FACES IN THE CONGREGATION
by Sister Mary
Memories of Sister Nina – Part 2:
In the last issue we presented Abbess Seraphima’s memories of our beloved Sister Nina. Her "chance" meeting with Sister Nina, in the parking lot of the Russian Orthodox Cathedral in Los Angeles, was to set into motion a chain of events that would forever change her life.
Abbess Seraphima corresponded with Sister Nina for the next 24 years, until the time of Sister Nina’s death in 1993. During this time she profited from her love and encouragement and, most of all, from her profound devotion to prayer.
Many of us who are now members of Saint Demetrios also remember Sister Nina from when we ourselves attended Services at the Russian Cathedral in Los Angeles. She was always there.
During her final years, due to age and infirmity, she sat during Services on a folding chair towards the rear of the Church, on the left-hand side. She sat beside the large stand holding the icon of Saint Sophia.
In her one hand she usually held her cane and in her other a prayer rope. The
rope was so worn from use that the knots were frayed and flat. You could see
where she had re-sewn it together by hand.
She was clothed, according to monastic tradition, from head to toe in black, only her face and hands showing. However, her monastic garments were not of any particular style. In fact, they were made up mostly of discarded clothing, salvaged from that which she distributed to the poor: garments of wool, misshapen by having been washed instead of dry-cleaned and polyester grown slick from wear.
Those of us who loved her would always make a point of greeting her as we entered the Cathedral. Her gentle face would light up as we bent to kiss her. Tenderly embracing the children, she would inquire in a hushed voice about our well being. This was not a mere polite inquiry; she earnestly wanted to know! She listened attentively as we whispered our responses. If we asked her to pray about something or for someone, she would hastily retrieve a pencil and worn notebook from one of the many plastic bags on the floor beside her chair. As she wrote we could not help but notice that the pages of the notebook, thickly filled with similar entries, were worn thin from use.
"PSST!" and "SHUSH!" would inevitably rudely remind us that there were those at the Cathedral who were not pleased by the attention Sister Nina received. No matter how quiet and unobtrusive we sought to be, some Babushka was sure to begin scolding.
As for Sister Nina, she seemed good-naturedly oblivious to the lack of kindness. Before we would leave she would retrieve, from one of her plastic bags, an uplifting article she had saved for us to read and a little gift, perhaps a flower she had cut from a greeting card, for the children.
Since Sister Nina’s passing, the Cathedral’s vaulted ceiling no longer is lit by the quiet radiance of her love; its white walls no longer warmed by her unpretentious humility; its marble floors no longer softened by her gentle accepting love.
