“He will give them beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, and a garment of praise for a spirit of despair.”
— Isaiah 61:3

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There is a fierce, sacred resilience in the soul of Ukraine—a resilience not born overnight, but carved through generations of sorrow, hope, and unyielding faith.

To understand the anguish of today, we must first remember the long ache of yesterday.

For seventy years, Ukraine lived beneath the heavy shadow of Soviet rule. Life under the Union was a life of scarcity, suspicion, and silence.
Faith was not free; it was feared.
Church doors were barred shut. Bibles were banned.
Believers gathered not in grand cathedrals but in the hidden places—the basements, the forests, the still corners where prayers could be whispered without being overheard.

It was dangerous to belong to Christ.
And yet, the Church lived.

Even the common rhythms of daily life bore the brand of oppression.

• No private shops to build dreams.
• No market stalls to trade goods with a neighbor.
• No commerce that was not state-sanctioned and state-controlled.

Every salary was the same, a dull echo of effort with no reward.
Every home bore the same government-issued furniture, stripping homes of personality, families of dignity. Creativity was suspect. Ownership was dangerous.

If you needed bread—or sugar, or a pair of worn boots—you stood in line.
And waited.
And hoped the supply would not run dry before your turn.

There was a hunger deeper than the stomach’s ache.
A hunger for freedom.
A hunger for the dignity of choice.
A hunger for God.

And even so—the Spirit was never absent.

Faith took root underground like seeds buried deep in winter, hidden but not dead. Believers memorized Scripture because paper could betray them. They sang songs without raising their voices. They built altars in their hearts where no regime could reach.

This is the soil from which Ukraine has grown—a people who know what it is to suffer, to endure, and still to believe.

And now, once again, the land is groaning.

The war that erupted in 2022 has carved deep wounds into the body of Ukraine.

• Cities once bustling with life now lie in ruins.
• Families scatter like leaves before a bitter wind.
• Children learn the sound of air raid sirens before the sound of bedtime stories.

The trauma is not just physical. It is spiritual. It is generational.

Grandparents who once whispered prayers under Soviet rule now whisper them again, this time for sons and daughters gone to the front lines.
Mothers rock children to sleep in underground shelters.
Fathers build barricades from the ruins of their own homes.

Still—hope presses through the cracks like green shoots after a fire.
Still—they endure.

They rebuild gardens in the rubble.
They gather for worship in the ruins.
They teach their children to sing songs of hope, even when the skies are heavy with smoke.

The need for peace—and a swift and lasting victory—is desperate.
Each day of delay deepens the wound. Each moment of continued violence hardens the soil where healing should already be taking root.

As followers of Christ, we are not called to observe from a distance.
We are called to carry the burdens of the suffering (Galatians 6:2).
We are called to defend the oppressed (Isaiah 1:17).
We are called to move toward the broken places with love in our hands and hope in our hearts.

Ukraine’s suffering is not foreign to the heart of God.
It must not be foreign to ours.

We must:

• Remember.
• Pray.
• Give, advocate, go when called.
• Hold the line of hope when the battle is long.

The people of Ukraine know what it is to sing hymns when the chains rattle loudest.
They know what it is to hold the light when the night is thick with fear.
They know what it is to build altars among the ashes.

And now, as they fight once more for the dignity of freedom, may we be the ones who lift their arms when they falter (Exodus 17:12).
May we be the ones who stand beside them until the day peace reigns over their beloved land.

God is not silent in Ukraine.
Even now.
Especially now.

Through us—His Church—may the people of Ukraine know:

They are seen.
They are loved.
They are not forgotten.

Lord, make beauty from these ashes.
Bring healing to this land.
And find us faithful, bearing Your light into the darkest valleys.