail woman, modestly dressed, with a gentle face and a warm, easy smile.
It was a crisp morning, just after dawn. We drove past the road sign for Minsk, its name crossed out, and left the city behind. The women’s compound belonging to Saint Elisabeth Convent sits 19 kilometres away, on the grounds of what used to be a military base. Around twenty women live there now. They have all had rough patches in their lives: I would say half of them have seen the inside of a courtroom or prison cell, some have nowhere else to go, and plenty are wrestling with all sorts of addiction. They keep things running themselves — farm work, household chores, everything. Once a week, Father Andrey Lemeshonok, the priest from the monastery, comes to visit. Years ago, the church here — left to the sisters by the land’s former owners — was destroyed by fire. For years, they held liturgies in a small, battered crypt that survived the flames. Nuns from the convent make the drive out here to sing at the services, and I could not wait to meet Mother Varvara.
The part of the church that is still standing
Interviewer: So often, when we are right in the thick of things, life feels... disjointed, does it not? Like you cannot see the thread linking one moment to the next. But later, looking back, it clicks — how each step nudged you exactly where you needed to go, that God was guiding you all along. Mother, may I ask about the moments or turning points that brought you here, to the monastery?
Mother Varvara: Honestly, I hardly know what to say. My life was steady, quiet, and calm. There has never been a huge event that changed everything.
I grew up in a family that practised faith. There are four of us children; I was fortunate enough to have the resources to support my brothers and sister whenever they needed. But as years went by, I would think: I am doing my best to help out, but I found myself wanting those I helped to go and help others in turn — like passing kindness on, starting a chain reaction. But it never quite happened. That weighed on me. I ended up asking myself, “What is the point of it all?” The thought crossed my mind, maybe it was time for some change.
I certainly did not have a grand plan, but then, in a rather unexpected way, God brought a sixteen-year-old girl into my life — her parents were struggling with drink.
I became her guardian. Looking back, you could not call it anything other than God's work. When she came of age, she got married, and I entered the convent.
Interviewer: Were you not a bit worried about taking on that kind of responsibility? Sixteen is a difficult age.
Mother Varvara: To tell the truth, I could see it was not what I wanted. If it were up to me, I would never have dared — I would have just felt sorry for myself. But the Lord arranged it that way. I mean, just think — taking a sixteen-year-old off the street when you have no background in raising children, it is not easy at all. I knew full well that, without God's help, I would never cope. I had to quit my job, because it was obvious Vika was going to need a lot of attention. For the first three or four months, we got by with next to nothing: I had a bit put aside, and she got her child benefit. Luckily, we were about the same size, so she wore my clothes. Vika was a timid little thing and well behind in her learning. In the beginning it was like this: she went off to school, and I would sit at home, trying to make sense of her lessons so I could help explain what she had missed — the poor girl did not even know what a fraction was.
Mother Varvara (Atrasevich)
Interviewer: So you were much more than a carer and guardian for her — you were her teacher as well?
Mother Varvara: We learned everything together. We would read together, too. We even got through 'War and Peace' that way. I would usually get up a bit earlier. We had a deal: however much I read before she woke up, that was how much she would have to read during the day. So I would get up at the crack of dawn, read a bit, and then wake her. She soon caught on that the longer she stayed in bed, the more she would end up having to read, so she would shout first thing, “Aunt Tanya, I am up already!”
This one time, it worked brilliantly. Her class was studying 'Eugene Onegin', and I had always had a soft spot for Tatiana Larina — I could recite her letter off by heart. When they had to learn it, I asked while driving her to school, "Vika, have you got it down?" She mumbled, "Well, not quite." I told her, "Bad luck — I know Tatiana's letter by heart. We will crack it on the way." And that is exactly what we did. Vika earned top marks for that piece. She was absolutely over the moon! With every task I made her focus on, every topic we got our heads around together, she ended up getting praise or a little reward. That was a real boost for her — it made her want to try harder, and really pay attention. But, honestly, that was all down to God’s help — these sorts of things do not just happen by chance. It could all have gone so differently.
Interviewer: And how did you decide to become a Nun?
Mother Varvara: I always had this feeling that I was somehow different, out of place... Even though I was never short of friends or people I knew, I always felt a bit of an outsider. When I made up my mind to join the convent, everyone was shocked — they could not believe it. I had not gone through any sort of hardship or loss.
Spiritual Father of the convent, Archpriest Andrey Lemeshonok
I used to go to Saint Elisabeth Convent for services and to meet with Father Andrey. I also spent about six months helping out in the refectory. After a while, I thought to myself: I ought to enter the convent properly if I really want to help people. It turns out, that is where the Lord steered me.
Interviewer: What was your first job at the convent?
Mother Varvara: I started off in the pottery workshop. I worked there for nearly four years.
Interviewer: A slight, soft-spoken sister landing such heavy work — ceramics, of all things. How did that come about?
Mother Varvara: Back then, I was still only a novice, and the truth is, I actually asked to work in the ceramics myself (smiles). But, honestly, I never really took to it. I kept wondering to myself: did I come all this way just to fuss over things that, at the end of the day, was a worldly activity? Still, an obedience is just that — you get on with it, however you feel. Later on, it became clear to me that working with people was what truly mattered. Once I had worked that out, it all became much easier, and my work took on a new meaning.
Interviewer: So, how did you end up at the farmstead?
Mother Varvara: Just when I had resigned myself to the ceramics, the Lord started paving the way, making it clear He was getting me ready for something else. Father would often mention Vishnevka in meetings, and say that a women’s farm was really needed and would happen one day. He just did not know which of the sisters should go there. When I first joined the convent, I would always ask to be allowed to help out at the men’s farm, even if it was just weekends — I grew up in the countryside, so I know what it is like, and I have always loved working in the garden and mucking about with plants. So whenever Father brought up the women’s farm, it hit home for me. I never imagined I would be the one to run the place, though. I just thought I would go and help whoever was sent, and that would be enough for me — I liked the idea of working side by side.
Mother Euphrosyne (Laptik), Abbess of Saint Elisabeth Convent
In the end, it came down to a straight choice: stick with ceramics, which my heart was not truly in, or have a go at the farm. I told Father that I would like to try working out at Vishnevka. He gave his blessing straight away: if you want to, go for it. But he warned me: you have got to put yourself aside and live fully for these women, or the whole thing is a waste. I think, in a way, he wanted to make sure I was serious, not just going on a whim. But, actually, his words did the opposite — they gave me real strength and made perfect sense to me, because that is how you are meant to go about any work: put yourself second and give it everything you have got.
I had heard Vishnevka was quite a spread-out place, and I remember thinking, absolutely terrified: ‘Lord, help me! What if they all scatter as soon as we get there? How on earth will I gather everyone back together?’
But things turned out quite different from what people had said. The problems here are not what I was expecting at all. It is very quiet and out of the way. And being alone like that — well, it is not easy in the slightest.
Farmstead residents
Interviewer: Was there anything you were dreading most before the women from the farm arrived?
Mother Varvara: No, I was not worried about anything. I have had times in my life before where God taught me to trust Him, so by then I had already learnt that nothing was in my hands anyway. You just have to accept what the Lord sends your way. Whenever you push back, it never comes to any good.
We did run into trouble, of course. Mainly with the people who had been living here before. There was a mountain of paperwork to get sorted out. So there was this blessed stretch, maybe two or three weeks, where I was back at the convent, just praying. Then we started coming here every day instead — cleaning up, getting used to the place, because it is big. Once Father blessed the first new woman to come stay — she was pregnant — and then he blessed another straight away. There were only a few of us at the start, just filling up the one house. Later, we spilled into a second. Everything happened step by step, slowly but surely. The Lord always gives what you can handle.
Interviewer: What, in your view, is the heart of the support you offer the sisters here?
Mother Varvara: To be honest, I cannot help with anything myself — it is God who helps. I really understand that now. My job is just not to get in His way. Still, all of us, each and every one, must have that feeling of care for each other — and not just for someone in particular, but for everyone, really. When that care is missing, everything good you try to do ends up sounding a bit hollow, somehow.
Interviewer: The women here have all been through a lot, and many are hard to get along with. It cannot be easy living and working with them. You have to be respected as someone in charge. They look up to you, but they are also a bit wary. What is your secret?
Mother Varvara: To be honest, I am surprised they are wary of me, because I cannot really see why (smiles). Maybe it is just that they can tell I am not afraid of them. I do not know how else to put it.
Interviewer: Mother Varvara, do you treat the women here any differently from how you viewed that girl Vika you told us about?
Mother Varvara: Not a bit. They might be fifty, but they are still just like children, and behave much the same. And like children, they want attention. All the sisters are so different, and lots have had very tough lives. But to me, it does not matter whether someone has been to prison or had a drinking problem... You see God’s creation is in everyone. But seeing that — that is not something you can force in yourself, or just “decide” to do — it is only something the Lord can show you.
To return to your first question about events and how they connect: looking back now, I realise that even my guardianship before the convent was part of God’s plan. If something comes along in life, even the tough times, and you do not kick up a fuss or try to wriggle out of it, but simply take it as it is, in time you remember it and see just how much good it brought. I suppose God always knew how things would play out — He was just waiting for when I would be ready to take all this on.
I still recall a day when I walked into the ward, and a woman with severe illness from drinking rushed out, grabbed my hand and asked, “Will you take this on, or will you not?” I just said, “No, I have got a different job.” That really threw me, to be truthful. Her words just stuck, sharp as anything... It was like a sign — a real call to do something about it, especially as she mentioned alcohol directly. It dwelled on my mind for a long time. After that, little by little, everything pointed me straight towards Vishnevka.
Interviewer: What do you hope to teach the sisters living here?
Mother Varvara: I am not here to teach them skills or anything like that. I just want them to learn to trust in God, not lean only on themselves. That is the one thing that truly helps a person turn away from temptation. The moment someone starts relying just on themselves, sooner or later they stumble. Right now, I suppose I am their authority, but how I long for the Lord Himself to be that for them! I want them to work not because they are afraid I will have a go at them, but because they see: it is work for God. And that is so hard to get across, and at the moment, it is still not really like that. Father says to me, “What are you after? These people have spent their whole lives tangled in sin, yet you want them sorted after a year or two? To give up smoking, just like that?” And the truth is, there is not always much willpower either, much wish to really change.
The houses where Mother Varvara and the residents live
Interviewer: But they do change, do they not? They become different?
Mother Varvara: They do. And it is such a joy, even just to spot one or two sisters who have started to help others, lend a hand and offer a bit of support. There is trust growing, and the way they deal with each other is changing too. Before, if someone did something wrong, they would try to cover it up rather than say a word, but now, they are starting to get that does not help — if you hide things, the person only ends up worse off — and they are beginning to feel a sense of guilt and a duty to look out for one another. The devil always tries to back us into a corner; people bottle things up and it just gets harder. But once you stop being afraid to speak, that is when you start to win. Little by little, the sisters are learning this as they go. I told them: if something is really giving you grief, just ask — “Sisters, will you pray for me? I am struggling with this.”
One day, a sister who struggles with drinking felt a sharp urge, and she went round the whole place, telling everyone, “I really want a drink.” So we all prayed for her. Later that evening, she came to me and said, “Why on earth was I going around telling everyone I wanted a drink? The craving is gone now.” If she had kept quiet about it, I reckon the urge would have got the better of her in the end. But saying it aloud somehow loosened its grip. When people grasp that, that is when things really start to change, I think. The key is not to let up — because if you stop and think you have beaten something and can put your feet up, that is when you are in danger. Whether you are trying to sort out your life, beat an addiction, or learn a skill, easing up is rarely a good idea. Whatever you are doing, you just cannot afford to get slack.
The future storeroom
Interviewer: You live here much like one large family. In your mind, what should relationships be like?
Mother Varvara: We do try to live like a proper family. A novice once asked me, “How do you even manage, living there with so many people?” Back then, there were fifteen of us, every single one different — not just in age or background, but everyone had their own tough history, their own bad habits, all packed into one little house. I did not know what to tell her at the time. To be honest, even now, I am not quite sure how it works. Of course, it is not always smooth going — sometimes people fall out, get under each other's skin, or get upset with one another. But you know, in all this time, among the people we help, there has only ever been one proper fight. We are learning to take each person as they are, not boxing them in or trying to force them to change — just doing our best to help the good bits grow stronger.
Interviewer: But if you just let people do whatever they want, do they not go downhill?
Mother Varvara: No, it is not about giving in to every whim — it is about accepting them. You can tell someone off when they have done wrong, but without letting it turn into blame or resentment. Judging someone can creep in so quietly, and it is a heavy sin that eats away very quickly.
The liturgy takes place down in what is left of the old church crypt.
When people first come here, for the first week or two, they seem perfectly pleasant, get on well with everyone, all is fine. But then the huffing and puffing and complaints start, they get annoyed at little things — and that is when you know, somewhere in there, judgement has crept in. That is how it always starts. And if you do not catch it straightaway, things quickly spiral. Just yesterday, before the service, one of the sisters was already packing her bags. I cannot even remember how it started now. She looks after Zakhar (that is what we called the goat), and saw him wandering on his own outside, and her first thought was that someone had let him out on purpose.
She was absolutely fuming, full of anger! And honestly, she got so wound up that, for a moment, I had quite the un-Christian thought — I really wanted to wring her neck, I am not joking. You see, there were three elderly, poorly women nearby, and she was having a go at them, hissing away. I gently said to her, “Why do you not step out of the dining room for a bit, take a walk, calm down.” Later on, she came back and said she was leaving. I told her, “That is fine. The priest will be here tomorrow — get his blessing, and you are free to go wherever you please. No one will stop you.” We chatted for a while longer — she does love a chat — and then I took her along with me to work in the field. By the evening she had cooled off a bit. Afterwards, I explained how important it was for her to go to confession and take communion, and that she had to try not to smoke beforehand — though for her, that is a real struggle. When it was time for confession, she asked, “What am I supposed to say?” “Just tell the priest exactly what you have been through. Speak about the anger, the annoyance — whatever is weighing on you.” And after communion she said, “I am ashamed of what I did yesterday.” She no longer wanted to leave; everything settled down, and there was peace again. Life is genuinely hard for her — she has got a very difficult nature, and she knows it. But she tries, and you can see she is changing for the better. The other sisters, really, just ignore her ups and downs and do their best to keep the peace and smooth things over.
A sister given a blessing to work as the postwoman
Interviewer: Mother Varvara, what are your dreams?
Mother Varvara: Nothing, really.
Interviewer: How is that possible?
Mother Varvara: I am wary of wishing for anything or begging God for things. I just ask Him for the strength to accept whatever He sends my way.
Now, I am starting to see dreams from my younger days come true. I have already mentioned to Father Andrey that, back when I still lived in the world, it used to pain me seeing children in those orphanages. It just seemed wrong to me, having children in one place and, separately, adults sent off to facilities for forced treatment — those places for people struggling with drugs or drink. Even then, I kept thinking about somewhere women could live and recover, while still looking after their own children. When our farmstead started, I shared this with Father, and he said, “Do you see now? Your dream can finally become real.” I realise now that our small bit of land really could turn into such a place: the women can have somewhere to stay and work, and right here, their children can live close by under someone’s care. So mothers and children could stay together. And with God, nothing will be impossible...
By Yulia Rudenko
All photos by the author
Source: pravoslavie.ru
