Recently I had a unique opportunity to visit a Carmelite convent in Kyiv. This cloistered community is practically closed to the public.
Monasticism is an inalienable component of the Orthodox, Greek Catholic, Roman Catholic, and several other churches. Its roots are traced to early Christianity and the first hermits appeared in Kyiv Rus’ before 988 AD. Modern statistics register a decreasing interest in monasticism, in both the Roman Catholic and Eastern Orthodox communities at large. Monasteries and convents, however, retain their historical traditions in the rational and technically skeptical twenty-first century. This is probably explained not so much by the church tradition or needs as by the presence of a certain category of people wishing to live away from modern civilization with its daily hustle and bustle.
The Carmelites is the popular name of the Order of Our Lady of Mount Carmel originating from Palestine and founded in 1156, during the Crusades, by a secluded community [led by French hermit St. Berthold]. With time, the order spread across the world. The first institution of Carmelite nuns was founded in 1452. It became known as the Order of Discalced – or Barefoot – Carmelite Nuns (even now the sisters wear sandals without socks or stockings throughout the year). This order currently numbers some 5,000 members. There are two such convents in Ukraine – in Kharkiv (15 nuns) and Kyiv. A third one is to open in Zakarpattia before long. The Ukrainian Carmelites’ sole objective is incessant prayer for the deliverance of all people, for the unity of all Christians in Ukraine (this purely devotional mission is strongly reminiscent of the Orthodox monastic ideal).
Before the reform of the Catholic Church, the Carmelites lived by the original rule [written for them in 1209 by Latin Patriarch of Jerusalem Albert of Vercelli]. It was severe, prescribing poverty, abstinence from meat, solitude, and incessant prayer. Today, it is somewhat milder, but I learned that the Carmelites of Kyiv live mostly on what they grow in the kitchen garden. They eat no meat and never leave the convent, communicating with infrequent visitors through a double grating.
The convent is located in a remote Kyiv suburb, so few know of its existence outside locals and religious circles. It was on a warm spring day that we, yours truly and two other women, drove up to a small neat building with a cross on its roof (we had called and received permission to visit). We spoke into the wall mike and were let into a waiting room, very simply furnished with a table, some chairs, a dresser, and a sink. There was also something in the room we did not understand at first: a double grating on a low wall separating us from the next room, and a contraption by the wall that could be turned on its vertical axis. After a short wile the thick curtain on the other side of the grating parted and we were greeted by Sister Maria. She said to please wait for the Mother Superior Juliana who was finishing work in the kitchen garden.
Naturally, we spent the time talking to Sister Maria, a young pretty and smiling woman whose language betrayed an intellectual background. As it turned out, she had graduated from a finance and economics institute several years ago. She told us that there were 13 nuns, 5 from Poland and 8 from Ukraine; that almost all had post-secondary education. We asked if any ethnic misunderstandings ever happened and the young woman shrugged: “Why should there be any? We have all dedicated ourselves to a single cause.”
The Mother Superior was still busy and we were allowed to step into a small domestic church full of light and decorated with flowers. Another distinction was that a side wall was replaced by a grating with a heavy curtain from behind which we could hear voices singing in a choir so sweet and harmonious we thought of angels. Those were nuns praying, separated from lay parishioners as required by the canon.
Mother Juliana was out a middle-aged cordial woman. She said they had a problem, being often visited by hungry and sick people, among them many illegal immigrants. Because of bureaucratic barriers the convent could not have a stock of medicines and clothes, however modest. Also, their bylaws did not envisage charity, which was the prerogative of other Catholic communities in Kyiv. But people kept coming, so Carmelite sisters often gave them their own scarce meals through the grating, using the device I have mentioned above: a round shelf revolving on its axis. A visitor would, of course, wash the plates and spoons in the sink.
I asked if they had a library and if the sisters were allowed to read secular literature (for some reason I thought of Saint Jerome in the fourth century, who sought recluse in the desert of Chalsis and suffered not from lack of mundane luxury, gourmet food, friends, and beautiful women, but from the absence of writings by ancient authors, which he considered a grave sin. Mother Juliana explained that their rule provided for no such restrictions, but that “all our sisters are well-educated and are familiar with the secular creative heritage. Now they need an altogether different literature: books of prayer and religious writings.” It soon transpired that Mother Juliana, of Polish descent, was well read in Polish classical literature and that we were both fond of Sienkiewicz’s historical novels, especially Quo Vadis. All told, the meeting was quite interesting, although I could not help feeling nervous, having to communicate through the double grating, but this was the only way, even for close relatives that came on visits.
On my way home, driving through the heathen beauty of Kyiv in springtime, I pondered the odd nature of man and strange ways he tends to choose in life. We of the earthly world often find them hard to understand. On the other hand, do we not each of us build gratings around ourselves to separate us from realities we find frightening or repulsive? My parting question to Sister Maria was been whether she was sure their lifestyle was not an act of violence against human nature, something we are bestowed by the Lord? She had calmly replied, “Violence? Oh, no, it is His gift.”
