The following article is a translated interview with Sr. Klára Marie Stráníková, SCSC, originally published in the Czech Christian magazine BRÁNA (12/2025).
We are grateful to BRÁNA for this moving piece and are sharing it in English so that more people can hear Sr. Klára Marie’s story and her courageous ministry with women in prostitution in Italy and the Czech Republic.
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15 December 2025
A woman’s purity is in each of them
God called her through music out of a non-believing environment, and she heard his call, and dedicated her entire life to him. He showed her a space where human dignity is lost, and she accepted that mission field. With Sister Klára Marie, we enter the places of her ministry, the red-light streets of Italy, the nightclubs of the Czech Republic, and the lives of women in prostitution. Interview by Eva Macková.
Mgr. ThLic. Klára Marie Stráníková, SCSC, a religious sister from the Congregation of the Sisters of Mercy of the Holy Cross, lives in a convent in Prague and works on the mission field among women in prostitution and as a prison chaplain in the Pankrác Prison in Prague.
You come from a non-believing background, yet you devoted your life to Christ. The first question is obvious: What was your path to the vocation of becoming a bride of Christ?
The very beginning was my baptism — I was baptised as a baby. Even though I wasn’t raised in a believing family and the seed wasn’t cultivated further, it was planted. The main start of my call to faith happened at Christmas. Before Christmas in 1985 I received an invitation from our orchestra conductor — I played the transverse flute — asking if I would like to play in the local Christmas orchestra for Ryba’s Christmas Mass. I accepted. That was my first concrete entry into the sacred space of a church. The next Christmas I was already listening to what was being said there and realised that it touched me deeply. The strongest moment was when we played in a Hussite church and the pastor read the Prologue of the Gospel of John. It affected me profoundly — it felt like something beautiful, something between heaven and earth. That was the beginning of my conversion. Shortly afterwards I began participating in church life and reading Scripture. It naturally led to meeting the sisters and discovering that God was calling me to the consecrated life.
As a religious sister, you entered a very specific mission field — your service to women living in prostitution began years ago with an interest in the issue of human trafficking. How did God lead you to this specific ministry?
Yes. About twenty years ago, I had a dream, in that dream I was entering a nightclub, fully aware that I was “clean” and that I was going there to help. I clearly remembered the interior of that club. But because I didn’t understand the dream and it didn’t mean anything to me at the time, I didn’t draw any conclusions and eventually forgot about it.
It came back to me a few years later when, on a pilgrimage for vocations, I was walking with novices, who were under my care, along the northern Czech border. We saw many nightclubs and prayed for the women in prostitution. That’s when I remembered the dream. After we returned home, the newest issue of Katolický týdeník (Catholic Weekly) was on our table, with a two-page spread about human trafficking — that was the first time I truly grasped the reality of it. It touched me. A month later I travelled to Switzerland for our general chapter, where human trafficking was a major theme. There I understood that this was a calling for me — that God was calling me specifically into this field.
How long have you been working in this mission?
The general chapter took place in 2008. In 2009 I went on a three-month internship in Italy, and after returning I was invited to give various lectures, which my ministry revolved around for several years. I knew God was calling me further, but at that time it simply wasn’t unfolding. In Italy I served on the streets, because prostitution there at that time was mostly street-based.
I entered my first nightclub in the Czech Republic on 14 February 2012 — and, as you might guess, I realised I knew its interior from that dream.
In that dream you were “clean” — and in reality you entered wearing a religious habit. In the meeting of those two worlds — your consecrated life of purity and their daily reality of sex — the contrast is striking. Was that intentional?
I entered it in obedience to God’s call, so I suppose it was God’s intention for it to happen this way. (laughs) I don’t know whether the women would have spoken to me differently without the habit — I don’t have a comparison. I never encountered vulgarity, not even in the prison where I work as a chaplain. I don’t perceive those women as different from us. What I see is that their beauty and dignity are trampled by what they do, but the purity of a woman is present in each of them. Only a tiny minority show signs of being truly destroyed by it — perhaps two out of a thousand. And even then, it’s often more the effect of alcohol and drugs than prostitution itself.
In your sixteen years of service, have you experienced any strong moment in which God stopped you and redirected your path?
I went into this mission thinking I would pray with the women. My confessor even gave me a blessing for it, though I had no idea whether prayer would be possible in that environment. When I began accompanying outreach teams — there were about twenty of them — most were Christian and they prayed with the women. That was a confirmation of my path. The prayer was always beautiful, powerful, and desired.
Another confirmation was the habit — I often heard that it evokes trust, but in that setting I experienced it with every encounter. Once, when I was travelling with a secular team, they told me to stay in the car because they didn’t know my experience, and they said I should just observe. But when they saw how the women reacted to me as a nun, they immediately called me out to join.
Once a Nigerian woman pulled me aside because she wanted to speak to me privately, and the team later told me that she had never spoken to them before. It confirmed for me that I could serve in my habit — and that it was, in fact, good.
You speak of thousands of women… Do you have an idea how many you’ve encountered?
Thousands, certainly, some many times.
Your language shows a deep respect for human dignity. You say you don’t serve “prostitutes”, but “women in prostitution”. I hear that as you telling the world that their identity lies elsewhere. How do these women see themselves?
It varies, every encounter is different. But in each case, there is some story that explains why they are in prostitution. Difficult life circumstances, dire financial situations… None of them entered this completely voluntarily. Those who had more choice describe it as work, as a mask they put on; most see it as a means of survival, a temporary solution. Whether some are explicitly forced, we cannot know — because they won’t say it. We can only sense it beneath the surface.
If they speak of it as a temporary escape from crisis, do they leave prostitution once the crisis passes?
Often yes. Of course, some women remain in prostitution long-term, but we don’t really know what lies behind that. I’ve met women who originally entered because of necessity but now struggle to reintegrate into normal work. Or they resolved the urgent crisis but continue to build a financial cushion. But again, there may be a difference between what they say and what is really happening — whether someone behind the scenes is profiting from them. Every story is different.
This interview is for the Christmas issue of Brána. We recall the story of Jesus’ birth. Mary was a young girl who became pregnant outside marriage — people could have viewed her as dishonourable (she could even have been stoned under the law). God wanted it this way. What do you think?
It seems incredible to me that God did not spare the mother of Jesus or the beginnings of Jesus’ life — one drama after another. But he knew they would withstand it with trust in him — and these dramatic situations now support countless people. The shameful pregnancy, the difficult journey to Bethlehem, the birth in conditions no woman would choose, the escape to Egypt — a foreign land of another faith…
The women I serve also face heavy situations, and they show enormous courage. Sometimes we have no words and only wish for them to endure. If we can speak to them about God, we guide each meeting toward the idea that God has a better plan for them. We always ask how their search for work is going, but sometimes we know their situation is hopeless and that they are tremendously brave for not jumping under a train, but “only” under the wheels of prostitution.
You said you begin and end each meeting with prayer — “cleaning the swords”?
We always go first to God. In our prayer team, every meeting begins and ends with prayer. We call it “cleaning the swords.” They aren’t our weapons — they’re God’s. If we didn’t wipe them clean in the grass, like Peter in Narnia, they would rust.
Before meeting each woman we pray, and afterwards we entrust her to God.
A degree of helplessness exists in every field — even in parenting. It is up to God to enter people’s lives. We only open them to him. But honestly, because these meetings aren’t very long and there is always a night in between, I carry them more lightly than the conversations in prison — the stories of those men sometimes stay with me, and that can be heavy.
In the prison, you serve men?
Mostly men, because I serve as a chaplain in Pankrác. There is a women’s unit, but I meet individually more often with men.
Back to the women, did you always see them as beautiful human beings, or did that vision come later through individual stories?
Good question — because it came with the very first encounter. Before that, I had the usual superficial view: that they were there of their own will, that they enjoyed it, that they were depraved. But the personal meeting and that first look into a woman’s eyes changed everything.
Can you share a concrete example that shifted many things inside you?
I don’t remember my very first encounter in ministry. But I remember the first time in my life I met a woman in prostitution. It was in 1999. I was learning Italian in our convent in northern Italy. And I occasionally saw a girl, about sixteen, from Nigeria. Her name was Joya — she was very beautiful, transparent, pure. The sisters told me she came from prostitution and that Sister Hildegarda had rescued her from the street.
Later I learned from Sister Hildegarda that Joya had been invited to Italy for a normal job, but was forced into prostitution upon arrival. She was a Christian and prayed intensely for her rescue, and after fourteen days she was found by an outreach team, which included Sister Hildegarda. They managed to take her from the street and hide her in our convent. They taught her the language and prepared her so that she could one day join society and work as she had intended when coming to Italy.
I remember that the purity of that girl didn’t make sense to me alongside prostitution. I subconsciously knew it wasn’t her choice, but the sisters confirmed it.
You’re speaking of an enslaved child… In such cases, aren’t you required to report it to the police? And doesn’t that put the victim at even greater risk?
That was a textbook Italian example.
But in the Czech Republic we only meet adult women who — even if they were victims of crime — will not tell us. At least it hasn’t happened to us yet. But hypothetically, if someone told us she was trafficked, she must have full freedom to decide whether she wants help. There is a difference between a woman seeking help and one who is simply confiding.
Organised prostitution is a system of evil. Do you sense that in the spiritual atmosphere? Do you feel fear?
I don’t feel fear. Nor worry about what might happen. Perhaps I felt that in Italy at the beginning — but really, who would bother with us? The environment is, of course, uncomfortable, but we know we are protected.
A few times an exorcist came with us and he said he could feel the evil strongly.
What is prayer in such an environment? How do the women react?
Prayer is always an encounter with God, and its fruit is how the prayers are answered. If the women want prayer, they are grateful — it means a great deal to them. For us it is a miracle that we can pray in such a place, and they willingly surrender to prayer.
One woman, who left the club shortly after our meeting, confided that it was her first prayer in her life. It must have been a powerful experience, because it helped her find direction. She is now baptised and lives a completely different life.
And what about someone who believes in Christ but cannot leave prostitution?
I don’t know — I can only see from our side. I don’t know if it is truly impossible to pick oneself up and leave forever. Many deal with debts. Accepting Christ does not mean their life values instantly realign. They come to know Christ gradually and gradually accept the demands of the Gospel.
Among women in prostitution, many are believers, especially Orthodox. They show us prayers in their phones, they pray and live with God. But interestingly, they don’t want to pray inside the club — the place feels to them too undignified for prayer.
Do you ever meet their family members? Or do families usually not know?
Exactly. We regularly ask whether anyone knows they are there — and the vast majority hide it. They experience deep anxiety that their families might learn they earn money through prostitution. They travel across the country to preserve anonymity.
Which also means their families cannot help them.
If a woman had a healthy family and social background, she would solve her debts. Usually these debts come from partners. Most of the women come from broken families, with a bad start. Many have children, but no real support at home.
What is the strongest answer you’ve ever received to the question: “What happened that you ended up here?”
I carry within me the meeting with a young woman who was grateful that we always met her before the club, because she said that if we met her inside, she would always be under the influence of alcohol and drugs.
She was there because her mother demanded large sums of money from her in exchange for letting her see her little daughter, whom the grandmother had in foster care. If she didn’t pay, she wouldn’t see her child. And to manage working in the club, she always had to take drugs and get drunk.
Her mother, when dealing with social services, used as an argument for keeping custody that her daughter was a drug addict, a prostitute, and an alcoholic.
A terrible vicious circle…
Exactly. The woman had all the documents ready to enter treatment at Apolinář Hospital, but she feared that if she didn’t give her mother the money, she’d never see her daughter again. The hardest thing was accepting that her mother was exploiting her — because she didn’t actually need that much money for the child, as the state provides support.
After a long conversation, she admitted that someone else might be behind it, someone wanting the money, because her mother had started pushing her younger sister into prostitution as well.
I never met the woman again. Our consolation is the hope that she came to see the circle she was trapped in.
Have you ever met someone years later, in a different situation?
Yes. (smiles)
For example, a young woman from Africa whom I met in a Prague club. After she left, we met a few times in Prague; during Covid I accompanied her in Italy — thanks to my internship I know networks of people there who can help through various charities.
We exchanged messages occasionally — and the day before yesterday, she sent me a photo of her son, Noah.
Another example: in one club we had accompanied a deeply broken young woman for years — she swung from one extreme to another. One day she came to us, and she was different. I said: “Something beautiful has happened in your life — you are completely changed!” And she said: “I’m not here anymore. I’m pregnant, I’m getting married. I came to visit my friends, and when I heard you were here, I came straight to you.”
We have a few such situations. (smiles)
Your mission involves deep trust — which is a basis for friendship. But here you commit yourselves to them, and then they disappear from your life. How do you manage these “risky” relationships?
Exactly — none of these relationships is quite friendship. They are human support. They disappear from my life, but not from God’s.
This is common in pastoral work — also with catechumens who later join other parishes. We believe they remain in God’s hands. The same in prison — we seldom meet prisoners again, but we hear some are doing well. And thanks be to God, if we don’t meet them again in our facility.
Are Christmases in nightclubs different in any way?
Yes — whenever we ask about Christmas, they tell us the clubs are closed. (smiles)
Yesterday on Wenceslas Square I asked one woman how she would spend it, and she said she would be at home, and on Christmas Day she would go to church.
I cannot see behind all situations — I don’t know whether someone is being trafficked and locked up somewhere, and if so, how she spends Christmas.
For me and the team, Christmas is a time at home, in our own environment.
Your intensive months-long mission in Italy years ago became long-term service. Where exactly do you work now?
I’m part of two teams.
The professional one belongs to the Magdala counselling centre at Caritas. It is based in Moravia, and every two weeks we go into nightclubs offering testing for sexually transmitted infections. During testing we talk about their life and social situations, and sometimes we can help find a way out.
And in Prague I go with a team founded by women from American Protestant churches. I joined in 2012, when one of my friends — an Irish sister in civilian clothing — was already part of it. Today the team is mostly Catholic, but that doesn’t matter — our service is ecumenical, just like the prison ministry.
Do you have a “personal” Bible verse that accompanies you in this mission?
Yes. Matthew 21:31 — “Tax collectors and prostitutes are entering the kingdom of God ahead of you.”
I often think about what would happen if I went to some elegant office offering prayer, God’s word, and blessed medals — whether they would look down on me or escort me out. But when I bring these to the women in the clubs, it is always beautiful. They look forward to it and it brings them joy.
With this message, one is welcomed there. Jesus came for the sick, not the healthy. We are all sick — but these women know it. And those who allow themselves to be healed will enter the kingdom of God before those who refuse.
Looking back at your life full of major decisions — what are you most grateful for?
For having come to know Christ and his love. Everything else follows from that.
And looking ahead — what do you desire? (smiles)
What every Christian desires — that people may come to know God’s love, which surpasses all understanding, and that they allow that love to transform and guide them. I wish it for myself too — that I may let God’s love lead me and not block it with my sin, stubbornness, or selfishness.
Finally — what would you like to say to the readers of Brána?
I wish all readers a truly blessed celebration of Christmas, which brings peace, joy, and the happiness of life with Him throughout the coming year 2026.