Missile Strikes and Ministry: How the Church is Alive and Well in Ukraine

Photo by Anzhela Bets on Unsplash

I traveled to Ukraine in January of 2023, having spent over ten years in the military and ten years leading Christian communities. I represented Wished Incorporated, an organization I founded that serves communities in hostile environments. In seven months, I trekked several thousand miles, crossed the Ukrainian border multiple times, and brought thousands of pounds of food to civilians living in the direct impact zone. I met with pastors, lay leaders, and a few foreign aid workers who were in the country. 

Understandably, many international aid organizations were reluctant to get close to the Russian-Ukrainian combat line. Some aid organizations reported that Russian forces were targeting aid workers specifically. I saw this for myself on a trip to a small town just southeast of Zaporizhzhia in central Ukraine. We were dropping off supplies with local leaders and interacting with civilians living very close to Russian artillery fire. We spent too much time unloading our supplies, and as we were pulling our van away, we could hear the incoming artillery rounds impacting the area we had left just minutes before.  

Many aid organizations are justifiably concerned about their personnel being harmed in the conflict.They feel that the risk to their employees is too significant for them to remain in the country. Many organizations have set up refugee shelters and aid stations in neighboring countries for people who have fled the nation. Thus, while there is support and aid for people willing to become refugees, support for people willing to stay in the country is slim. 

As I traveled, I found a small but vibrant number of pastors and laypeople doing kingdom ministry right up to and beyond the Russian line. I identified a town far enough away from the conflict that it did not fall under artillery fire constantly but close enough to allow me access to the front lines. I moved there, found a church with a private school, and encountered Anya. 

Anya is a vibrant believer with considerable life experience. She taught English at the local church school. Our friendship blossomed, and I integrated into the life of her church. Their community had developed a network of young Ukrainians taking supplies to civilians in villages close to the conflict. My first trip with them took me to one such village. As we drove into the community, every single home had a hole in the roof or a wall missing. Tarps covered many buildings and fluttered in the winter wind. I wondered why we were going; nothing was there. We could hear artillery fire but were not close enough on this trip to experience it. As we parked our vehicle, four or five people immediately showed up on foot. We unloaded the food boxes, and within a few minutes, ten people were there, some riding bicycles. Just a few minutes later, we had about thirty people asking for food, which we gave them. I was shocked people were living that close to the line in such broken and battered conditions. 

The Ukrainian government usually provides buses to evacuate people from the impact zone, but not everyone leaves. Many people remain in their homes, sometimes sleeping in basements and root cellars, enduring the near-constant barrage of missile and artillery fire. The only people willing to come close enough to serve them are believers like Anya and her friends. Living away from the direct impact zone meant most of them had jobs and a small disposable income. With few outside resources, the local church prepared itself for long-term ministry in the face of conflict. 

Like many outside Ukraine, many inside the country believed the nation could not stand long against Russian aggression. In many ways, the whole country was shaken so that even those not close to the front line fled because of the instability and uncertainty. I met one such Ukrainian living in Poland. We'll call him Peter. When the war broke out, Peter did not wish to be drafted by the Ukrainian military, so he fled the country. He works with Christian NGOs and churches using his Ukrainian connections to help bring aid and support into the country. There are many like Peter who left Ukraine because they did not want to suffer the deprivations of war, even if they were not directly in the impact zone. 

This mass exodus occurred across the geopolitical religious spectrum over much of the country. After the initial invasion, churches experienced volatile attendance. The first few months of the war were marked by instability and uncertainty. Many people left the church, and attendance plunged to double digits. Anya's church, too, suffered an initial drop in attendance as people like Peter and his family fled the country. However, it wasn't long before churches saw their numbers rise again. In fact, the church's continued presence in the community attracted people who had never been to church. As the war progressed and Ukraine demonstrated considerable resolve, people began to ask questions about life and the purpose of war and suffering. 

Suffering, pain, and the reality of death tend to force people into contemplation and reflection. When death is a present existential threat, people listen more intently and reflect more authentically. "If you were to die tonight, do you know where you would go?" has quite a bit more weight when death is not theoretical. Churches that stayed in the impact zone also increased their opportunity to participate in meaningful conversations with those who survived. However, salvation is not the only concern for the Christian leaders of Ukraine. Spiritual need is often found in conjunction with physical demands, and the church has found that alleviating spiritual hunger begins with alleviating physical hunger. 

Thus Anya joined a leadership team at her church, building houses for people whose homes had been destroyed. This group of young, vibrant leaders sought out communities suffering extraordinary destruction during the invasion and tried to help. They had stayed in the impact zone and deliberately placed themselves near the front, bringing food and supplies to people often cut off from support. 

One village they supported was near the town of Izyum. Russian and Ukrainian forces had trampled the little village in the previous year. Their hamlet had changed hands numerous times, which resulted in dozens, if not hundreds, of landmines in the area. Russian and 

Ukrainian artillery had flattened most of the homes, creating a devastated landscape eerily reminiscent of World War II. Over several months, these young leaders traveled over six hours, paying for transportation each time. They prayed with people and brought them food and medicine, and this small church of two hundred people found a way to build fully furnished homes. 

Anya tirelessly sought grants, looked for support, scrounged up supplies, and participated in multiple leadership meetings to figure out how to help the people most impacted by this war. Her bravery and tireless efforts were infectious. Not only was she willing to travel to dangerous areas, she was ready to work behind the scenes to resource others to do the same. Her leadership in the church wasn't limited to house building. She also took a decisive leadership role with the youth. She mobilized the youth group to sell coffee before and after church services in order to provide resources to Ukrainian units operating on the front. 

One of the most fascinating conditions I found in my seven months operating near the front was the number of churches working in conjunction with local military units. The integration of churches with military units is conditional upon the congregation and situation, but many communities took ownership of their local military. All along the front I found churches, large and small, doing many little things to support their soldiers and communities. One larger church made camouflage netting, sleeping mats, and candles for units fighting the Russians. Other congregations opened their buildings, allowing soldiers and civilians a place to eat and sleep. While some congregations openly supported the military, even giving supplies and equipment to support the war effort, others were less interested in direct war support. However, almost every congregation I encountered brought food to isolated individuals and communities under life-threatening conditions. 

The number of people directly involved in distributing food and supplies was relatively low. On average, only a few daring and brave individuals from each congregation travel to dangerous frontline communities. Yet they can bring supplies and help because, in general, their whole church supports their efforts. In these situations, the Church becomes the local support network for intrepid individuals like Anya who travel and work in complex and dangerous places. 

Trying to distill seven months of living in Ukraine to a few pithy phases trivializes the experience of people living through it. However, there are some things Christians outside the experience can learn from these believers. The first is that the initial chaos is unsettling for everyone when a war breaks out. Fear becomes a constant companion, and instability disrupts our daily patterns of comfort. During serious conflict, a pastor who stays the course and refuses to leave can find fruitful ministry after a time. The problem is that the pastor must endure a sense of abandonment, isolation, and uncertainty as congregants restabilize their lives amid a new situation. However, as the crisis normalizes into a new life, people begin asking insightful questions and are receptive to Christian answers. 

Second, we can learn from our Ukrainian friends that ministry does not require stability. Our best ministry can happen when our old world is crumbling and people are making a new world. If the church waits until the crisis is over to offer up the words of Christ, people will have already begun reconstructing their new world without him. If the church isn't a part of the crisis, then it won't be a part of that new world. Pastors, leaders, and laypeople can have fruitful and profound ministries during an intense crisis. Sometimes, staying out of the fray is a cowardly approach disguised as principled detachment. 

Ministry does not require stability; there is ministry occurring at the fringe. To people who have never been near combat, operating in communities where artillery shells are falling and missiles are exploding can seem bizarre. But there are pastors and laypeople who operate in such environments. When you look at people going to these places and doing these things, they are not superheroes. Many look quite ordinary, but they participate in ministry that most of us could not imagine. They are ordinary believers living Spirit-filled lives during extraordinary circumstances. 

Lastly, as our world increasingly destabilizes, the church must develop other ministries like Wished Incorporated to deal with that instability. The church has relied for a long time upon pseudo-Christian governments to defend its people and interests. That age is rapidly passing. 

The church doesn't need an army to fight her battles. She relies upon God. Yet she needs people willing to work on the fringe of normal. With an increasingly unstable world, the church may soon find fringe ministry to be normal ministry. I pray that God will grant us the grace to operate with faith and courage in the midst of crisis. 

Michael Brown serves as AGS Faculty at Indiana Wesleyan University and is the founder and CEO of Wished Incorporated.