Fr. Mykolai Karov, UOC
A young woman enters a church to pray. It’s her first time here, so she doesn’t know many of the customs or rules. A short skirt, no head covering, and an unsure sign of the cross – all of this reveals someone just beginning their journey into church life. She only vaguely knows how to behave in a church, but she’s ready to learn, drawn by a desire to be closer to God. Something must have happened in her life. Now, a little fearful and uncertain, she steps over the threshold.
At the same time, a very different figure stands in prayer: an older woman, likely over sixty, who has been attending this church for 15 or 20 years. She crosses herself confidently, wears a long skirt, and dons a classic synthetic scarf.
How touching it would be if the elderly woman gently guided the young Christian – taught her how to behave in church, how to cross herself properly, and kindly explained that a short skirt isn’t the most appropriate attire. With love, gentleness, and motherly warmth, she could help this young soul take her first steps in a new, unfamiliar space.
But, sadly, that’s not always how it goes. “What are you wearing? Why did you paint your face like that? Are you here for a nightclub?”
Maybe the criticism has merit. It’s true that tight clothes and low necklines are not appropriate in church. But…
People come to church because something has touched their sinful soul. Something pierced them. Something inspired them to come to God, to the church, to pray.
The young woman was walking down the street when the sight of the domes struck her with an overwhelming feeling. Her heart stung. “I need to go in…” Something seemed to lead her by the hand. A new strength appeared in her soul, a single thought filled her mind: “Lord…” – and tears welled up. One step, two, three… The faint scent of incense – strange but comforting. Her soul, like the prodigal son, is nearly at the feet of the Creator.
The world has beaten, wounded, and broken her – but here is a glimpse of hope, of meaning, of a better future. “Lord, how beautiful it is here… the icons, the murals, the peace…” The saints look down with compassion on a soul searching for God, rejoicing in this spark of inspiration. “Lord… forgive me.”
She has never read the Gospel. She’s never heard sermons about repentance. But now she weeps for her life. Her soul feels that this is a place of light. “I’m home…” And just when it seems someone might take her by the hand, help her discover God, teach her how to love and live by His commandments…
Like thunder from a clear sky, like an earthquake shaking her fragile hope: “Don’t you know you can’t come here dressed like that?! Where is your headscarf? You look like a harlot!”
And the thread snapped. The candle went out.
Tears well up – not from repentance, but from pain. Instead of bread, she was given a stone.
“Why are you staring? Go wipe off your makeup before kissing the icons. Lord, forgive me, a sinner…”
A soul torn from the darkness of vanity, breaking the chains of sin to run toward repentance, is suddenly paralyzed by despair and shock.
“How can they speak like that? Is this really a holy place?” Nothing remains of her spiritual longing but a confused figure with wide, stunned eyes. A fragile thread of offense, a sour taste of bitterness. This is what happens when someone expects love—and receives a slap.
Who knows? Maybe this girl will never return to church, afraid of being attacked and torn apart by criticism. And so, one more soul is left thirsty, because instead of living water, she was given reproach.
Twenty meters down the sidewalk, she looks back – guiltily, resentfully. “This isn’t for me… I can’t do this… It all felt so gloomy…”
Step by step, her thoughts scatter – some her own, some whispered by the devil: “Why did I even go there? Why were they so rude? Maybe it’s supposed to be that way. But it’s not for me…”
That evening, she’ll be out with friends, nearly forgetting modesty and shame. In a month, at 17, she’ll lose her virginity, shattering like crystal – never again whole. A year later, she’ll stand in that same church, shifting impatiently from foot to foot, lightheaded from the incense, waiting for her friend’s baby to be baptized. “How much longer? I can’t take this… Just hurry up…”
The tears of repentance will be long gone. The strength to approach the church faded. No thoughts of “Lord… Lord… Lord…”
Let us be attentive to people. And through kindness and love, lead toward the Church those whose souls have awakened to repentance and faith.