Part of the “Thoughts Aloud” mini-series created jointly by the “Sofia Brotherhood” and the German foundation Renovabis, within the project “Contemporary Ukrainian Orthodoxy: Breaking Myths for Reconciliation and Societal Consolidation.” Statements do not necessarily represent the official view of the Sofia Brotherhood.
Yanina Humeniuk, believer of the Orthodox Church of Ukraine, Khmelnytskyi
“And he arose and came to his father.
But while he was still a long way off, his father saw him and felt compassion,
and ran and embraced him and kissed him.”
(Luke 15:20)
Once, I left… I ran away like the last coward—without saying goodbye, without explaining anything. “Invalid ordinations,” “no living community,” “too little spirituality”—those were the arrows I shot at my Mother, the Orthodox Church of Ukraine, who had received me like her own child—a spiritual orphan—though I was born of another Church. Somewhere else seemed better, more spiritual, more “truly Orthodox”… So it seemed to me at eighteen.
A year passed, then another, then a third… My new ecclesial fascination—the UOC—proved short-lived. A black hole expanded in my heart. I kept assuring myself that I was still close to God, while in reality, my actions had taken me very far from Him. The attention I had so eagerly craved no longer orbited around my imaginary “halo”—not in the UOC, nor in the OCU. I fell into despair.
Each time I passed St. Andrew’s Cathedral, I would glance back—had anything changed? Was something new built? Was Father Myroslav or Father Vasyl standing there? Why? I didn’t know the answer then… But deep down, all those three years, I wanted to cross the threshold of my home parish—not just to visit (as I once did on a Christmas Eve), but to come back home. I kept postponing it—“tomorrow,” I told myself—for years… until one unexpected Friday: August 9, 2024.
That evening is etched in my memory for life. A spontaneous thought—“just stop by to write a prayer note for the soldiers”—turned into a desire to stay until the end of the akathist being read by the priest. “It would be rude to leave,” I told myself. But in truth, my heart was pleading with my mind: “Don’t go.” My eyes filled with tears before the image of Christ the Bridegroom… and only He saw them. As the moment of anointing approached, fear gripped my soul more and more. But would a Father ever cast away His prodigal child when they finally dare to return?
Nor did the good shepherd—the servant in the Lord’s vineyard—who whispered gently, “Yaninochka, I’m glad you came.” A second conversion is always more incredible than the first. And that night, it began—reaching its peak on October 4, 2024.
My heart, robbed and torn, barely crawled into a pastoral conversation with the priest—a spiritual paramedic of God’s emergency care. It could not yet open to God, but it walked away with steady steps: the wounds bandaged but not yet healed, for the healing to come belongs to Christ alone.
I, who had sought attention everywhere for six years—even in the Church—no longer search for it. I have finally unearthed in my heart a treasure more precious than all the world’s gemstones: the Lord Jesus Christ. Rather than yearning to be loved, I now desire to love: the Lord, my neighbor, and the Church I’ve returned to—forever. Yes, I do not belong to any label or bishop; I am a servant of Christ and belong to Him alone. But I serve the Lord in His Church through the lens of the Orthodox Church of Ukraine, because it is within this Church that God has appointed my place of service.
The Orthodox Church of Ukraine is not perfect—it has wounds, illnesses, and faults. There are many problems… But now, when I see them, I no longer flee like a mouse. I ask: “How can I help resolve them?” For can a child abandon her mother? I no longer have the right to run, for I have come to love my Mama and will not leave her—even when it hurts us both. Because now, I am the prodigal daughter who has returned… and who has learned to remain in the Father’s house—not for reward, but out of love.