Ludmila Rumyantseva, a sister of mercy, has been with the lay sisterhood of Saint Elisabeth Convent for more than a decade. Before she joined the sisterhood, she worked as a choreographer and taught dancing to school children. She left her worldly job but found a way to put her talent to good use in the service of the Lord. Father Andrey Lemeshonok gave her the blessing to teach dancing to the disabled patients of a long-term care facility where we conduct our ministries. This experience changed Ludmila’s and the patients’ lives profoundly. We asked Ludmila to tell us more about these changes.
Before joining the sisterhood, you were a choreographer. What made you abandon your profession in the world? What stopped you from burying your talent in the ground?
I moved to Minsk with my husband in the late 1980s and began to teach dance and choreography at school. The 1990s were a difficult time for many people like me. The shops were empty, and employers were cutting their staff en mass or asking them to work half-time. It was a time of great struggle, but it as all providential and meaningful.
In those times, I was reading a lot of religious books. Saint John of Kronstadt became my favourite writer. I was impressed by his stories. There was one in which he brought an elephant to a sick girl and returned her to life. It moved me to tears. I was also impressed by how he led the workers of Kronstadt to the faith. These narratives showed me the way to the Lord. I took Saint John's advice seriously and applied it to my life. Sometimes, I took his ideas too literally. For example, the saint called art a tempting deception. These words struck a chord in me and contributed to my decision to end my career as a choreographer. At that time, it never occurred to me that I would return to my profession, but this time in the service of God and others. When I was already in the sisterhood, I received an invitation to teach dancing to the disabled patients of a long-term care facility. At first, I wrestled with some doubts, but finally, I agreed. I thank God for giving me the wisdom to accept this obedience. It opened my eyes to many things in life.
How were your students different from those in the world? And what difference did your obedience make to the lives of your disabled students?
It was very different. At first, many of my students could not tell the left from the right. We taught them left and right the way they taught the peasants in the Russian army: straw for left, hay for right. Even the simplest movements took a long time to master. At times, it seemed like we were destined for failure, that they would never learn anything. Then, by some miracle, my students began to remember the movements and do them to the music. Our first dance was the polonaise. It was more like walking to the music than dancing, but it was our first success. It inspired my students to do more, it took away the fear of failure. We all had a strong sense of oneness and felt inspired to work harder and accomplish more.
Illness isolates and takes people apart. But working together on a project - like learning a new dance - builds unity and encourages everyone to help one another. My students became more responsible for themselves and others. They learned to see how doing one's job poorly can reflect badly on others. They are now a cohesive team, not a gathering of individuals.
They share their hardships and joys. They find pleasure in the hard work and the excitement of a creative accomplishment. The doctors and teachers have spoken highly of the dancing classes and their contribution to the patients' cognitive and personal development. But most importantly, the dancing classes have helped the patients discover who they really are.
What change did this job make in you?
In the world, I was strongly oriented toward results. At first, I had the same attitude to my work with the patients. I was concerned with finding the appropriate methods for the desired result. I was also strict and somewhat harsh. In the world, I expected everyone to follow my instructions without asking any questions. I was the teacher, and everybody else's task was to listen and obey.
After some time, I realised that love could take you much further than narrow-minded concentration on efficiency.
I learned to be more patient and empathetic. Our class sessions came to mean a lot to me. They lasted no more than an hour, but I always left with a happy feeling. They gave me a sense of purpose and of being a good servant of God. They opened my eyes to His presence. They taught me to overcome difficulties, exercise patience and become a better person. They were a blessing. Perhaps the Lord had brought me to the Convent in the first place for the sake of these classes.
Because of the COVID epidemic, the sisters were asked to discontinue their visits to the care facilities and could no longer see the patients there. What did you find to be providential about this trial?
The epidemic struck and closed the doors of the hospitals and care facilities for our sisters and priests. These trying times helped us realise the strength of the spiritual connection between ourselves and the patients. The immense sense of unity and inspiration that we experienced when we prayed together. When the Lord brings His people together, He tells them not to come apart. We have experienced the meaning of these words. Our prayerful connection is so deep that our physical separation seemed non-existent. Each day, our brother Ivan comes to ring the bells in the church tower in the territory of the care facility, reminding our brothers and sisters in the Lord that we remember them and they are not alone.
Some people we meet in our lives can be very influential in our progress to God.
Have you had any such encounters? If so, please tell us more.
When I stopped teaching dance in my worldly job, I had five more years to work before my retirement, so I took a job in a shopping centre. The Convent happened to establish its first church stalls there, and this is how I met sister Olga. She exuded peace and calm. I owe her my first experience of addressing God directly.
She once asked me to pray for her and the sisters. I had not prayed before, and I did not know what it was like. However, I always try to do what I am asked. So I prayed, and this became a key stage in my progress to God. Soon, I had my first confession with Father Andrey Lemeshonok. Soon I began to work at the Convent and joined its sisterhood.
What has your service with the sisterhood taught you?
Others call us the sisters of mercy. For me, Saint Elisabeth Romanov is a role model of one. With her love, she shed light on the world. She left behind the comfort of her princely dwelling to serve the people at Moscow's Khitrov Market, one of the most unsightly places in the Russian capital of her time. It was a hotspot of extreme poverty, desperation and vice. She went there with mercy. With her love, she showed its dwellers the way to God. She did not come to tell them what to do. Instead, she brought them her care and compassion.
As a sister of mercy, I learned the importance of helping people as they are, not what you imagine them to be. Often, a few kind words, a sympathetic look and a handshake can make a world of difference. That is congruent with what the Apostle Paul taught: Rejoice with those who rejoice; mourn with those who mourn (Romans 12: 15).
Sometimes, we wish that everyone we knew would believe in Christ and go to church. But every person's journey to God is different. Standing behind the church stalls, I sometimes met people who treated us as consumers: "we pay you money, you give us your prayers." But even that is not a cause for despair. Many of these people returned, and their tone and attitude were very different. They came with a sense of piety before God. It gave me great joy.
What future do you see for your spiritual growth as a sister of mercy?
My job at the sisterhood has changed me in multiple ways. Father Andrey Lemeshonok likes to remind us that the people we work with are like candles, and we can help them shine. People do not come to us just to leave a note; they expect us to hear them out and empathise. We should not pretend to know better or tell them what to do. Instead, we should illuminate sympathy and goodwill. I still sometimes have the urge to push my views on others, and my work in the sisterhood teaches me to exercise patience and humility and put others before myself.
I did not come to God in tragedy. I came with gratitude. I have told many people that coming to God with gratitude is just as possible as coming to Him in grief. I thank God for accepting and loving me with all my faults and transgressions. My discovery of God was His providence. No human effort can bring us to God or accelerate our progress. But what is not possible for humans, is possible for God. God will find a way to every heart.
