The Weight of War: A Mother's Lament - A Reflection from Mother Petra

The war sparked by Russia’s invasion of Ukraine has been a poignant, throbbing backdrop for my experience of the Great Fast this year.  On the second day of Lent, I read these words of St. Sophrony of Essex: 

“I have been in continuous and terrible pain as a witness to the nightmare of men—who are all brothers—killing one another.  At times, this pain causes me to howl like a wild animal, to yelp like a poor dog whose paws have been crushed by a car.  And just like a dog, shaking from pain, to crawl away from the paths of men.  But when the pain in the heart reaches the limits of our physical endurance, then the invocation of the Name of Jesus Christ brings PEACE which alone keeps us alive.” 

My prayer, around which all of my life revolves, has taken on a deeper urgency, and I glimpse the global (even cosmic) dimensions of the prayer of the Church.  I understand that when I pray, the whole Church prays in me, and this prayer is for the whole world.  The pain in my heart is but a taste of the great ocean thundering across the globe.

During the Fast, we once again start reading Scripture at the beginning, with the book of Genesis.  Woven throughout our Lenten prayers is the theme of the Fall, the suffering of Man who has exiled himself from Eden by his sin.  Recently, Genesis 4:8-15, which recounts Cain’s slaying of his brother Abel, was given me to read aloud during Vespers.  My heart grieved as I chanted the dialogue between Cain and God:

[Cain] “[A]m I my brother’s keeper?”

[God] “The voice of your brother’s blood is crying to Me from the ground…. [Y]ou shall be a fugitive and a wanderer on the earth…”

[Cain] “My punishment is greater than I can bear…from Your face I shall be hidden…”

Then Cain went away from the presence of the Lord…

Once again, Man is exiling himself by the spilling of his brother’s blood.  We taste anew the bitter cost of sin.

The next day, we read the conclusion of this same chapter in Genesis:  “And Adam knew his wife again, and she bore a son and called his name Seth, for she said, ‘God has appointed for me another child instead of Abel, for Cain slew him’” (v. 25).  Often I have meditated on Cain’s killing of Abel, but never from the perspective of their mother.  Eve, who apparently had never yet known human death, experiences the death of her son Abel, and she clearly understands he was murdered by her other son Cain.  In effect, she loses two sons, the slain and the exiled.  Surely, her agony is compounded by the awareness that she had in some way contributed to this fracture, this rending of her family, by heeding the serpent and grasping after the knowledge of good and evil.

I’ve been praying in recent months about the nature of motherhood as I experience the reality of my own spiritual motherhood:  both the sobering weight to which I consent when I accept a spiritual son, and the mysterious, hidden ways in which I am a mother to souls across the world.  From this vantage point, I looked at Eve’s grief and recognized my own lament over this war in Slavic lands and the choices of my children closer to home as an echo of her lament.  Crying out to the Crucified One as I live these dark days, I have prayed for God’s people, both those with whom I have personal relationships and those suffering in Ukraine and Russia.  Yet I am haunted by the conviction that my own sin has made me in some manner complicit; I am not an innocent bystander.  I also am one who seeks self, objectifies my brother, desires domination, and have harbored hatred in my heart.  As we sing in the Great Canon of St. Andrew of Crete, “I have followed in the footsteps of Cain, I have chosen to become a murderer; for I have led my poor soul to death by living according to the flesh in the wickedness of my deeds” (Ode 1).  This conviction fuels my repentance. 

Repenting in my prayer, I suddenly saw Eve’s suffering mirrored, not in my poor heart, but in the pure heart of the New Eve:  The Theotokos looks down from heaven and weeps because one of her sons slays the other.  Each day this blood cries out from the ground!  But Mary stands at the foot of the Cross, ready to receive as her sons both the apostle and the criminal because she knows her first Son died in order to open the way back to Eden for all Mankind.  The flaming sword has been quenched by the blood and water gushing forth from His side.  As disciples of Jesus Christ, she pleads with us to embody His love by living His Gospel of peace in the power of the Holy Spirit given us in baptism. 

So as we journey deeper into this desert, of the Great Fast and of human wars, let us offer the Father our repentance as a worthy sacrifice.  Let us assume our great dignity as disciples of Christ by being our brother’s keeper.  Let us vigorously fight evil, not by the world’s violent means, but by the spiritual weapons of the children of Light—prayer, penance, fasting, and self-sacrifice.  And let us keep our heart’s eye fixed on the promise of the Resurrection.

A Letter from Sr. Natalia

Glory to Jesus Christ!

Beloved Friends and Family,

As I was praying very intentionally with the profession service on my pre-profession retreat, I was moved to share part of those reflections with all of you. I find that there is a common misconception at the tonsure of a monastic that I’d like to clarify. I know that some come to this service thinking, “Wow. How beautiful! This woman is giving up all the goods and beauties of the world for the sake of the Lord. This is the epitome of virtue. Of holiness. She is entering the life of holiness.” There are truths in all of this, but really none of these capture the fullness of what a monastic tonsure is, and I think they can even distract us from the reality of what you will witness today.

As Sr. Petra and I come down the aisle in our simple white garment (which we will be buried in some day), we are barefoot. Hair untied. Hands crossed across our chest as though they were bound. Because at this point we are bound—by our own sin. We walk down the aisle totally poor, with nothing to offer but ourselves. And as we make our three prostrations (a sign of penance), the hymn being sung is not “Here Comes the Bride,” but it is the troparion of the Prodigal Son. Proclaiming our deep sinfulness, and our deep need for mercy. I remember when a monk, who has been fully professed for many years, gave a retreat at our monastery. He said, “When you are making that final prostration, and you are praying to be received into the ranks of the penitent, your prayer should be, ‘Lord, I need this life of healing. I need this life of recovery.’” This is very similar to what St. John Climacus writes in the Ladder of Divine Ascent, “Let no one, by appealing to the weight and multitude of his sins, say that he is unworthy of the monastic vow...Where there is much corruption, considerable treatment is needed to draw out all the impurity. The healthy do not go to a hospital.” At the ordination of a Byzantine deacon or priest, when they receive each article of their vestments, the priests and people cry out, “Axios!” meaning “He is worthy!” You will notice today that when Sr. Petra and I receive each article of monastic clothing, the priests and people cry out, “Lord have mercy!”

Please don’t misunderstand me. Though this is a day in which Sr. Petra and I enter the ranks of penitents and promise a life of self-denial, it is by no means a gloomy day. On the contrary, it is a day of great rejoicing. But I firmly believe the joy is that of Luke 15:7, “Just so, I tell you, there will be more joy in heaven over one sinner who repents than over ninety-nine righteous persons who need no repentance.” In this sense, today you are all joining in with the rejoicing of the angels over two sinners who desire to transform their prodigal pursuit of sin to the prodigal love of their Bridegroom.

Please pray for us that we may fully embrace this life of joyful penance. And be assured of our prayers for each of you as well.

In Christ our Bridegroom,

Sr. Natalia

See the previous post for more information about the upcoming life profession of Sr. Natalia and Sr. Petra on Sept. 26.

"To hold the fire in your hand": St. Barlaam of Antioch

St. Barlaam of Antioch (d. 304): Feast day – November 19

By Sister Petra

My first year in the monastery, when I heard the story of St. Barlaam of Antioch read in our chapel before Vespers, I was captivated—tears came to my eyes, and a sense of exultation lifted my heart.  I re-read his story after the service, and began asking for his prayers from that day. Every year since then, I’m more deeply moved by this martyr and father in the Faith. And I’m realizing that, like me, most people have never heard of him.

His story begins in a fashion typical of the early martyrs; he stands out only for his age: Barlaam an old man, in his 90s. During the persecution of the Emperor Diocletian in 304, he was dragged before the governor and urged to cast incense before the pagan gods of the empire. Of course, he refused, so his captors devised a way to mock the elder: They placed burning coals and grains of incense in his hand, certain he would drop the embers, thereby allowing them to deride him by saying that he did, after all, cast incense before the gods. Instead, Barlaam responded with the stillness of faith: holding the burning coals in his hand, he stood unyielding as his hand burned away. Some accounts say he then rendered his spirit to the Lord, others that the governor, enraged, killed him. Either way, this martyr’s love was tried by fire and proved worthy.

St. Barlaam has a special significance for me in my vocation. He is an emblem of the faith and trust required to remain in the purifying fire of monastic life. He offers me an image of celibate love: to hold the fire in your hand in faithfulness, and to refuse to drop the fire under the pressure of our society. But, most of all, a line from a homily of St. John Chrysostom pierces my heart with the meaning of this saint’s sacrifice: He “was both the altar and the priest and the sacrifice.”  We—all of us, not only monastics—are called to offer as priests the sacrifice of our very selves on the altar of our bodies.  

Telling my spiritual father about this saint one day last year, I burst out, “It’s impossible—impossible! Nobody could do that! Nobody! Yet—he did!!!” By the power of the Holy Spirit burning in him, St. Barlaam scorned the enemy’s fire and entrusted himself, body and soul, to the Lover of Mankind. May each of us allow the same Spirit to consume us, that we, too, may be radiant torches testifying to the luminous reality of Divine Love.  

Note on this icon: This past summer, my friend Mother Pelahia worked with me on this icon of St. Barlaam of Antioch.  

Reflections for the Sunday of the Samaritan Woman

Enjoy these two reflections:

1. Video reflection from Bishop Milan and resources for prayer at home

2. Reflection from Sr. Petra:

You ask her for a drink—not because You need anything from her (even in Your humanity:  presumably Your disciples would soon return with drink, as well as food)—in order to open the dialogue between you, to gently entice her heart to open to Yours.  You are here initiating…

She responds to Your request for a drink with some bewilderment:  It doesn’t make sense socially or religiously for You to speak to her.  In inviting us—to pray, to respond to our vocations, to seek union—we also feel the dissonance between our view of the world (and of ourselves) and what You’re doing.

You lead her further…  “If you knew the gift of God, and who it is that is saying to you ‘Give me a drink,’ you would have asked Him and He would have given you living water.”  You’re opening before her another way, another path:  her response to Your request could be like a doorway.  You’re offering a quenching to her thirst that goes beyond this world, deeper than the desires of mere flesh.  You’re letting a ray of Your identity penetrate her darkness—begging her to ask the question:  Who are You?

She responds accordingly, curious in her thirst.  How will You do this, having nothing with which to draw water?  Are You greater than Jacob?  She wants, needs, further revelation and reassurance before she opens herself to You.  The burden of action is back on Your shoulders.  She responds, but You must direct this encounter.

And yet, for all Your leading, Your reply isn’t really an answer to her questions.  “Every one who drinks of this water will thirst again, but whoever drinks of the water that I shall give him will never thirst; the water that I shall give him will become in him a spring of water welling up to eternal life.”  You’ve gently lifted her desire heavenward.  For a moment, she forgets her puny, earthly questions.  You’ve danced with her into the realm of the Spirit.

She responds from a heart moved beyond worldly constraints.  Eyes off herself, no longer weighing You against logic, her heart cries in eager hope, “Sir, give me this water, that I may not thirst, nor come here to draw!”  She wants freed from more than the inconvenience of drawing water:  She aches to be free of the shame that enfolds her as she walks to the well alone in the heat of the day, in order to avoid the condemnation of the “respectable” women.

Knowing the throbbing wound behind her request, You go there, knocking on the door behind which her shame crouches.  “Go, call your husband and come here.”  You aren’t playing with her, or tricking her into confessing for legal necessity.  You are moving to open her capacity to receive You, this gift You are.

“I have no husband.”  She can’t bring herself to unveil the painful truth.  At that point, such a confession is beyond her ability to utter.  And so—You do it for her, relieving her of the burden:  “You are right…”  And You speak the terrible truth of her deeds:  they take form between you.  This must be; there is no other way to union. 

She tries to deflect this solid history, to remove herself—her heart—from the conversation.  “Lord, I perceive You are a prophet.”  Then she turns to the shield of theological controversy, a vain effort to cover her spiritual nakedness.  She implies a concrete, external question (where is the proper place to worship?).  Is she also trying to robe herself in the illusion of respectability?  See, she seems to say, I care about such things!  Perhaps she’s also trying to distance herself from You in self-protection, by bringing to the fore all the deep divisions between you, Jewish Man, and Samaritan woman.

You move through that strategy as though through a spider’s web, guiding her back to the heart of this whole exchange, to Your Heart for her:  to worship, the restoration of man’s union with God.  “But the hour is coming, and now is, when the true worshipers will worship the Father in spirit and in truth…”  You reply to her query as though, yes, worship has significance even for her, fallen as she is.  Once more, she retreats.  “I know that Messiah is coming; when he comes, he will show us all things.”  As though to say, I don’t need to deal with this now.  Let it wait for another day.

The urgency of Your love—the Truth—pierces her last defense.  Heedless of the shame that bound her minutes before, she rushes into town, bearing witness.  Many come to believe in You because of her testimony—because You sought her in love, pursuing her gently yet inexorably.  You are not rebuffed by our resistance.  Again and again, You move to woo Your bride.  Locked in our prisons of shame, pain, and sin, we can’t reach You, we can’t seek You.  So You seek us.  You knock on the door of our cells and offer the key of love—love unto death, Love that trampled Death, the jailer of our souls.

When I feel the lie that it all depends on me, remind me, Lover of Mankind, that You’ve taken the lead, You’re taking the lead, and You’re leading me back to the Garden where we may drink deeply of Love.

“If you say ‘yes,’ everyone will see!” (Mother Cecilia’s Vocation Story)

Happy Feast of the Meeting of Our Lord with Sts. Simeon and Anna! (Also called the Presentation of Our Lord in the Temple) Today is also World Day for Consecrated Life. In honor of this celebration, here is Mother Cecilia's vocation story. (Mother Theodora's story can be found here. We will post other stories in the future!)

When I was born, my parents gave me the name Julie. Three months later, my parents took me to my dad’s Byzantine Catholic church to have me baptized. When the priest asked during the baptism, “What saint is this child to be named after?,” my mom, a protestant who knew very little about saints, was speechless.  My godmother stepped in: “Saint Julie!” she said.

Sometime later, my mother, being a good Baptist, took me to her church to “dedicate” me to God. (Baptists do not baptize infants, waiting for the person to make his or her own choice, but they instead offer their children to God in a dedication ceremony.) She told me years later that when she did this, she “really meant it!”

I don’t remember attending my mom’s Baptist church every other Sunday as a young child. My mom became Byzantine Catholic when I was seven, and from then on the whole family was immersed solely in the faith, traditions and beauty of the Byzantine Church. I grew into my faith alongside of my mom, who became more on fire each year as she discovered more gems of the faith. Under the leadership of both of my parents, our family was very involved in the life of the parish, especially in its spiritual and educational dimensions.

During middle school and as I started high school, I thought of myself as a good Catholic, but God wasn’t yet totally real to me or the passion and love of my life. Throughout those years I was very insecure and struggled to fit in with my chosen group of friends. The summer after my sophomore year in high school I attended the national ByzanTEEN Youth Rally at Mt. St. Macrina in Uniontown, Pa.  I made some friends, learned a lot in the talks and was having a great time, but near the end of the weekend I again found myself in my typical state of insecurity and loneliness. Earlier in the weekend I had learned about the Jesus Prayer, and in the midst of my desolation I decided to give it a try. I was stunned to be immediately filled with an overwhelming peace and joy that had absolutely nothing to do with the acceptance of my peers. In that small moment I had opened the door of my heart to God, and my life was completely changed.

I continued to have many of my usual struggles when I went back to my public high school that fall, but I had found my value as a daughter of God. I began to make time each day for prayer, and I took the initiative to learn everything I could about my faith. That fall I also convinced my family to attend the annual pilgrimage at Mt. St. Macrina, which I heard about during the youth rally. We drove down for the day on Sunday, and while we were there I must have repeatedly mentioned that I wanted to talk to Sr. Celeste, the nun who facilitated the youth rally. “Well, go talk to her!” my mom said. But I didn’t know what to say; I just wanted to be around her. Finally, before the evening was over, my dad walked over to Sr. Celeste and introduced my family. I recall that we talked about the beautiful weather! I didn’t know at the time that this attraction was one of the first signs of my vocation.

The sisters at Mt. St. Macrina were the first religious sisters I had ever met, and it wasn’t until high school that the thought of religious life occurred to me as a possibility, maybe while reading the autobiography of St. Thérèse of Lisieux. During my senior year, my pastor started to slip discernment retreat brochures into my mail slot at the church. I was shocked but honored that he thought I might be called to religious life. I didn’t look into attending them…at first.

As high school came to an end, I made the decision to attend The University of Akron for financial reasons, even though I had set my heart on attending Franciscan University of Steubenville. It turned out that God knew what He was doing (as He always does!) by leading me to Akron.

During my first semester of college I decided to attend a discernment retreat with the Sisters of St. Basil the Great at Mt. St. Macrina. I loved the experience. It was the first time I had spent time with religious sisters, and I found out that they were very “normal” people, who laughed and liked to have fun. However, when I returned to school, it wasn’t long before I started spending time with a great Catholic guy from our Newman Center (the Catholic group on campus). We frequently attended the daily noon Mass together at St. Bernard’s, the Roman Catholic church just off campus, and started dating in December. I quickly threw aside any thoughts about religious life.

I loved college and was quickly growing into the person God had created me to be. I was surprised to meet other devoted Catholic students and made lots of wonderful friends. And to my great surprise, God called me to leadership roles as I sought to develop a more authentic and dynamic Catholic atmosphere at the Newman Center and as I helped my new friend Jessie to establish a Students for Life group on campus. For my remaining years in college I served as president of our Newman Center and vice-president of Students for Life (Jessie holding the corresponding roles!). I started working at the local Right to Life office and found my niche using the communication and design skills I was learning for the glory of God.

About eight months after we started dating, my boyfriend broke up with me. As a typical heartbroken girl, I thought my life was over! Later on, I read back over my journal entries during the time that we were dating and was surprised to discover that I wrote about the sense of “something more” to which I felt called. I didn’t understand, at the time, what it was.

That fall I attended another discernment retreat at Mt. St. Macrina. Again, I enjoyed the experience. The following spring the sisters were holding a discernment retreat in Phoenix, Arizona. I wanted to go, mostly because I had never been to Arizona and I knew it would be nice and warm! However, I knew I couldn’t go because of the cost of a plane ticket. But then one evening, the vocation director, Sr. Barbara Jean, called me up and said, “Someone has offered to pay for your trip. Would you like to go?” I heartily agreed.

On the plane I realized that although I was excited to go to Phoenix, I should also be serious about praying about my vocation. On Saturday morning we were praying Matins (morning prayer) in the little chapel of the retreat center. I was so at peace. I stayed in the chapel after everyone left. I stretched my hands out from each side of me with my palms facing upwards, in an act of surrender to God. As I stood there with my eyes closed, it felt like my arms were rising up on their own. I immediately pulled my arms back down to my body with the thought, “I don’t want anyone to see!” And within me I clearly sensed the Holy Spirit saying, “If you say ‘yes,’ everyone will see.” I knew that the Lord wasn’t talking about my hands; I assumed that He meant that if I entered religious life, everyone would see the decision I had made. I was at peace with that.

I was quite sure after this experience that God was calling me to religious life, but He knows me so well that He knew He would have to pull off something even more dramatic to impress the point upon me forever!

Holy Week was beginning as I returned to school after the retreat. In my prayer that week, the thought occurred to me that I should take note of the calendar date of that experience in the retreat house chapel and remember it. If it was true that I was really being called to religious life, I figured that this date would be important to me.  So I repeated it in my mind: “April 8th…April 8th.” 

On Holy Wednesday I repeated the date “April 8th” to myself as I prayed after Mass and then headed over to the Catholic book store near the church to look for a gift for a friend who would be entering the Catholic Church during the Easter Vigil. In the store, I walked straight over to the book aisle, not necessarily to buy one for my friend, but just because I love books! One book caught my eye and I pulled it off the shelf. It was about naming children after the saints, and it listed hundreds of saints and their feast days. I immediately thought of Sr. Barbara Jean’s vocation story, in which she explains how she heard the call to religious life on her feast day—a day on which she had made the annual habit of doing something special for herself and taking extra time for prayer. I thought to myself, “I should look up St. Julie and find out when her feast day is, so that I can make that day special too.” Previously, I had chosen St. Julie Billiart as my patron, since she was the only “St. Julie” I found, as opposed to “St. Julia.” So I flipped through the book and found St. Julie Billiart, and I froze, staring in shock at the page. Her feast day was April 8th! The tears started running down my face. “Lord, You want me?” I prayed in joy. “I’m so honored that You want me as Your bride!”

In a daze of joy, I found a gift for my friend and practically skipped back up campus (at least spiritually!). It was a warm day, but halfway to where I was going, the sky opened up and it poured! I started to run but couldn’t in my wet flip flops, so I took them off and ran barefoot into the nearest building, laughing out loud. God showered me with love in that rain by blessing me with a childhood joy of running in downpours!

It was difficult for me to tell my parents, family and friends about the call I had heard. Becoming a nun isn’t exactly a standard “career path.” How could I explain the intimate love I shared with Jesus which had led me to say “yes” to His invitation to be His bride? To my surprise, those in whom I confided were completely supportive. After a few months of joy mixed with inner turmoil, I began the application process with the Sisters of St. Basil. On the feast of the Dormition (August 15, 2006), I was accepted as an “affiliate” for a period of formal discernment before applying to be accepted into the community. I spent my last two years of college as an affiliate, visiting the sisters when I could, while remaining very active on campus, at Right to Life, at St. Bernard’s and in my home parish. I often wondered if God was calling me to the Roman Catholic Church, because of the youthfulness and zeal I found there, but it was during this time that I began attending weekly young adult gatherings at my bishop’s residence. It was in praying Vespers (evening prayer) with Bishop John Kudrick and these faithful, energetic young adults, that I realized that my beloved Byzantine Church was still alive and that God was asking me to be a part of its revitalization.

In January of 2008, before beginning my last semester of college, I made my longest visit with the Sisters of St. Basil and spoke to them about formally applying. However, God had other plans. Shortly after I returned from my visit, I read a letter that Bishop John had just published about his vision for establishing a men’s or women’s monastery (or both) in the Eparchy of Parma. He quoted from St. John Paul II’s apostolic letter Orientale Lumen (Light of the East), in which the pope wrote of the beauty and necessity of traditional Eastern monasticism, calling for its revitalization. With every word of that letter, my heart was “burning within me.” I simply knew that this was what I desired and what God wanted for me.

Without much hesitation, but also without any confirmation that this new monastery was even possible, I wrote to Bishop John of my interest. At that moment began a new journey of trust in God’s providence and wisdom. To my joy, I learned that Sr. Celeste (now Mother Theodora), the sister to whom I was so attracted during that first visit to Mt. St. Macrina, and who I had come to know better since that time, had discerned that it was God’s will for her to found this new monastery. I did what I could to journey with her through the struggle and complete surrender to God that was required in seeking exclaustration (a leave of absence from her community) and moving to the Eparchy of Parma (in December of 2008) even before the house that was given to us for our monastery was ready to live in! In February of 2009, I moved in with Sr. Celeste into the empty rectory at St. John’s in Solon where she was temporarily living, and on April 3, 2009, we moved into our new monastery on Mumford Road in Burton, Ohio…drywall dust from renovations still floating in the air! As we prayed for the first time in our monastery—Matins, that first morning—I cried tears of joy as I realized that this was Matins for the same liturgical day (Lazarus Saturday) as it had been on April 8, 2006, the moment that God revealed the gift of my vocation to me.

My close friend from college, Jessie, with whom I had stepped out in faith in so many ways during college, became the next woman to join our monastery (now Mother Gabriella). We laugh when we talk about the fact that writing the constitution for Students for Life was practice for writing our monastic typikon (rule)! If becoming a nun isn’t a standard “career path,” becoming a nun and starting a new monastery is even more absurd, yet this is the way God has chosen to love me, and this is the way He desires for me to love Him.

At the dawn of my life I was baptized into Divine Life, “dedicated” to God, and named after a saint who would help me to realize my vocation (and one who knows what it is like to establish a new community!—St. Julie Billiart founded the Sisters of Notre Dame).

At the dawn of my monastic life, I was named after another saint, one who would (and continues to) help me understand my vocation and to live it. On September 30, 2012, I was tonsured as a rasophore (“robe-bearer”) nun and received the name Sr. Cecilia. The martyr Cecilia is a model to me of monastic life because it is said that during the wedding celebration of her forced marriage she was singing in her heart to Jesus, asking Him to preserve her for Himself alone. Monastic life is a life of total dedication to God and continual praise of God. It is also a life of “white martyrdom”—a daily dying to self.

After receiving the name Cecilia, I learned that this name means, “Guide to the blind.” As time has passed, I have come to understand that when the Lord said to me, “If you say ‘yes,’ everyone will see,” He didn’t ultimately mean that everyone will see me, but that through my vocation others would see Him.

I made my life profession and was tonsured as a stavrophore (“cross-bearer”) nun on November 8, 2015, becoming Mother Cecilia. I ask God for the grace to persevere in this difficult but beautiful monastic life, so that at the end of my life on earth He will find me still completely dedicated to Him and still desiring to live forever as His bride in heaven.

A little and great feast

A reflection by Mother Cecilia for the Feast of the Dormition of the Mother of God

Many of Mary's feasts are about her littleness, but to me, her Dormition is about her littleness in the most profound way. Her death--her last and complete surrender to the Father--seems like it would be utterly fruitless, just like our daily and final deaths. What could come of such emptying, such removal from life, such removal from others?

When Mary's tomb was opened, it was full of flowers--full of life and beauty. When there is "nothing" left of us, when we are totally drained, exhausted, weak, and we surrender ourselves into God's hands, we become vases of the most exquisite flowers--vessels of the Holy Spirit--the perfume of which is wafted abroad (Song of Songs 4:16). We, then, have no more control over our lives, but we who cannot make flowers grow, become a delightful garden.

This feast, which in my eyes is the Marian feast that is most profoundly about Mary's littleness, in the Church's eyes is the greatest Marian feast, and there is no contradiction between the two!


"Though you have been taken up from earth into the heavens, O Virgin, yet all the earth rejoices with you and glorifies your repose. Though your incorrupt body has been enclosed in the heavens, O Virgin, yet your grace pours forth and fills all the face of the earth" (Second Station of the Burial Service for the Dormition).

"It's great to give everything"

Last week, four of us took a trip to Philadelphia to attend the enthronement of the new leader of the Ukrainian Catholic Church in the United States, Metropolitan Borys. We also participated in a day-long gathering for clergy and religious. It was a very beautiful and powerful experience. We were moved by the huge number of bishops and other clergy present, by the beautiful singing, and by the wonderful people we met--including a few monastics from Europe, from whom we received wisdom and advice. Here is a link to more photos.

We were especially moved by the remarks of Metropolitan Borys at the end of the enthronement liturgy. His words gave us so much hope in the midst of a Church that is struggling. His words, as well as the words of Patriarch Sviatoslav during a conference for the clergy and religious, empowered us to persevere in striving to be holy and to "give everything." Metropolitan Borys surprised us by singling out Mother Iliana as an example. His words were so powerful that we want to share them with all of you. Please consider watching this video clip of his remarks. Also, here is a link to a video of the enthronement liturgy, starting with the Gospel. If you are unable to watch the video clip, below is a portion of his remarks, including a translation of a part of the remarks that was given in Ukrainian.


"We're going to go together, really receiving in our hearts the gift of the Holy Spirit, because I can't do much and you can't do much...but if we come like we've come this time--together, and open our hearts to the Holy Spirit, we will see amazing things happening, miracles happening.

"We've seen our Church that was supposed to be dead. A totalitarian regime was trying to kill it; it had limitless resources, it had a nuclear arsenal. And this Church is alive. There are bishops here--Vladyka Ihor, for example, the metropolitan of Lviv--who became a priest in the underground. What hope did he have that things could change? Not too much, right?

With two Studite monks from Ukraine

"Today there are young Sisters here. Maty (Mother) Iliana, could you stand up? I want you to look at this young woman. There is nobody that is more free, nobody that has more courage, nobody that is more counter-cultural, nobody that is more non-conformist, than a young woman in the 21st Century who says, 'You know what? I pledge my whole life to God. And I promise poverty, chastity and obedience,' in a time when everybody says, 'Money, money, money, sex, sex, sex, and power.' This is the kind of witness we have amongst us.

Dear brothers and sisters, we, as children of this Church, do not have the right not to be witnesses. You don't have this right. If you have tasted how good the Lord is, go forward and witness. Help the Church to be renewed, as His Beatitude (Patriarch Sviatoslav) encouraged us. It just takes a few people who believe profoundly and are ready to give everything. It's great to give everything."