In our struggle for prayer, emotions have little to do with the matter: we must bring to God a complete, firm determination to be faithful to Him and an aspiration for God to live in us. We must remember that the fruits of prayer are not this or that emotional state, but a profound change in our entire being. Our goal is to become able to stand before God, to focus on His presence, turning all our needs to Him, and to receive from Him strength, strength so that God's will may be fulfilled in us. The fulfillment of God's will in us is the only goal of prayer, as well as the criterion of true prayer. It is not the mystical feelings that we may experience, nor the emotional experiences, that constitute the dignity of prayer. St. Theophan the Recluse says: "Do you ask yourself, did I pray well today?" Do not try to find out how deep your feelings have been or how deep you have become in your understanding of things divine. Ask yourself, "Am I doing God's will better than I used to?" And if you can answer yes, the prayer has borne fruit, if not, it has not borne fruit, no matter how much understanding and feeling you have gained from the time you have spent in the presence of God.

Concentration, whether in contemplation of God or in prayer, can be achieved only by an effort of will. Our spiritual life rests on our faith and determination, and every unforeseen joy is a gift from God. When St. Seraphim of Sarov was asked why some people remain sinners and never reform, while others become saints and live in God, he answered: it is all about determination.

Our actions must be determined by an act of will, which usually turns out to be the opposite of what we seek; This will, based on our faith, constantly clashes with our other power, the instinctive one. We have two wills: one is conscious, which we possess to a greater or lesser extent, which consists in the ability to force ourselves to act in accordance with our convictions; the second is something quite different in us, these are the inclinations, demands, and passionate desires of our whole being, very often contrary to the first will. The Apostle Paul speaks of two laws opposing each other (Romans 7:23). He speaks of the old and new Adam in us, who are at war with each other. We know that one must die in order for the other to live, and we must understand that our spiritual life, the life of our entire human being, will not be complete until these two wills agree with each other. It is not enough to strive for the victory of good will over evil; the evil will, that is, the inclinations of our fallen nature, must be completely, albeit gradually, transformed into an aspiration, an attraction to God, a thirst for God. It's a tough fight, but it's worth it.

The spiritual life, the Christian life, is not about developing a strong will that can compel us to do what we don't want to do. In a sense, of course, learning to do the right thing when we feel like doing things differently is an achievement, but it's still a small one. A mature spiritual life is a life when our conscious will is in harmony with the words of God, when with the help of God's grace it has transformed and changed our nature so profoundly that our entire human being has become one will. We must begin with subordinating and bending our will to obey the commandments of Christ, accepting them objectively and fulfilling them with absolute precision, even when they differ from what we know about life. By an act of faith, against all evidence, we must agree that Christ is right. Experience teaches us that some things do not seem to happen as they ought to happen according to the Gospel; but God says that it is so, so it must be so. It should also be remembered that, while fulfilling God's will in such an objective sense, we should not do it "by trying," intending to test it in order to see what happens, because then nothing works. Experience shows that when we get slapped in the face, we want revenge; Christ says, "Turn the other cheek." And when we finally decide to turn the other cheek, we really expect to conquer the enemy and arouse his admiration. But if, instead, we get a new slap in the face, we are usually very surprised or indignant, as if God has involved us in a completely impossible task.

We must outgrow this attitude, be ready to do God's will and pay for it in full. If we are not willing to pay, we are only wasting time. Then we need to take the next step and understand that it is not enough to do yet, because we must not force ourselves into Christianity by drill, but must become Christians; in the process of doing God's will, we must learn to understand God's intentions. Christ revealed His intentions to us, and it is no accident that in the Gospel of John He no longer calls us slaves, but friends, because a servant does not know the intentions of his master, but He has told us everything (John 15:15). In fulfilling the will of God, we must learn to understand what this fulfillment means, so that in our thoughts and will, in all our attitude to life, we may become co-workers with Christ (1 Corinthians 3:9). And in such oneness of mind with Him, we will gradually become inwardly what we try to be outwardly.

We see that we cannot deeply partake of the life of God unless we change radically. It is therefore necessary to go to God in order for Him to transform and change us, and that is why we must first of all ask for conversion. Conversion (Latin conversio) means a turn, a change of mind. The Greek word metanoia means a change of mind. Conversion in the sense of conversio means that instead of wasting our lives looking in all directions, we will stick to one single direction. It means turning away from many things that were valuable to us only because they were pleasant or useful to us. Conversion manifests itself first of all in a change in our scale of values: when God is at the center of everything, everything else takes its place in new places, receives a new depth. Everything that is God's, everything that belongs to Him, is positive and real. Everything outside of Him has no value or meaning. But a mere change in one's view of things cannot yet be called conversion. We can change our views and not go any further; this must necessarily be followed by an act of will, and if our will does not move and change its direction by turning to God, then there is no conversion; without this, there is only an incipient but dormant and inactive change in us. Obviously, it is not enough to look in the right direction and not move. Remorse should not be mistaken for repentance; Remorse is not about feeling "terrible regret" for wrong things in the past: it is an active, positive state of going in the right direction. This is very clearly shown in the parable of the two sons (Matt. 21:28), whom the father sent to work in his vineyard. One said "I'm coming" and didn't go. The other replied "I will not go", but then he was ashamed and went to work. It was genuine repentance, and we should never delude ourselves into imagining that regretting our past is an act of repentance. Of course, this is part of it, but repentance remains lifeless and fruitless until it leads us to fulfill the will of the Father. We tend to think that it must be reduced to beautiful feelings, and very often we are satisfied with emotions instead of a genuine, deep inner change.

How often, having offended someone and realizing that we were wrong, we go to the offended person and talk about our remorse, and after excited explanations, tears, forgiveness and touching words, we leave with the feeling that we have done everything possible. We cried together, we reconciled, and now everything is fine. But this is by no means true. We simply enjoyed our virtues, and another person, perhaps kind-hearted and easily moved, responded to our emotional scene. This is anything but conversion. No one asks us to shed tears and seek a touching encounter with the victim of our cruelty, even if that sacrifice is God. Something completely different is expected of us: that, having realized our wrongness, we correct it.

But the conversion does not end there; it should lead us further, along a path that will make us different. The conversion begins, but never ends. It is an incremental process in which we become more and more what we should be, until, after the day of judgment, the categories of fall, conversion, and righteousness disappear and are replaced by new categories of new life. Christ says: "Behold, I make all things new" (Rev. 21:5).

One can pray anywhere and everywhere, but there are places where prayer finds its natural atmosphere; these places are temples, in fulfillment of the promise: "I will gladden them in my house of prayer" (Isaiah 56:7).

After the temple is consecrated, it becomes the dwelling place of God. God is present here in a different way than in the rest of the world. He is present in the world as a stranger, as a stranger passing from door to door, having nowhere to lay His head; He comes as the Lord of the world, rejected by the world, expelled from His kingdom and returned to it to save His people. In the temple He is at His home; He is not only the Creator and Lord by right, but here He is recognized as the Creator and Lord. Outside the temple, He acts when He can and how He can; within the temple He is in all His power and power, and it is up to us to come to Him.

When we build a temple or make a special place for prayer, we are doing something that goes far beyond the apparent meaning of this fact. The whole earth, created by God, has become an arena of human sin: here the devil acts, here there is an incessant struggle; There is no place on this earth that is not stained with blood, suffering, or sin. By choosing a small space on it, by invoking in the sacraments that impart grace and the power of God Himself to bless this place, by cleansing it of the presence of the evil spirit and allocating it to be God's footstool on earth, we are again winning back for God a part of this dishonored land. It can be said that the church is a place where the Kingdom of God is revealed and manifested in power. When we enter the temple, we must be aware that we are entering sacred ground, a place belonging to God, and we must keep ourselves in accordance with this consciousness.

The icons that we see on the walls of the church are not just images or paintings; An icon is the focus of real presence. St. John Chrysostom advises us to stand in front of the icon and close our eyes before we start praying. He says: "Close thy eyes," because it is not by looking at the icon, not by using it as a visual aid, that it gives us help for prayer. It is not a substantial/essential presence in the sense that the bread and wine become the Body and Blood of Christ. In this sense, the icon is not Christ; but there is a mysterious connection between Him and the icon. By the power of grace, the icon participates in something that can best be defined in the words of Gregory Palamas as the energy of Christ, as the active force of Christ working for our salvation.

Painting an icon is an act of worship of God. A board is specially selected and consecrated, paints are consecrated, and a person who is going to paint an icon prepares for this by fasting, confession, and communion. During his work, he leads a particularly abstinent lifestyle, at the end of which the icon is consecrated with holy water and anointed with myrrh (this last part of the consecration, unfortunately, is now often omitted). Thus, by the power of the Holy Spirit, an icon becomes something more than a painting. It is saturated with presence, filled with the grace of the Spirit, and in the mystery of the communion of the saints and cosmic unity, it is connected with the saint whom it depicts. The saint's involvement in the icon cannot be identified or even compared with the presence of Christ in the Holy Gifts; and yet the icon is the focus of a real presence, as the Church knows and teaches from experience. An icon is not a likeness, but a symbol. By the power and wisdom of God, some icons are singled out as miraculous. Standing in front of them, you feel how they themselves address you.

One priest served in the church where the famous miraculous icon of the Mother of God is located, and deeply felt its active participation in the divine services. Over the centuries, the icon has darkened very much; From where he stood, he could not distinguish her features and continued to serve with his eyes closed. Suddenly he felt that the Mother of God on the icon seemed to compel him to pray, directing his prayers, influencing his mind. He felt the power emanating from the icon, which filled the church with prayer and collected scattered thoughts. It was almost a physical presence, it was a living person, demanding with authority