lenten reflections from ukraine
We met Marija at the Sisters of St Joseph, who run an old people’s home on the grounds of the Roman Catholic Seminary in Bryukhovichi near Lviv. Originally set up to care for the widowed mothers of priests, the Sisters now care for women in need – regardless of their origin or their religion – who require help in old age.
In January this year Marija turned 96: “The Sisters here are like mothers, who take care of everything. I love them more than anything. And I am so happy that we regularly get visits from priests, and that we can go to the chapel in the house – that wasn’t always possible for us before. And when today I can’t even do that, then at least I can get the streamed Mass into my room. The most important thing in my daily prayer is asking for peace.”
“My name is Br. Bernard from the Congregation of Brother Albert. Our shelter in Lviv has existed for six years. The Albertine Brothers are like emergency personnel, first aid. The man on the street, under stress, someone who is freezing, someone very hungry, this is our everyday life. We’re here for that.
For the inhabitants of Lviv and those refugees there is hot soup. There is coffee and bread. We expect it to be enough for about 300 people.
We couldn’t do anything if it weren’t for Aid to the Church in Need. Without you we wouldn’t exist. We must be there for the downtrodden whether because of family conditions, whether due to poverty or mental illness, addiction, or war. We must be with them, not abandon them. To show that life is stronger than death.”
We met Ruslan at lunch in the house of the Albertines in Lviv. He tells his story: “I came to Lviv from Ivano-Frankivsk because I couldn’t cope there anymore. I had fallen out with all my friends and acquaintances and above all with my family. I didn’t have a job anymore or a roof over my head.
In Lviv I first landed at an Orthodox church and asked for help. They gave me three addresses which I could turn to. I picked the first one at random, and here I am. It saved my life and was a blessing. Now I’ve been here for five months, and my life has completely changed. Here I once again have an orderly daily structure, and I’ve got used to helping around the house and in the soup kitchen. And got used to regular prayer.
Whenever I need to talk to someone, one of the brothers is there for me. I’ve even found work and am now looking for my own place to stay. With the many refugees in the city, that isn’t easy. But with God’s help it will happen.”
Especially at the beginning of the war, the St John Paul II Parish, on the edge of Lviv, achieved unbelievable things. With its position it was pretty much the springboard for the onward journey to Poland. Up to 250 internally displaced people found accommodations here, and around 1,800 meals were served daily in the parish’s tent kitchen.
Today, only 50 internally displaced people are still there, mostly families with small children and older people, who find it difficult to get shelter. We spoke with some of them.
What they all have in common is that they have lost everything and have no family to care for them. In March 2023, volunteers welcomed them at the station in Lviv and took them to the emergency shelter. “If there is no help,” said one woman, Nina, anxiously, “where do we go? We are deeply grateful to the parish because we have found somewhere to stay here.”
Maria comes from Lviv. Her husband Viktor is the caretaker at the seminary in Bryukhovichi. Together they have four children aged 12, 8, 6 and 2. This alone would be a full-time job for the mother, but the energetic, cheerful and warm young woman is not satisfied with that.
“I studied English language and literature and am always happy when I can use these skills and serve the Church.” She accompanies us on the first day of our journey in Lviv and translates tirelessly for the little ACN travel group from Polish, Ukrainian and Russian into English.
“Naturally things are difficult for everyone these days with all the price rises. We can’t make big jumps with our salaries. We live a very restricted life, but we wouldn’t think of wanting to emigrate. We are at home here and happy with the Church, which we both love, and we want to pass on this love to our children.”
Asked about her plans for the evening she answers, half-resigned, half smiling: “These days, at -10°C and having a child at home with fever, I turn off my mobile phone, enjoy the stillness, kneel down and talk with God.”
Father Oleh Salomon has gone through many stages in his life as a priest: rector of St Joseph’s Seminary, a military chaplain, and a trained psychologist.
Along with German partners, priests and lay people, he is responsible for a formation program in trauma healing. More than 100 people have already received this training since the beginning of the war.
Depending on personality, this trauma can express itself in the form of fears, high levels of aggression, depression or feelings of guilt. Seeing a psychiatrist is still stigmatized – especially by men. “Treatment by a priest or a deacon is often much better accepted.”
Besides this basic work, Fr. Oleh oversees the creation of more PTSD clinics and institutions, which can provide long-term help. He also helps other priests and sisters to attend psychological training and cooperates at an ecumenical level with other Churches, to ensure that help is provided across the board.
“We are exhausted, completely exhausted. Eighty percent of the population are impacted by the war one way or another: as fighters, as refugees, as families concerned about the fate of their soldiers, as those providing help… As children, who can’t go to school anymore, or simply as those who can no longer afford the rising prices.
After the bombing of Zhytomyr, an old woman hugged me and said: ‘I’m very frightened. Say something to us.’ I asked: ‘What should I say then?’ She immediately answered: ‘It doesn’t matter what, please just say something to us.’ And so I do that every day in my video messages.
The invasion has now turned into a grueling war of attrition in wide areas. The one thing which never wears out is authentic love. When I feel completely burned out, I pray freely, like Augustine, and say to God: ‘I’m doing it for You, O Lord, for to leave You means death, and to come close to You means salvation.’ My comfort is that a moment of great pain is a moment of great change.”
Irpin serves as a symbol of the brutality and effects of the war in Ukraine. The conflict in the east of the country took a severe toll on the town, which was the scene of some fierce fighting, destruction, and loss of life.
Marina, 77, lived with her two sisters in an old house on the town’s main road. On February 24th, she was awoken by the sound of rocket fire. “They were flying as far as the church. My sisters and I took refuge in the cellar of neighbors who lived opposite, because it was safer than our own. Twenty of us were hunkered down there and unable to tell our families that we were still alive until March 22nd.
Then the shooting started again. Suddenly someone called out: ‘Marina, your house is on fire!’ We couldn’t retrieve anything, not a single thing. Volunteers risked their lives to bring us food. We prayed every time that someone raised their head above the cellar or went outside and then returned safely.”
Thanks to immense solidarity, Marina and her sisters have now been provided with a small, prefabricated house so that they have a roof over their heads again and do not have to live in cramped conditions with relatives.
A new initiative has been launched in the Padre Pio building, on the premises of the Capuchins friary in Kyiv, thanks to the Capuchins and the compassionate psychologist, Lyudmila Serhiyivna. Every month, mothers who have lost a son in the war, or have a son who is missing – which can be even more traumatic for parents – come together for a five-day intensive retreat to restore the body, mind and soul.
“Women who have a lost a child isolate themselves and put their families under strain because they can’t get over their sorrow. I always worry about what I can say to these women, but then I am astonished at how much they change in such a short time, regaining their courage to face life and start to build networks,” reports Serhiyivna, whose own husband and two sons are at the front. The psychologist has been helping grieving mothers, otherwise left to mourn alone, since 2014.
One of the contributors to the retreat is Brother Konstantin, a Capuchin, hence the wordplay in the name of the retreat: Cappuccino with the Capuchins. “Difficult questions are asked about why and how God can allow something like this to happen. And honest answers are expected,” says the friar.
Natalya is the mother of a three-year-old girl. Her husband has been at the front for 18 months. She is one of the people receiving support and companionship from the House of Mercy, founded by the Archdiocese of Lviv. “Here, I don’t feel lonely, and I can talk about my fears. Being the wife of a soldier on the front line means a lot of suffering. The only thing you want is for your husband to survive. But right now, it seems to me that everyone is carrying a burden – all of my friends, my family; I don’t want to cause them any additional sorrow.
Coming here gives me stability, for my own good and for my husband. It’s helping me to guard against madness and I feel stronger as a result. It has enabled me to return to a normal life; I had been wandering around like a lost spirit.”
Monsignor Volodymyr Hrutsa, the Greek Catholic Auxiliary Bishop of Lviv, describes the important role played by the House of Mercy: “It’s not only those who are suffering from trauma that get help here, but the whole family. In many cases the crisis is so severe that it affects everyone in the family.”
“People have a lot of questions in times of war, and some of these are very difficult. Christianity could well be the only institution that has answers to suffering. Sometimes faith is the only creed capable of providing the answers. We are grateful to ACN for supporting the training of the volunteers who work here.”
