At the heart of monastic life lies the profound reality of Sacred Obedience. It is not mere compliance, but a free surrender of one’s will to God’s providence, a path to spiritual growth through humble service. In this series, we invite you into the workshops of St. Elisabeth Convent to meet the sisters and lay associates who find God’s presence in their daily labors.
Today, we open the doors to the Icon Setting Workshop. While many are familiar with traditional icon painting, this unique ministry also creates the ornamental metal covers, or rizas, that embrace an icon like a precious garment, as well as the smaller hand-painted acrylic icons so many of the faithful keep in their homes.
Her first encounter with an icon came in childhood, when she found an image of the Mother of God while flipping through a magazine. “It was an early Byzantine fresco, and I still remember Her large, searching eyes,” recalls Nun Sophia (Krupina).
Today, she serves as an iconographer in the monastery, a vocation she could never have imagined back then.
“Obedience in the monastery is always a gift from God,” Mother Sophia reflects. “If I were choosing a career in the secular world, I would never have found my way to iconography. I wouldn’t have dared to even look in that direction, despite my admiration for icons”.
“After living in the monastery for years, you realise there are no accidents. Our knowledge and talents are God’s gifts. I view my skills as an iconographer as a spiritual dowry — a gift I bring to the altar as a bride of Christ”.
“I was baptized as a child at the Church of St. Alexander Nevsky, located in the old military cemetery. My grandmother was a believer,” Mother Sophia shares. “When she went to church, she would take me with her, though it didn't happen often — she had a large household to manage, and the church was far away”.
Her parents did not speak about faith. “I remember my grandmother had a Bible and a prayer book. Sometimes, out of curiosity, I would leaf through them to see what was written there”.
The turning point came during the turbulence of adolescence. “When you become a teenager, questions about the injustice of the world arise. By that age, you have already committed acts that weigh heavily on your soul,” she explains. “But I saw no way out of that feeling. No one told me about confession, and I didn’t have the habit of confiding in adults”.
Her grandmother’s simple village house became a sanctuary. “She had icons in every corner of her cottage. Turning to them, I began to ask God questions in my own way”.
“I knew for certain that at any moment of my life, God was looking at me. I knew I couldn’t hide my inner world. If there is sin in the soul, it is visible to the One who knows everything about me”. This piercing realization eventually led her to the Church. “It compelled me to think about God, to prepare for confession, and finally, to enter that holy space”.
“God prepared me gently, drop by drop: a chance meeting, a word overheard, something said on the radio… Then, suddenly, the moment arrives when you are able to entrust everything in your soul to God”.
“I realised I had been sinning my whole life. To avoid sliding back into the mire I had just climbed out of, I knew I had to work on myself and make the Church a permanent part of my life”.
Mother Sophia’s journey from parishioner to nun was swift. “I came to the church at 23, and by 24, I was in the monastery,” she says.
It began at the Saints Peter and Paul Cathedral in Minsk, where Father Andrey Lemeshonok (now the spiritual father of St. Elisabeth Convent) served. “During an All-Night Vigil, a thought came to me clearly: I want to go to the monastery. From that moment on, all my thoughts and actions were directed toward wrapping up my affairs in the world and leaving”.
But spiritual change rarely comes without resistance. “For a time, there was an inner struggle. Thoughts kept assailing me: ‘Why are you going to church? What are you doing? Where are you going?’”.
“The Enemy knew where I would find true peace, and he tried to hold me back, to frighten me. I felt as though everything around me had gone lifeless, as if I were moving through a kind of vacuum. This lasted for about six months,” she recalls. “But the moment I arrived at the monastery, that chaotic stream of thoughts ceased”.
She arrived in winter. “It was like a fairy tale: silence all around, snow-covered trees, the beautiful architecture. I immediately met Father Andrey near the church shop. He took me straight to the ceramics workshop”.
With a background from the Minsk Center for Decorative Applied Arts and experience at a porcelain factory, she was ready to work. “I painted a figurine of an angel, and they told me: ‘You’re doing so well!’ That was a pivotal moment for me. Why did I stay? Because I was supported and praised in a very human way”.
“If they had told me I wasn't good at it, I might have returned to the world. I wouldn’t have found my place in the monastic family, nor eventually moved to the icon painting studio. When a person is in their right place, they see God's Providence more clearly”.
While volunteering in the ceramics workshop, she heard that the icon painting studio, led by Father Sergy Nezhbort, was looking for people to train. Father Andrey gave his blessing.
“Deciding a sister’s obedience is the spiritual father's role. In our convent, the priest considers both the spiritual benefit of the task and the sister’s experience in the world. If a sister was a cook, a seamstress, or an artist, she is given the chance to use those talents for the glory of God”.
Her training began with the basics. “The first thing they gave me was a tabletka — a practice board. It’s a thin panel primed with gesso, used for learning to paint with egg tempera”.
“I knew nothing about icon painting. I had to trust not only God but also the person guiding me into this world of the icon”.
“I always had a reverent attitude toward icons; I understood that this is not just a painting — it is an image of another world,” she explains. “In the beginning, you are like an inexperienced fledgling. You are tense and very focused, afraid to take a wrong step or move the brush in the wrong way”.
“Eventually, experience and freedom come, but with freedom comes even greater responsibility”.
“For me, an icon is a presence in another world. Constantly interacting with the heavenly realm is a great help to my soul. On a different obedience, it might have been harder for me. In a monastery, you go through various states — despondency, misunderstandings with others. The icon is my great consolation”.
In 2006, Mother Sophia was transferred to her current obedience, her day-to-day work in the monastery: the Icon Setting Workshop.
“In the main icon studio, they paint large icons for iconostases in traditional egg tempera. In our workshop, we work on a smaller scale, painting acrylic icons for homes and private chapels. We have our own regular customers who constantly turn to us”.
She emphasizes the value of a hand-painted image. “A painted icon is created for the ages. This doesn’t mean a printed icon is less grace-filled, but the physical preservation of a painted icon is much higher. Prints fade; painted icons endure”.
The workshop handles many commissions, but there is room for inspiration. “Sometimes we create freely, outside of orders. You might find an ancient image and feel a desire to refine it — to bring harmony to the figure, the face, the colour balance”.
“It is important for an iconographer not just to copy ancient samples, but to try to create, guided by the canons of both ancient and modern iconography,” she notes.
Recently, she has felt drawn to painting Saints Peter and Fevronia. “We often paint them with the hope that through these icons, families will be strengthened”.
“I believe every icon has its own story. It will find the person who was waiting for it,” Mother Sophia says.
She recalls a story shared by a fellow sister: “We brought an icon of St. Seraphim of Sarov in a metal casing to an exhibition abroad. A Catholic woman came up and started talking about how difficult her life was. As she shared her struggles, she kept looking over her shoulder, saying, ‘I don’t understand, someone is looking at me’”.
“That is how she noticed the icon of St. Seraphim. She left, but returned later to buy it, because in that short time, the answers to her questions had come. That was her icon”.
Sometimes, the timing of an icon’s completion is mysterious. “I have an icon that is eight years old and still hasn’t quite ‘ripened’,” she admits. “Before, this pressured me. But I realised I must simply wait calmly for the moment I can return to it. Perhaps, at that specific future moment, it will be exactly what someone needs”.
For Mother Sophia, the technical process is inseparable from the spiritual one.
“Icon painting is not a production line. You can’t just sit down and mechanically paint; you must deepen yourself into each image”.
“Sometimes you look at a finished icon and think, ‘How did I paint that?’ Not out of pride, but because you realise it was not simply you. It did not come from you”.
“Our task is to dwell in the state of God’s presence, though we don't always succeed,” she confesses. “Like any person, I experience weakness, relaxation, or laziness. It is impossible to be in prayer and focus constantly; you get distracted by conversations”.
“When you paint an icon, restrain yourself. Say within your heart: ‘Lord, have mercy, forgive me.’ Keep your mind fixed on Christ, your heart pure and open before God. Never forget that you have dared to depict the holy, and the responsibility is great”.
“I needed to be in an environment where people believe. I desperately needed support,” she says of her vocation. “Even now, if I slacken in anything, the monastery holds me up”.
“For me, the monastery is family. Just like in a family, you aren’t equally close with everyone. But I can say for sure: even if you enter into a conflict with someone, after confession, you accept that person again”.
“I’m sure there were moments when I was unpleasant to the sisters, or said words that wounded them. But in this environment, you learn to change, and others learn to understand you. A family is already a great gift. These are people who pray for you, worry about you, and who you hope will not abandon you”.
As a senior sister in the workshop, she views her authority as a form of care. “It is important not to suppress a person, but to suggest, to support, to tell them that they are doing well, that they just need a little correction”.
Looking back at her years of service, she offers this advice on obedience: “You don't change your obedience yourself. You don't say, ‘Father, I’m tired, I can’t do this.’ You can complain to God, you can speak to your confessor. But if you ask for a change, are you sure you’re asking for what is useful for your soul’s salvation? Are you sure you can handle a different burden? Therefore, we must try to fulfill our obedience and thank God”.
“My obedience moves me toward God. I cannot say I am yet a mature person who fully understands God's Providence or never asks, ‘Lord, why?’ But I hope there is still time for knowing God, my neighbors, and myself. So that on my deathbed, I may be able to say: ‘Glory to God for everything that was in my life. Lord, I thank You!’”.
Prepared by Olga Demidyuk
Photos by Maxim Chernogolov
