This new series in our "Ministry. Workshops" section brings you the stories of serving in obedience at our monastery's guesthouse.
"I recall Father Andrey at a meeting saying we must find a sister to begin work at the guesthouse. I whispered, 'Yes, that is not easy... Who is ready to die?' He set his eyes on me and said, 'Sofia.' 'Me? Die?' I cried out. 'Die and rise again,' Father Andrey answered with great seriousness. And so began my obedience at the visitor centre with accommodation for 120 people."
The guesthouse "Elisavetinsky" sits within the monastery compound. We sat down with its director, Sofia Gayduk, to ask what draws pilgrims to our monastery, about the hardships of this service, and the rewards that give it meaning.
"Father [Archpriest Andrey Lemeshonok] holds a great love for people," explains Sister Sofia. "He often asks anyone hoping to work here: 'What do you yourself like? What draws your heart?' Of course, it's good when the task is familiar and rewarding. But it is better for the soul to take on a service for which you have no skill or talent. It is precisely then, in your weakness, that God begins to act. The work becomes a real and personal quest. That is what my role at the guesthouse became.”
Sister Sofia
"I never imagined I would serve at Saint Elisabeth Convent; I could not see its depth or meaning. Many things were unclear to me, some I did not like, and certain moments left me puzzled. Yet there was another side to it. In the late 1990s, the monastery priests began to celebrate the Divine Liturgy in Novinki. Every Thursday, we tried to bring my mother-in-law, suffering from old age's forgetfulness, to the service. The priests in Minsk's parish churches were unsure how to minister to people like her, so the services in the psychiatric hospital were a lifeline for our family. This left a well of gratitude in my heart."
"But my spiritual father at that time was Father Nikolai Guryanov. I have not met another whose words so spoke to my heart."
My meeting with God did not come through hardship. My life ran its normal course — I worked, brought up children, and read a great deal. In the early 1990s, few Orthodox books were available, but there were many texts on astrology, Zen Buddhism, Agni Yoga, and other such nonsense. I read much of that, yet I did not think about why the Church is needed.
Once I was at a meeting with a priest. He tried telling me about Orthodoxy, God's love, Christ — all the usual things for newcomers. I was bored and, wanting to cut the conversation short, I said: 'Yes, yes, that is all very well. But please, show me the fruit of it all.' He was startled, but after a moment's thought, he told me of a priest who could do just that: Archpriest Nikolai Guryanov on Zalit Island. The only way to get to him, he added, was to pray on the journey. How? With the short Jesus Prayer."
"Friends who had visited Father Nikolai several times before took me with them to the island. As it was winter, we made our way across the ice. I walked and tried to pray as best I could. It was not a prayer from the heart, but more a repetition of words, like a mantra, in doing as I had been told in obedience. The picture I had in my mind was of a kindly Father Christmas from old storybooks.
Elder Nikolai Guryanov
A thin, grey-haired old man came out of his small house. One by one, people went up to him, and he anointed each of them with a little oil. Everyone had a question for him, and to each he gave a reply. I was simply dumbfounded, because I saw something I had never seen before — a love that flowed from him. How can one see that? I do not know. We spot a mother's love without fail in a look, in a move; we can tell the love between the young; but this was a different kind of love altogether — so caring, all-embracing, and vast. It met every person coming for a blessing and seemed to reach straight to their hearts. I was the last to come forward, tears welling in my eyes. A thought stirred me: 'Lord, if a man can love like this, how much more must You love us?' The elder blessed me with the oil and said, 'Yes, yes. God loves even more.' My soul was caught in the net of this love of God. My heart truly saw the very reason a person comes into the world.
And, of course, I simply had to share this new joy with others. I felt like the Samaritan woman at the well; I wanted to bring everyone 'to the well of living water' (see: John 4:5-42). I returned to the island again and again; life widened before me. My soul thirsted, drank in, and could not be filled with the love and truth I met on the island. No one left the elder without being comforted; I saw people change before my very eyes. Each word he spoke held weight; his every deed cheered the spirit. So much stayed with me: the many stories of miracles, the countless tangled tales of human folly, and his simple counsel on how to set everything straight by following the commandments. He showed us how to live by God's blessing and how to be with the Lord. The strength of prayer, which saved lives, steered disaster away, mended what was broken, helped trust grow, and brought people to change — all of this left its mark on my spirit and carried me through life.
On the island, I saw the white-robed sisters of the Convent. Father Nikolai often said to many of them that they did not need to travel so far, since they had Father Andrey [Lemeshonok]. Yet it never once occurred to me that my own life would join with the monastery.
My friend Tatyana Masalovich worked in the monastery. When I went to see her, I was always met with a 'cheery' scene: an iron and nappies on the ironing board, the main accounts ledger, and a notebook filled with quotes from the Holy Fathers — her notes for meetings with the sisters. She lived her life at home as if she were already in the monastery… I would often tease her, 'Well now, Tania, are you getting ready for your lesson in spiritual wisdom?'
She kept on at me, 'Let's go to Father Andrey.' But I could not see the point of visiting a young priest when I had Father Nikolai. Although our lives ran on separate tracks, the same questions vexed us both. I spoke to her of life on the island, while she told me about the happenings in the monastery. We shared stories — of wonders, of God's kindness, and of unforgettable people.
It was through Tania that my feelings about the Convent slowly began to change. After all, I cared for her deeply and saw how much this place mattered to her.
Sister of Mercy Tatyana Masalovich
Then disaster fell upon us — Tania and her children died tragically. It struck me then that I had no one closer to me in all the world. Guilt weighs upon you for all the words left unspoken: for not loving enough, for holding back... I felt the sharp absence of a true companion, and I knew others did too. An inner need grew in me to approach Father Andrey, to ask if I could do something useful in Tatiana's memory. So, her wish for me came to pass — I began to serve at the monastery she held so dear. My first task was in the accounts office. Back then, I thought I would put the papers in order, honouring Tania that way, and then go.
I met the people whom Tanya had told me about, and I saw their love for her and how she lived on in their memories.
I had a harsh streak in me, a kind of all-or-nothing attitude. Temptations began, and the time came for me to face my own sins. I began to visit Father Nikolai more often, at his graveside. I would ask for his prayers, that the Lord might guide me through Father Andrey and help me finish what Tania had started. Naturally, I came to turn more to Fr Andrey for his counsel. I began to see the truth in Tania's words: that if you do everything with your spiritual father's blessing, it is so much easier to stay at peace with yourself and with others. The monastery, for me, became a place of healing.
My plan was to leave once I'd finished the work, but God's plan keeps me here still.
After the accounts office, they moved me to the visitor service. Taking groups to Father Nikolai's grave became part of my duties. My soul grew to love the monastery, and giving tours around its grounds brought me ease and joy.
Every monastery has somewhere for visitors to stay. We had a little guesthouse that could take thirty or forty people, just three stops away. It is still a home for visiting pilgrims, and those who serve the monastery.
Sister Sofia, the Head of the guesthouse "Elisavetinsky" of St Elisabeth Convent
Time moved on. A new large guesthouse was opening. Much still had to be done to prepare it for receiving groups. I recall Father Andrey saying at a meeting that we must find a sister for this new duty. The work ahead was not going to be easy. I whispered, almost to myself, 'Who is ready to die for it?' He looked straight at me and said, 'Sophia.' 'Me? To die?' The thought filled me with horror. 'To die, and to be raised again,' Father Andrey corrected me. And so my duties in the guesthouse grew.
Organising the work was no small feat. I had to learn how each department ran: I cooked, cleaned, laid the tables, helped in the laundry, learned the accounts, manned the reception desk, picked up cigarette ends in the grounds, and even stood in for the security guard. As Father Nikolai often remarked, 'Whoever desires to become great among you, let him be your servant.' Perhaps, in a monastery, this is simply the measure of anyone who leads.
The guesthouse now runs, as one might say, at full stretch. Visitors travel from many places, as do guests for the seminars and shows now held in the 'Ark' Spiritual and Educational Centre. In the past, we welcomed large parties from Poland and Serbia; today, many of our visitors are from Russia. We receive organised groups from pilgrimage agencies, parishes and choirs, as well as large families and individuals who have simply grown to appreciate the monastic services. People come to lend a hand, and to find calm in the quiet.
Why do so many love coming here? Better yet, what draws people's souls? The answer is quite simple. Everyone — from newcomers to the faith to those long established in the Church, from lovers of beauty to those with nowhere else to turn — senses the presence of God. Grace touches the soul, beauty fills the eyes, and one's ears catch the lovely voices of our choirs.
Sister Sofia at the entrance to the Convent
Ours is a young monastery; we have no great shrine with the relics of a saint who gave his life and strove in prayer to raise this house. But we do have a ministry in hospitals, giving help to people cast adrift by life's storms, those who have fallen out of comfortable living. Our mother abbess, Euphrosinia (Laptik), tells us that the sick who come to our monastery and discover God are our greatest treasure.
And yet, I know of no other monastery with such a collection of holy relics. One bishop, visiting the church dedicated to the 'Reigning' icon of the Mother of God, observed: 'This is not a church; it is an ark of relics.' We have long since grown used to this wonder.
On tours, I sometimes joke with the pilgrims that many of our saints are still alive and walking among us. The icon painters, architects, fathers and prayerful mothers — to me, these are holy people, and you can already see the good that has come from their work. You might think it would be hard to impress visitors from Moscow, a city of golden domes. But they are struck, first, by the flawless taste with which everything has been built; second, by the fact it was done by the hands of local craftspeople from our own parish; and third, that we have no sponsors apart from Saint Nicholas (smiles). They find the scale and beauty of our 'Ark' incredible — there is no match for such a spiritual and educational centre even in Moscow.
Icons of Saints
There is a parish that makes a point of visiting us each year. The priest who arranges their trips put it this way: 'We get an Orthodox inoculation with you. You have the spirit of the first Christians here, when the Church was the centre of all life. You encourage us and show us how a Christian life can be lived.'
Once, a wealthy man from overseas stayed with us. I puzzled over his choice, for he could easily have chosen a comfortable hotel. He never came to the church services; he felt no connection to Orthodoxy. But on the day he departed, he explained, 'This is a remarkable place. I can sleep here without any pills, and I have relied on them for years.'
Sometimes people forget they have come on a pilgrimage. They forget we are people just like them and treat us with a certain scorn, as though we were paid staff. This behaviour wounds the heart. And yet, in a way, it is true; you are God's servant, here to attend to people. The stream of souls who are sick, lost or distressed only ever seems to swell. The Church, after all, is a hospital, a haven for the sick and burdened.
So, in our duties, we learn to look past a person's condition to see the person within. Now and then, of course, we get it wrong ourselves. Sometimes a guest turns up in the grip of some sin and this colours their view of everything. But after only a few days of attending services, that same guest leaves quite changed. The grace of God is at work.
We also learn to show mercy, to pray, to share a little joke, or to listen with an open heart. We must brace ourselves for whatever burdens are laid upon us and pray for the strength not to respond with harsh words. For me, my obedience is God's own help in the battle with myself.
They say, 'Do what you must and let come what may.' Still, we know we must give all we can, while bearing in mind that the result will not be what we plan, but what God knows is needed.
A guest comes not to your house or to a hotel, but to God. Our monastery is no ordinary place; it stands on holy ground.
A group came to us not long ago from a small Russian town. I was sitting at the reception desk, and my spirit had just sunk. Welcoming groups can be hard work. There is the weight of it all, the worry that everything should go smoothly and be done on time, and often you must listen to someone's complaints. It all wears you down. So there I sat, on the verge of tears. The priest who had come with them walked over, full of joy after the service. I said, 'No,' but what I thought was, 'I wish you would all just go home.' Then God spoke to me through that priest's words. 'You have paradise here!' he said. 'Everything you do is just wonderful. We shall live on the memory of this trip for a whole year.' In that instant, I was so ashamed of my pettiness, my focus on earthly troubles, and my foolish way of living in a paradise and still being ungrateful.
People find their way to us by all sorts of routes. Many, naturally, discover us through our website. A good number watch the discussions with our priest, while others visit through the good work of the sisters in our external relations department.
During the pandemic, when so many people were stuck in their homes, our live-streamed services brought comfort and peace. Now that travel is possible again, many come here to pray.
Some are drawn by the beauty of our churches and mosaics. Whole parishes come, wanting to set up sisterhoods and learn from our ways. Others, looking for a place to stay on booking websites, discover our hotel and come simply for a night's rest. God knows how to bring people to Him.
For me, the greatest joy in my obedience, and the very thing that gives me strength to live, is our shared life and the support we give one another. When we all pull together to sort out a problem, the monastery truly becomes one body.
In the guesthouse, the inner life is set so that most know they have come to labour for God. So we try to be able to stand in for each other. Everyone gives what they can. One of our brothers is always busy; he stands as a guard, assists in the laundry, leads tours, settles our visiting groups, and is a fine guide to the holy places. Another brother, who loves the monastery and this house with all his heart, looks after its upkeep. He brings his own lawnmower from home to keep the back yard neat and will take items back to his own workshop if they need special tools for mending. A third brother lends his hand to decorating our dining room and guest rooms; with particular skill, he makes frames for the icons, along with vases and stands, from Manchurian walnut. And then there is a brother with a gift for cooking, who delights in treating us and our guests to all sorts of good things. But the greatest gift belongs to those sisters and brothers who, as the psalm says, ‘Serve the Lord with fear, and rejoice with trembling’ (Psalm 2:11); it is this deep conviction that everything is done for God. With this outlook, a person no longer notices the time, their tiredness, or how long it has been since they had a break. The Lord brings the people and grants the grace to work with joy.
Monastery Grounds
To work in the monastery, you must first put down roots. You must love those around you, bear with those you cannot fathom or even like, learn to offer a shoulder to someone in need, be firm with the sly and the bold, hold back from judgement, forgive, and ask for forgiveness, among many other things. You have to know in your head and in your heart that you are a part of this monastery, a member of the Body of Christ.
Father Andrey teaches that in any act of obedience, we must look for what God wants from us. We are learning to find His will. This is hard, because you must conquer your own ego — your vanity, self-pity, and excuses; your laziness, temper, and impatience; your greed, your desire to please people, and so much more. Yet the strength to carry on comes from the example of fellowship, love, and prayer I see every day in the priests, mothers, sisters, and brothers here. I feel like a small gear in a great clock, and so long as it keeps time, I too will keep turning. I cannot imagine any other life for myself now.
The monastery is our story of salvation in Christ. Everything we need for this is here: the church services, our duties in the hospital, and the chance to serve others for the sake of the Lord.
Head of the Pilgrimage Service of the Monastery
Prepared by Olga Demidyuk
Photographs by Maxim Chernogolov
