Host: A very warm welcome to you all. It is a joy and a real pleasure, with a little flutter of the heart, to welcome Nun Maria Litvinova. (To the guest) Mother Maria, hello.
Mother Maria: Hello.
Host: They say that how one views death is a measure of one's spiritual life. What do you think keeps Mother Maria still with us today?
Mother Maria: I suppose it is the way God has willed it – that even at my age, I should still be here, carrying on with my work, with my prayers, and helping other people. I expect that is the reason: to serve, yes – to serve those around me.
Host: To serve others… And regarding yourself, concerning your own life – you say you live for others, but how about your inner life – self-improvement?
Mother Maria: Absolutely. Without looking inward, without sorting yourself out, without knowing and reflecting on our inner selves, you cannot manage it. You cannot really connect with people. You cannot offer them anything of real value. It is through your own experiences that you become sure of things. And through that experience, you can both grow and support those around you. It just makes sense, and it matters enormously.
Host: What brought you to the Convent?
Mother Maria: One abbess said, "One becomes a nun out of love."
Host: So, the monastery… was it a case of unhappy love, or was it a call from the heart?
Mother Maria: Well, people come to the monastic life for all sorts of reasons. Many are called by their hearts; many come driven by love. I never wanted to be in a convent. Not ever, especially in my younger days... Well, youth to me is forty years – that is still being young, and fifty is too. I never had a clear, strong wish to become a nun. My life just took its course, step by step, and I slowly saw that something was missing. Do you see what I mean?
There was this quiet emptiness inside. You work hard, have a good job; students like you, students are fond of you, you can talk easily and freely with other people. You care for someone – well, in the friendly sense. People treat you well, and yet you still feel this empty place inside. For a long time, I did not know why I felt it. I disliked it, even feared it. I thought that perhaps it was because I had never married and had no children; maybe that was the reason for this emptiness.
And so I asked everyone about it, especially those who had once been my students. Here is my student Nadyusha, and I knew she had a family and children. Somehow I just happened to ask her one day, "Nadyusha, tell me, do you ever get that feeling of emptiness inside?" She paused for a bit, then said, "All the time, actually." I was a bit taken aback. "But how?" I said. "On the face of it, you have got everything." She just said, "I do not know why, but it is there." Then I saw – it was not about marriage, or lacking a husband or children. It was something else.
And that something else struck me very clearly one day when I made a very sincere, very earnest confession, then took Communion, and afterwards I left the church – it felt as if I was not walking but flying. I flew as if on wings, do you see? And just like that, the hollowness was gone. It did not come back for a good long while. Later, I understood I needed to learn how to keep that feeling. And that is something you only pick up from living your own life, especially from a life lived with God. And that is when it truly hit me – as the saying goes, without God, you cannot even cross the doorstep.
This is something I often talk about with people. And here it was clear as day how important it is to be with God, to be wholly with Him, sincerely – not pretending – to trust Him truly, to be with Him, to follow His counsel and do what every believing Christian needs to do. When you do that, that emptiness goes away. It feels so pleasant, so wonderful, that at first I was completely lost, overwhelmed by joy. I thought, "Goodness, how astonishing, how grand, how splendid!"
A good twenty years passed between that moment when I felt how much we need God and me entering the monastery. Yes. Of course, I started going to church all the time. I was taking Communion and going to confession regularly. And so it went. Eventually, God guided me towards the sisterhood. My guide there, in the sisterhood, was a woman called Irina Vladimirovna. She was actually very keen for me to join, but she kept it to herself – never said a word. Then one day she just said, "Come and give me a hand." And just then, Father Andrey turned up. So I went to help her out a few times. Each time, Father would be there, and we would ask for his blessing: "Father, may we have your blessing?"
We were talking with the sick people, and everything I did there worked. Then she stood right next to me and said, "Father, would you please give your blessing for Lidia to join the sisterhood?" And straight away, without even blinking, he said, "She has my blessing." I know for a fact he had already been asking about me – by then he had seen me three or four times. And, you know, I felt caught like a mouse in a trap. I was so put out, so troubled by it. I thought to myself, "How on earth can this be?" I had not planned for it; I did not want it. And all of a sudden, there it was – the blessing. I knew in that instant that was that: if Father had given his blessing, it was settled. There was no going back. I had to go.
I spent a whole month fretting and crying, and then this thought struck me: "What are you worrying about? You come to the hospital as if to your own home. You are a doctor by training. What are you afraid of? You speak with the patients, they listen to you, you understand them, and they understand you." And I settled down. That is how I became a sister of mercy. I served in that role for seven years. Can you imagine?
It was a gradual settling into monastic life. Although, of course, it all felt a long way off, you still pick up bits here and there. There are the general meetings, you see, gatherings of the White Sisters, and monastic meetings. You go along to them and you begin to see how it all works; you just soak it all up – the words they use, their hopes, the way they do things. So in a way, I was already being gently prepared to enter the monastery.
Eventually the thought came, but it did not appear out of nowhere. My mentor, Irina Vladimirovna, was always, well, drilling it into my head. It was only afterwards I realised it was the Lord speaking through her – you see? It was the Lord. She would say it over and over again, "You must be in the monastery, you must be in the monastery." At first I was surprised and indignant, then I started paying attention, and inside I came round to it. Is that not something?
So, in the end, I wrote Father a huge letter – it was thirty pages of my notebook. Yes. I poured out my whole life story to him, explained everything, and I said, "Father, whatever you decide, I shall do it. If you tell me to stay in the world, I shall stay. If you say I can go to the monastery, then of course, that is what I would love more than anything, because my heart is set on it. But if you say no, do not go, and stay in the world, then I shall stay."
And Father, when he handed it back to me – it was not a letter, more of a diary, yes, a diary – he said, "We need to have a talk." I said, "Yes, of course." And he added, "About the monastery." I was just so happy; I thought, "Oh, thank goodness – it is going to be alright." Yes.
Had I been in the monastery then, I would have been so restless, barely able to feel anything. Inside, everything was shaking; my heart was pounding. It felt like stepping into a completely new life, one I might understand someday. But right then, it was sheer bewilderment and complete doubt. Of course, it was frightening, both scary and thrilling – but the excitement rose above everything – the fear and all the rest. That rush of nerves – I am certain my pulse must have been up near 120. I was shaking all over; everything inside me was in turmoil.
And then, of course, alongside all that was this feeling that you had won something, as though you had managed to get over some great hurdle, even though there was not really any victory to speak of. Still, you felt like the winner – of what, I was not sure yet, but perhaps of your own weaknesses, your own failings. Those are the things you have to overcome and fight, at least in that moment. It is only later you realise they just seem to get bigger and bigger. Not because there are more of them, but simply because you are starting to see them for what they are. Before, you had no idea what was going on inside you, what was buried deep down. And then, slowly, you start to see it all, to understand, and you think, "How wrong I was about myself; how much better I thought myself to be than I really am." You know? That is a very, very tough thing to face.
Well, you learn to live with it in the end, and the day-to-day struggle gets going. My whole life out in the world had been getting me ready for the monastery, you see? That my mum battled schizophrenia for forty years, that she would lash out at me most days, and I had to put up with it and forgive her, yet keep loving her through all the hurt. And that whole experience – well, I suppose… I often thought about it afterwards, wondering why it had not felt so terribly hard. It was not hard at all; in fact, it was not terribly hard; perhaps my life outside the monastery had readied me for it.
And you know what else? I think some things come down to personality. For example, even in the world I never liked changing my clothes – one day one outfit, the next day another. I could wear the same thing for a week or two until my mother would yell, "How many times are you going to wear that? Why do you not get changed?" And I would not even notice. I felt comfortable in the same clothes. Why? Well, I was a doctor, and we always wore white coats. And I adored that uniform. I adored that white coat. Then later I worked at the Institute of Physical Culture in the Physiology and Biochemistry Department. We had white coats there, too. I was delighted – I thought, "Thank goodness I do not have to fret about what dress to wear today or tomorrow. Just a starched, clean, white coat over the top – and that is it."
So when I put on the monastic habit, it felt just right and familiar. Always the same. I never have to worry about it at all. Well, beyond the washing, the laundering, the ironing, and all that. So, naturally, everything matters: your life, the moments you live through, and that inner world you inherit. I suppose you get it from your parents, your grandparents, your great-grandparents even. But at the end of the day, it all comes from God.
Host: On struggles inside and outer hardships in the monastery – what proves difficult about life in a monastery? I want to talk about the struggles, both inside and out.
Mother Maria: As I say, the things on the outside, you can get over them; they are quite straightforward to sort out, really. But what really matters is what is going on inside you: your impulses, your thoughts, the qualities of your character, which almost never seem to match up with how a real monk should be. For me, the main thing has always been – and still is, even if it is not always obvious – vanity.
And what is vanity? It is one face of pride. And pride is a terrible weight for anyone to carry, and for a monk, well, it just does not fit with the life at all. So that is something that has always been with me, always been a problem. Then you have sincerity. I had always thought of myself as a fairly honest person. But after I became a nun, I saw that was not quite right. You find that even when you do something that seems good, there is that little flicker of vanity playing up inside. You still think, "Ah, well done you." You see? Even that little thought is something you have to fight against. And of course, you have to learn to get past it, to beat it down.
That is why I just could not get my head around at first what monks – let alone truly holy people – meant when they spoke of praying all the time. "Pray without ceasing." Goodness me, how can you possibly pray all the time? What does that even mean? How could you do it? After a while, I understood – yes, it is something we can and should do. Not by praying every single second of the day. I came to see that at certain times, when there is no other way out – for example, I am talking with some youngsters and they are swearing. I tell them, "Remember, it is not only bad for the one who swears; it affects the one who hears it in the same way."
So, say I am walking down the street and I hear someone nearby use bad language. I walk on with that word spinning round in my head. And what do you do? You pray, of course, you pray.
I tell them, I say: "This is what you need right now. Read the prayer attentively, without letting your mind wander." It is all too easy to say the words while your mind is off somewhere else completely, is it not? That is the trap we fall into. But when you pray, you really need to give it your full attention, knowing it is working on you, on your thinking. It pushes out all the other chatter and it takes over, filling your mind, your heart, your whole person. And that is something so, so important to remember. So, of course, we have to keep in mind that prayer is everything for someone living a monastic life. Without prayer, you cannot be a monk. Without it, you cannot be a proper Orthodox believer either. After all, prayer is a conversation with God; it is a constant connection with Him. And if that connection is really happening, then you truly are living the life of a monk. But the sad thing is, that does not happen nearly enough, because we are just so easily distracted – and I am worse than most. I am terribly distractible. The smallest thing can throw me off, and suddenly I am thinking, "Oh, Lord, I have stopped praying!" And just as I catch myself, I realise my prayer has already slipped away, without me even noticing. It happens during the services, and outside of them too.
Host: Yet you work hard to attend the service every day. How on earth do you manage to get up so early?
Mother Maria: Getting up for the midnight office takes real grit; there is age, feeling worn out, and that inner fight that just drains all your energy. That service really forces you to get the better of yourself; it is a proper victory each time. Why? Well, I mean, to get to the midnight office, I have to be up at half past five, because the service starts at a quarter to six. And you know, as the time gets closer and I know the alarm is about to go, I start thinking, "Perhaps I just will not go today?" Oh, the last thing I want to do is get up. I would give anything for a few more minutes in bed, just to lie there and let my mind wander. For a good few minutes, you are just stuck in this argument with yourself… But then, another thought cuts in straight away: "You know our whole life is about this sort of struggle. You have to beat this laziness, this feeling of not wanting to. If you do not, what is the point of anything? You will be dead soon enough, and you will not be ready for it."
So how are you going to face God if you cannot even do something as small as getting out of bed on time? And so, of course, I just fling the duvet back, swing my legs out of bed and, with my eyes still half-closed, I am up. I rush about, grabbing what I need, and make for the bathroom. If I am really struggling to wake up, I might even splash my face with cold water. Mind you, that does not always do the trick, and some days it is just not an option.
Right, so after all that, you find you are already awake. That is the point you properly wake up. And the thing is, before you even get out of bed, you ought to pray, you know? I mean, the very second your eyes open, you should be praying. I could not manage that for a long time – I still struggle with it. I will know full well that I have to open my eyes and start praying, but I will get up, potter about, and it is only when I am in the bathroom that it hits me: "Oh no, I forgot to pray again… what on earth is wrong with me? What a mess!"
And that went on for ages. Only recently has it become more or less a habit, though sometimes I still miss it. You just feel how much you need that prayer right away; the whole day seems to go more smoothly afterwards. Then the Midnight Office will come round, and you pray again then. But you must at least say the Jesus Prayer straight away – whether you are splashing your face with water or doing your exercises. After that, I get on with my exercises, and they always go together with the Jesus Prayer. I cannot do them without prayer. And why is that? Well, it is because of my lower back – I have three slipped discs – and I have arthritis in a joint. On top of that, I had a stroke, and the sight in one of my eyes is very dim now. And there are many other things which, if the muscles are not kept moving, if they are not working, they just do not get any better. And you have to keep in mind that the health of our bones is all down to how our muscles are working. If your muscles lose their power, the whole lot starts to give way. The whole lot.
So you really need this mix of the two: prayer and movement, through the exercises. Then, after my stretches, if there is any time left, I move on to the Five-Hundred Prayer Rule. That is a rule of five hundred prayers. I try to get them all done in the morning, and then I have to hurry back to my cell. I do not actually do the prayers there. I get back to my cell, and then it is time to get ready for the Midnight Office.
Host: So, you get all of that done before the Midnight Office?
Mother Maria:That is right, yes — all before the Midnight Office. It just would not come together otherwise, you know? I have tried shuffling things around, thinking perhaps… but no, it just does not work out. Before you know it, other duties crop up — this needs doing, that needs doing, it is all urgent — and in the end, you achieve nothing. You have really got no choice but to get up an hour or so earlier to squeeze it all in. As it happens, the exercises and the five-hundred take me about… let me see… thirty… yes, somewhere between forty and forty-five minutes. You can add on the time for a splash of cold water, but even then, I am still done within the hour. That leaves me about ten minutes to get dressed quickly, and I can get there with time to spare before the Midnight Office begins. And so I am there to stand for the Office, and for the Liturgy that follows. It is the only way I can make it all work.
If you skip it, you can still get by. Of course you can. But it is just not the same. You are in a different place altogether. Er, you might find it is already a struggle to bend down, a real effort to reach the floor with your hands, even though you want to. Right now, though, I cannot quite manage it myself; my lower back has flared up, and my three slipped discs have decided to act up and let me know who is boss. Oh, and they are certainly making their presence felt, and you just have to… But even if something has already started to hurt, you have still got to do all the other exercises, the ones that do not cause any trouble. Or at least, very little pain — but the main thing is to keep moving with everything else. Do you see what I mean? I have learned this for myself: you are tempted to think, 'Right, it is hurting, I had better stop and have a rest…' But that is not the answer at all. You cannot just stop, because afterwards it only gets much, much worse. Whereas if you just keep going — gently, of course, without setting off any sharp pain — you get better so much more quickly. It is remarkable. And then, as I was saying, it is all about prayer. Only with prayer. Prayer plays such a huge part in all of this.
Host: Mother Maria, what is the five-hundred prayer rule?
Mother Maria: The five-hundred prayer rule is a set of prayers that you do not just say, you do them with your whole body. How so? Well, the first three hundred prayers are, "Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner." And for the first hundred, you do them with waist bows — that is where you bend and touch the ground with your hand — and then you do more with full prostrations, right down on the floor. All in all, that is three hundred prayers to Jesus Christ.
After that, there are a hundred prayers to the Mother of God, fifty to your guardian angel and fifty to all the saints. And for each set, you begin with the waist bows, touching the floor, and then you do the full prostrations. So when you add it all up, during the whole rule you will have done fifty full prostrations and over a hundred waist bows. It is quite a physical effort, you see? And all the while, you are praying. So: "Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner"; then, "Most Holy Lady, Mother of God, save me, a sinner"; and then to the guardian angel and to all the saints. It is quite an involved rule, really — something from the monasteries — but when you do it, you get so much from it. You just feel… completely different afterwards. I have seen it for myself, time and again. On the days I miss it, I feel like a different person altogether — a bit sluggish, my thoughts all over the place. But it gives you this incredible surge of strength; it is amazing. So I try to do it almost every day. I do not always succeed, of course, but I make sure to fit it in at least four or five times a week.
Host: So, would you say it is good for your physical health as well?
Mother Maria: Oh, definitely. Without a doubt. I can tell you, it always used to amaze me, reading about the saints and how they would do a thousand full prostrations. I used to think, 'That is just not possible, how could anyone do that?' But now I can see how it is possible — though for me, it is completely out of the question, of course. I mean, if I manage to get through a hundred in a day, I am doing well for myself.
Host: I read about Saint Alexander of Svir once. They said his spine was like a young man's. Just like that.
Mother Maria: What does that show you? It shows that if you start young enough, you can manage it. If only I had started right at the beginning… but I did not really take it up until I was well into my seventies, so what can you expect? But it does make a difference. It really does. It is the reason I can still walk about without any help, and even have a bit of a jog now and then. Mind you, it is very hard, because after they replaced my hip in surgery, I could not really run any more. Right. And now I can only move at a fair pace — you might think I was running, but I am not, of course.
Host:Have you ever felt any resentment towards God? For instance, when things have not turned out how you had hoped, or when you are struggling with some weakness or other? In those kinds of battles, you can get properly worn out, and you might find yourself asking God, 'Why is this so draining? Why is it taking so long and causing so much pain?' So, have you ever felt that sort of bitterness towards God yourself?
Mother Maria: You know, it is a funny thing, but no, I have never felt bitter towards God. Why not? Well, because when I really and truly came to God, I was so struck by my own guilt, so overwhelmed by my sinfulness — I realised there was just so much of it inside me, so powerful and awful — that the thought of feeling resentful towards anyone, let alone God, just never crossed my mind. I just knew that whenever something went wrong, it was my own doing. All of it, down to me. So no, I never felt any bitterness towards God. All I ever felt was a deep sense of shame, thinking, "My Lord, when you see all my failings, how could you possibly look on me with any kindness?" You see? It is the same when I think of my guardian angel. I would remember the wrong things I had done and think: "Goodness me, my guardian angel, who is right here beside me, helping me, caring for me, constantly worrying about me… he saw all of that. I have hurt him with my wrongdoing."
It was so hard, so agonising, and yet I never held anything against anyone — not people, not God. Never, not once. The only thing I felt, so many times, was this awful weight of guilt, because I had always thought I was born perfectly normal, you know, a pure sort of person. I felt it was just life that had made me unclean and sinful. And that was that. But in God's eyes, it must have been completely different. He must have intended for me to be pure and holy right from the beginning, but I just did not end up like that. Instead, I became a deeply sinful person. So, that feeling, it has just always been there.
Host: And I suppose before you came to the Church — even back when you were not a believer — you must have had these sorts of feelings inside. Maybe today we would call it a quiet argument with God, a sense that things were not quite right in your life, a sadness deep down, a search for something… Before coming to God, that is how it is for all of us, is it not? We have all these emotions and feelings, and we are trying to make something of our lives. Did you never have that kind of inner turmoil?
A little, yes. It really came to a head, you know, when I was trying to get married and it just never seemed to work out. One time it fell through, another time it fell through, and a third — it happened several times. It was not as though I was set on just one man. Well, at first, I really did fall head over heels. But then, when I found out he was already married, I had to pull back, and that was the end of that. Then others came along, and again it did not work out, and again it did not. See?
But here is how I am: I have to pick everything apart, to figure it all out. I started trying to analyse it all: "Why this? And how did that happen? Why this way? Why that way? And why now, when we both wanted it and everything was going so well, does this fear just pop into my head: how can I possibly leave my parents behind and move to another city? How could I do such a thing? I just could not." I said no to this man I really liked, the one I had even agreed to marry — can you believe it? And I walked away. I regretted it later, but in that moment, I was completely set: there was no way I was going through with that wedding, because it would be a dreadful thing to do to my parents. Can you imagine? The thought of them just took over everything, you see? And then, thinking it all over again, I wondered: what on earth was going on? And it struck me — that was the Lord's doing. It dawned on me that the Lord must have seen that whenever I get into something, I give it my all. I go in completely.
You know, if I had married, I would have given it my all, one hundred per cent. I would never have found my way to the convent. And I suppose, right from the very start, the Lord could see this was where I was meant to be. That is something I came to believe for myself later on. And that was that. After that, a sense of peace came over me, and I thought, "Alright, this is God's doing, it is not just a coincidence. So there is no use fighting it. You just stay put and live a full life here, giving yourself over to God, to prayer, and to other people."
Is it hard to live in obedience?
Host: Mother Maria, is it hard to be in obedience to sisters who are younger than you?
Mother Maria: I do not believe I have ever had to be, but right from the beginning, I never really made a distinction between younger or older. To my mind, they were simply nuns, fellow sisters in Christ, and that was all there was to it. And no, being obedient is not difficult at all. It never has been. It comes quite easily, really. Because, as I have said, I held such a lowly view of myself. I thought, "Here I am in a convent, I know nothing, I cannot do much, and I got here so late in life." So, in my eyes, everyone else was always far above me. And when you have that feeling, that everyone is higher than you are, it does not matter how old they are or anything else — it is very easy to do as you are told, you see?
I did obey, of course, but there were times when I did not. It was not with the sisters, though, it was with our spiritual father. After I had been in the convent for two or three years, he told me I had to move from one cell to another. Oh, but I was so fond of my little room, I loved it so much that I just said, "I am not leaving it, Father. There is no way. I do not want to, I do not want to." Can you imagine? And it did not even cross my mind that I was being disobedient. You see? It did not feel like disobedience to me; it felt normal. I wanted so strongly to stay in that particular cell that I never thought I was refusing obedience — not to some sister, but to Father himself. I said, "I will not move for anything," can you believe it?
Well, he was terribly taken aback. He just sort of waved his hand at me, as if to say, "Oh, let the silly thing stay where she is." Afterwards, I was so distraught. Oh, I cried and cried. I begged forgiveness from the Abbess, from Father… I went to see our — not the Abbess, but our dean, yes, the dean — and I was in tears, saying, "Mother, I am so shameless, I am so awful." She tried to soothe me; she felt so sorry for me. She said, "Now then, think about what has happened. Calm yourself down. It is not the end of the world; it will all blow over." But I felt so terribly ashamed of myself afterwards. Then I said to myself, "From now on, if they tell me to move to any cell, I will get up straight away. I will go at once."
I was told I had to move to a different cell; I had been with Mother Paraskeva up until then. And after I had been in this other cell for about six years with another sister, Mother Paraskeva… well, when we were moved on again, I thought to myself, right, "That is it. I will go wherever they send me, no questions asked." But she just could not get her head around it. "Why did you not ask to stay?" she said. And I just remembered the promise I had made to myself: I had messed up like that before, and I was not going to do it again. So I went without a word, and I have been in this new cell ever since. Not many people are keen on it because it is terribly cold — right in the corner, with freezing walls. But there you are. I told myself, "I will never, ever ask to be moved from this cell, because this is where Mother put me." You know?
So, well, you do learn from your mistakes, you really do. And sometimes they are painful ones, the kind that have you in floods of tears, begging for forgiveness. Because… well, I suppose that is just how you find your feet in this life, how you… mature.
Host: It is all part of that maturing, is it not?
Mother Maria: Yes, a very particular sort of maturing, a spiritual one. And it is certainly not always a comfortable process.
Host: Mother Maria, in the heat of the moment, when there is a disagreement, you do not actually feel that you are doing anything wrong. It is only afterwards that the penny drops about the disobedience, the guilt, the wrongness of it all? Is that to say that God makes you aware of it after it is all over?
Mother Maria: Not always. That sense of hindsight… that tends to come later for someone who is new to the life, who has not quite found their bearings. All your old habits from the world, they still feel perfectly natural, do they not? "Why should I not say something?" you think. But that is completely out of the question here. You simply must not argue back. If you are told to do something, that is that. You just say, "Bless me, Father," and get on with it.
Even if you feel in your heart of hearts that it is completely the wrong thing to do, you have to do it. And why is that? Because later on, the one who gave you the order will see the mistake and put it right. Your job is just to obey.
Host: "Obedience is above fasting and prayer"
Mother Maria: Exactly. It comes before fasting and prayer. And that is not something that comes straight away. It is a lesson learned the hard way. And even for someone who has been here for five or ten years, slips still happen. You will be in a meeting, Father will say something, and a sister will just… pipe up and argue. And you think, "Here we go again." Everyone else can see that it is just not on… yes, but she has not quite got there yet, you see? Or perhaps I have not got there yet. These things may seem simple: is it not painful to oppose your sister, or to live with irritation? When you watch a sister objecting in a meeting, you might expect that by now you would understand, would you not? And in that moment, what does your heart feel — are you feeling sorry for the Father, or for the sister? Well, it is a bit of both, really.
You feel for the Father because, poor man, he tries so very hard, and yet we are still as clumsy and hopeless as we ever were. So, there is that side of it. But then you also feel sorry for the sister who, right to the very end, just cannot seem to get her head around the simple fact that obedience is more important than fasting and prayer. Do you see what I mean?
And still, there is that pull, is there not? That urge to object, to make a point, to prove you are in the right. But it has got nothing to do with being right or wrong. It is all about what obedience is — that is the heart of it. You pick up the Lives of the Saints, or the Paterikon, and it all sounds so beautiful, so heavenly. You think to yourself, "What could be so hard about that?" Yet even in the smallest things there is real difficulty. Obedience is a real eye-opener because, coming from the outside world where we do not know the first thing about this sort of submission… I mean, you obeyed your mother and father when you were small, of course. But now I see even children answering back. Little ones, even. I know for me, what my mother or father said, that was it. It was law. I would not have dreamt of disobeying; I just did what I was told. And if I ever did step out of line, I certainly paid for it, and paid dearly.
And I look around now and see that things have changed so much, even out in the wider world. Which just makes it all the harder for someone to come from that background and change their ways here. Very difficult. It was tough for me, and I felt I was more ready for it than some. For other people, it is harder still.
Host: And can that struggle go on for years?
Mother Maria: Oh, yes. Yes, it can. You can have someone here for five, six, seven years, and they still not have that true sense of how important obedience is.
