The subject I wish to speak about is of great importance, because the way a person begins the monastic life often determines how that life will unfold. Even if a sister’s initial zeal later grows faint, a rightly directed beginning can sustain her on the path she has chosen.
It is essential that a woman entering the monastery clearly understands the purpose and meaning of monastic life. When a person consciously takes up the difficult struggle against her fallen nature, against the spirit of the world, and against the devil, then every difficulty begins to be seen not as an obstacle, but as a task — as a condition for the salvation of her soul.
The modern person comes from the world with disordered bearings, with distorted notions of virtue and freedom, and with a deep attachment to comfort. In the monastery she is called to adopt not only a different way of life, but a different way of thinking. She must gradually set aside the logic she has absorbed over the years — the spirit of this world — and acquire a spiritual way of seeing and discerning.
As Saint Ignatius Brianchaninov once wrote of the monastics of his own time: they entered the monastery, put off their worldly clothing and put on the monastic habit, yet the habits and dispositions formed in the world remained within them and, left unsatisfied, often grew even stronger.
And this was in a time when novices came from families shaped by generations of Orthodox life — large households, shared responsibilities, daily experience of caring for others. From childhood, people learned patience, restraint, obedience, mutual help, and a certain simplicity of life.
Today the situation is very different. Many are raised with values far removed from the Christian tradition. Even basic virtues once taken for granted — respect for elders, obedience to parents, self-restraint, readiness for sacrifice, mutual support, simplicity in daily life — have become rare.
For this reason, before a novice can begin to ascend to the heights of monastic life, she must often first recover what was never formed in her: she must learn, quite simply, to become a decent human being.
This is especially difficult for older novices, who arrive already formed, with their own ideas about life — including spiritual life — and with certain expectations that the monastery will resolve their problems or meet their needs. Quite often, they have only a vague understanding of the foundations of the Orthodox faith, of the services, and of monastic life itself.
The monastery’s rule — the daily cycle of services, the prayer rule, common obediences, reading of the Fathers, fasting, and the order of life — is a saving structure that helps shape a new person. It is therefore very important that a novice become acquainted with this rule from the very beginning and strive to follow it faithfully.
Having asked several sisters to reflect on the difficulties they encountered at the beginning of their monastic life, I will outline the most common among them.
Outward difficulties are often rooted in inner ones — especially the fear of asking questions, or of appearing ignorant. For this reason, it is important that a newly arrived sister be carefully guided in the practical aspects of monastic life:
• personal belongings
• outward conduct
• the daily schedule
• meals
• trips outside the monastery (to a clinic, or on obediences)
• communication with relatives and acquaintances
• receiving gifts or treats
• the use of medicines
These practical concerns usually fall to the abbess and the sisters who assist her. Here, a sense of measure — and even a certain strictness — is necessary. Experience shows that when too much is given and too much is allowed, a spirit of entitlement and ingratitude can quietly take root, and sisters begin to grow lax. Excessive protection from external difficulties often leads to internal ones: idleness, carelessness, and the growth of the passions.
For a long time — sometimes a very long time — a newcomer feels as though she is only visiting, as if she were living in a hostel rather than in her own home. She cannot yet accept that her cell is truly her place. She may be afraid to ask questions, as though she had no right to do so, and she hesitates to speak openly with older sisters, imagining them to be somehow inaccessible.
This sense of being a stranger can give rise to thoughts of leaving the monastery. During this period, the support of the abbess and the senior sisters is especially important. What is often needed is something very simple: ordinary human attention — a question, a word of care. The sister must feel that she is needed, that she belongs to a new family.
One novice once said that she would not have remained in the monastery if not for her cellmate, an older nun who treated her like a younger sister — caring for her, asking about her difficulties, and supporting her in every way.
A woman entering the monastery often carries an idealised, even romantic image of monastic life.
When she does not find this imagined perfection, and instead encounters the weaknesses and sins of others — since in the monastery everyone lives in close proximity — she may become deeply disillusioned and fall into despondency.
At this point, the hardest struggle is often the inability to accept those around her. Hurt and offence may arise, even if they remain outwardly hidden.
One novice, offended by harsh words from a nun, once exclaimed at a monastic meeting: “Where have I come? Is this supposed to be a holy place?”
Only through God’s mercy, through patience and repentance, does one come to understand that the monastery, like the whole Church, is a single family. Learning to accept others with their weaknesses, and to find inner reconciliation, becomes the very foundation of spiritual growth.
At the beginning, a novice’s attachment to the world remains strong — attachment to family, to comfort, to familiar forms of leisure. Each contact with the world can stir up an inner struggle, leading to longing, self-pity, and even wavering in one’s chosen path.
Extended time outside the monastery, uncontrolled access to the internet, or unrestricted communication with those living in the world can be especially harmful.
In our monastery, novices do not have mobile phones. At first this is experienced as painful, but later they themselves come to understand the necessity of such a rule. The phone easily becomes a constant thread connecting one to the world, drawing time into empty — or even harmful — conversation.
A novice must learn to regulate her contact with relatives in consultation with the abbess and her spiritual father. If this measure is exceeded, even with good intentions, it often leads first to a certain distance from the sisters, and then to tension or conflict.
The absence of constant noise, of a flow of information and changing impressions, can at first feel oppressive.
One of our novices suffered greatly because there was no radio. Her spiritual father told her: “Very well, you may listen — but ask for a blessing each time.” Strangely enough, she soon lost the desire to turn it on at all.
It is not easy for a newcomer to acquire the habit of seeking a blessing for her actions. Having lived according to her own judgement and preferences, she may find it difficult to understand that now she must ask about everything — rom her daily schedule to her inner struggles.
Often a novice expects that everything will be explained to her, not realising that she herself must ask. It is impossible to foresee and prescribe everything for each sister individually.
Sometimes she is ashamed to ask, thinking she alone does not understand something.
She may also struggle to know how to ask: how much detail to give, what exactly constitutes a blessing, what must be followed, and what may simply be taken as guidance.
Difficulties can arise when a sister is under obedience to one elder sister, while another asks her to take on additional work. If she does not communicate this, her main obedience suffers, and she may exhaust herself physically.
The rhythm of monastic life is often very demanding at first. A novice may experience constant tension, fatigue, hunger, and lack of sleep — even when meals are sufficient and rest is, in fact, adequate.
This is often because she does not yet know how to rest. She may hesitate to ask for time to recover, thinking such things are not permitted in the monastery.
In our monastery, one day a week is set aside when a sister may rest more, attend to small personal tasks, or read. Once a year, sisters are also given time at the monastery’s country house, where they may walk in the forest, spend time in quiet, and watch films with the blessing of the spiritual father.
In the monastery, a person begins to see passions within herself that went unnoticed in the distracted life of the world. This leads to a difficult inner struggle: she must face her own sinfulness and her inability to live according to the commandments.
At times, this may even give rise to complaint before God: “I came here so that You would change me. I thought everything would be different at once. Why has this new life not begun?”
The struggles of each sister become, in one way or another, the concern of the whole community. For this reason, they must be addressed together.
In our monastery, weekly gatherings are held with the sisters, the abbess, and the spiritual father. At these meetings, sisters speak openly about their difficulties, questions, and experiences. Such gatherings are of great help — they offer real support both to newcomers and to those more experienced in the monastic life.
Confession is also regular, and many sisters keep spiritual journals, which are read by the spiritual father.
Many contemporary spiritual fathers have said that, in our time, even becoming a novice is already a feat. As Archimandrite John (Krestyankin) wrote, people today come to the Church shaped by a world that has largely fallen away from God. They carry within them distorted notions of good and evil, and what they have accepted as truth in the world often rises up against the truth that begins to awaken in the soul. These two cannot easily be reconciled. On earth, the heavenly truth is often crucified.
Perhaps the task of the spiritual father and the abbess is precisely this: to help the novice remain faithful to that truth, supporting her and bearing with her weaknesses.
I recall the words of one novice who, before coming to the monastery, had been a very sharp and thoroughly worldly man. After living there for half a year, he had changed greatly. When his sister visited him and saw how peaceful he had become, she said in surprise: “They must have forced you into this meekness.” He replied: “Quite the opposite. No one pressures me or pulls me about. If they had tried to break me, I would only have become harsher and more bitter. But here, they treat me simply, with genuine human care — in a Christian way.”
And so, what matters most is that there be love in the monastery. Then, with God’s help, both the external and the internal difficulties are overcome.
Thank you for your attention.
Abbess Euphrosyne (Laptik)
