In our new series, ‘Sacred Obedience’, we explore the lives and labours of those who serve in the monastery's workshops. Today, we take a closer look at the gold embroidery studio, a place where artistry and devotion intertwine.
Founded in 2002 with the blessing of the monastery's spiritual father, Archpriest Andrey Lemeshonok, the workshop began its work in earnest when Metropolitan Filaret (Vakhromeev) blessed the creation of its first Holy Shroud of Christ. In those early days, all the embroidery was done exclusively by hand. The founding nuns trained in this sacred art at the gold embroidery workshop Ubrus, part of the Optina Hermitage’s metochion in St. Petersburg.
Today, the workshop creates intricate church and priestly vestments, Gospel bookmarks, mitres, and more. Over the years, its artisans have developed a distinctive style, making their work widely recognisable.
Nun Anfisa (Adamovich) has been leading the Monastery’s gold embroidery studio for the past 15 years. In this interview, she shares her thoughts on the spiritual essence of this obedience, her experiences of trusting God in her work, and the challenges and joys that come with it.
In the monastery, every person is placed exactly where they belong. I clearly see God’s Providence in my being assigned to the gold embroidery workshop. I love this work deeply and am profoundly grateful to God for the opportunity to work with my hands. I believe that, as long as it is beneficial for me, God will allow me to remain here.
When I first joined the workshop 15 years ago, I had no prior experience. My only attempt at embroidery had been as a child, stitching a simple cross-stitch shawl. Everything I know now, I learned here, step by step. I vividly remember one of my first challenging tasks: embroidering a complex grape leaf on an ancient aër. The threads needed to lie perfectly, flowing in different directions without leaving any gaps. I became entirely absorbed by the task, thinking about it even after leaving the workshop. I would return each day, try again, and unstitch countless times. The joy I felt when I finally succeeded was immeasurable!
One of the more intricate techniques in our workshop is sewing mitres. It involves piercing the fabric with an awl and aligning the needle perfectly with the same spot on the reverse side. At first, I found it incredibly difficult; I struggled and felt as though I might never master it. While technical skills are essential to guide one’s efforts, there is also a need to develop a feeling for the craft. With time and practice, this instinct emerges. Eventually, sewing becomes so natural that you barely notice the movements of your fingers or the needle—they seem to work on their own. I believe this instinct is a gift from God.
When I joined the workshop 15 years ago, it was still located in the boarding school for the mentally and physically challenged that our monastery supports. Since then, much has changed—the staff has almost entirely turned over, and the workshop itself has undergone significant transformations. At that time, all the work was done by hand. We focused on creating church draperies, such as large banners and liturgical covers, adorned with intricate hand embroidery. Learning to work in the studio required a long and dedicated period of study.
The gold embroidery workshop gets its name from the materials we use: gold, silver, and silk threads. Silk threads are reserved for facial images, while gold and silver threads are used for designs, ornaments, and inscriptions, such as the words of prayer embroidered along the edges of a shroud. We also incorporate pearls and natural stones to enhance the beauty of our creations.
Just six months after I began working here, I was unexpectedly entrusted with my elder sister’s responsibilities, despite having limited experience. It was a daunting task, but shortly afterward, we moved to a new building—a change I believe was providential. This move marked the beginning of active collaboration with other monastery workshops, including sewing, embroidery, icon-casing, and non-ferrous metals workshops. Producing a single item, such as a mitre, often involves contributions from several workshops. We share materials, support one another, and work together in a spirit of cooperation.
Hand embroidery is an intricate and time-intensive process, which makes it costly. In our workshop, we produce exclusively liturgical items. To make our products more accessible, we have introduced a combination of hand and machine embroidery. This approach helps balance quality with affordability while preserving the sacred essence of our work.
In the gold embroidery workshop, most of our orders are for mitres, Gospel bookmarks, and, until a few years ago, liturgical sets like veils and aërs.
The mitres we make are crafted from brocade and velvet, combining machine and hand embroidery with materials such as semi-precious stones, natural pearls, and other elements traditionally used in ancient sewing. The icons on the mitres can either be machine-embroidered or created in the coloured metal or tactile varnish workshop.
We often sew items based on the individual wishes of our customers, and that’s how new designs are born. Many times, we draw the designs directly onto gauze blanks.
It used to be like this (Sister Anfisa picks up a mitre): let’s say we received an order for a new mitre. We would draw the design, sew it, and embroider it entirely by hand. Of course, that was both expensive and very time-consuming — one person could spend more than a month completing a single piece. Nowadays, we embroider large gold elements, like crosses, by machine, while the smaller details, like ornaments, are still done by hand. Even so, it’s still a long process. The fastest sister can spend 60–70 hours just embroidering the elements for one mitre. The embellishments — like pearls, edging, and raised embroidery, which machines can’t do — are all finished by hand as well.
In the workshop, I’ve had to learn to do things I never thought I could. For instance, I didn’t like drawing at school and barely managed it, but here I’ve had to draw mitres and keep improving at it. A mitre has to be carefully traced into four or six sections so that all the elements can be glued in the right places. When I first started, it could take me about four hours to draw one out. Now, after years of trial and error—with mistakes, frustration, and a lot of redoing—I’ve come to understand what craftsmanship is. When you persevere, God gives you ideas about how to do things better and faster. These days, I can finish mapping it out in as little as half an hour.
For me, nothing in the workshop would be possible without God's help. I especially felt this when I was put in charge of the workshop—it was always far beyond my own strength. I look back now and can hardly believe that I’ve been working here for 15 years. The fact that we’ve been able to operate for so long and complete such complex orders feels like a miracle to me.
There is always a balance of worries: when there are no orders, I fear there will be nothing to keep people busy; and when there are many orders, I worry about completing them accurately and on time. Trusting God is essential in this work.
The most important lesson I’ve learned in this obedience is to keep peace in my heart. In our workshop, we create very intricate items, including bishops’ orders that carry a great sense of responsibility. You can only cope if you don’t allow yourself to be overwhelmed by anxiety or fear. Such thoughts do not come from God and must be cut off.
This workshop teaches me how to live with God. I’ve realised that trying to solve problems on my own only results in losing the peace in my heart, while the problems remain unsolved. Now, I understand that nothing can be done without God’s help. It’s better to trust Him from the very beginning—doing what you can each day, calmly and without irritation or protest. When you approach things this way, God inevitably helps and arranges everything in the best way.
It’s also important to learn how to work with the people God brings to the workshop. Personalities can be very complex. As the senior sister, I’ve come to understand that arguing or insisting on my own way doesn’t work. If I need to make a remark to someone, it can only be effective if I have peace in my heart. Even if what I’m saying is true and important, if I lack peace, I am still in the wrong. God sees the state of my heart and knows when there is more wrongdoing in me than in my sister. In those moments, I need to ask for forgiveness.
Instead of forcing my way, I hand everything over to God, asking Him to do what is best. If the sister is in the wrong, God will guide her and provide her with a situation to help her understand. Often, I find that when I approach someone calmly and with God’s help, I can speak about a mistake—even with a measure of strictness—but without the agitation of passion. That’s when the conversation bears fruit.
In the workshop, we pray together every morning and afternoon—it unites us in a profound way. For me, the best part of the day is starting early in silence with a common prayer. Our prayer rule is quite extensive: we read the Akathist to St Nicholas and have gradually added prayers to saints dear to us. These include the troparion to the Righteous Tabitha of Joppa, the patron saint of sewing, as well as prayers to St Spyridon of Trimythous, St Nicholas of Myra, the Venerable Martyr Grand Duchess Elisabeth, and the Martyr Paraskeva. In the afternoon, we gather again for prayer, offering a joint prayer for peace followed by readings from the Gospel and the Apostle. Usually, one person reads while the rest of us continue working.
The workshop thrives only through God’s help. He brings us customers and enables us to complete complex tasks on time. Many of us have realised that without prayer, it would be impossible to keep going. Years ago, during a particularly difficult time, I prayed the Akathist to St Nicholas, asking for work for the workshop. In the middle of the prayer, I received a call with a new order.
We also come together for a common Divine Liturgy with others working under the same roof. This is deeply unifying, as it brings us out of our individual workshops and into shared prayer. Despite being a working environment, these liturgies are always quiet and beautiful, free from distractions or unnecessary movements. They feel pure, even transparent.
For me, my obedience in the gold embroidery workshop is an extension of the prayer life. Here, we are just as much before God as we are during a divine service, because we sew liturgical articles.
I am especially grateful that my second obedience is singing in the choir. These two obediences complement each other, helping me in the salvation of my soul.
While I find joy in my work, it often requires me to go beyond what I feel inclined to do. Many days don’t unfold the way I expect. Correspondence with customers, meetings, and unexpected visitors can take up half the day, leaving less time for embroidery. But I remind myself that everything happens according to God’s Providence and is necessary for the greater good.
My favourite moments are when I can work with my hands undisturbed. After a busy day, this time feels like returning to myself. It’s a chance for inner concentration—to keep my thoughts from wandering into idle imaginations and passions. During these moments, I find it best to pray, especially reciting the Jesus Prayer, and to keep my focus on God.
I’ve also learned to embrace interactions with other workshops, even though it doesn’t come naturally to me as a reserved, introverted person. God uses these moments to draw me out of my shell, teaching me to cooperate and serve beyond my comfort zone.
Attention is essential in obedience. I often prepare materials for other sisters, and mistakes can happen, especially with delicate fabrics. When that occurs, whoever works after me must step in and make corrections. It’s a shared effort where everyone helps one another, striving to do their best while showing patience and understanding.
Even with experience, every order carries its own responsibilities. Something that worked yesterday might not work today. Each task brings new lessons. For example, we once had an order for four velvet tablets, each requiring two weeks of hand embroidery. We completed three, but on the fourth, the fabric was cut in the wrong direction, making it appear a different colour. We had to start over, and now everyone in the workshop double-checks velvet ten times before beginning.
Or take another instance: a sister, who is usually very demanding of others, accidentally damaged an expensive piece of fabric. That moment sparked a period of inner reflection for her. God often works this way—allowing us to face challenges and mistakes so that we can grow spiritually and change our hearts.
Finding the right person for an embroidery workshop isn’t easy. Even if someone enjoys embroidery and has experience, it still takes a long time to learn the techniques we use here. That’s why new sisters don’t join often. But I see that it is God who brings people to us.
A few months ago, a new sister came to the workshop. She had faced trials and tribulations in her life, but now she is becoming a churchgoer, with experience in prayer and participation in the Divine Liturgy. Another sister, who joined the workshop before me, was also drawn here through her own sorrows and illnesses. For her health, it was important to do manual labour, and this work has brought her peace and focus, soothing her soul. She has been faithfully serving in this obedience for many years, and it continues to help her. All our sisters love their obedience.
The sisters who worked here at the beginning are no longer with us, but I remember each of them and pray for them. Some stayed for several years, mastering the art of embroidery, but later moved on to other paths. They are beautiful, good-hearted people. I still hear from them about how their lives have unfolded—some got married, others entered a monastery.
I feel no offence when sisters leave. I believe their time here was what they needed for a certain season of their life. It’s important to trust God in this and not cling to personal feelings, because ultimately, He is in charge of everything. We are all in His sight, and He arranges everything according to His will.
I don’t come to the workshop every day with the thought that I am here to serve. Even though I love what I do, there are days when I have to struggle with myself just to be present. I don’t believe it’s necessary to constantly remind myself that I’m fulfilling a ministry. That sense of purpose is more like an end goal—something that can only be achieved with God’s help. What’s most important is to live before God and to do your work with a clear conscience. Then, by His grace, God raises a person to true ministry, seeing the sincerity of their heart.
Working in the workshop has been salvific for me. It’s the place where my outer work and inner work come together, each complementing the other. The outer workshop is about fulfilling orders, while the inner workshop is the labour of the soul.
I don’t know what the future holds for me. I can’t say for certain that I will remain here for the rest of my life. God’s ways are mysterious. Perhaps He is “polishing” me here before sending me to the next “machine” in the celestial “production line.” I don’t need to draw a line or make definitive plans; I simply need to trust God.
Interviewer: Olga Demidyuk
Photos by Maxim Chernogolov
