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.
Priest Heorhii Hurtovyi, Oleksandria Eparchy, UOC
A congregation as a living community
Our village has just over a thousand residents. Everyone knows everyone, each family connected through kinship, shared history, joys, and sorrows. When the full‑scale war began, these bonds became even stronger. Together we gather aid for the army, together we grieve and pray for those who have already fallen. Seven from our small village have died.
People come to me not only for the sacraments—they come for counsel in family matters, support in difficult moments, during illness, for a comforting word when death takes a loved one. When a mother’s heart aches over a son at the front, mine aches too. When a young family rejoices at the birth of a child, I rejoice as well. This compassion and empathy often inspire, yet they also emotionally drain me, especially in tragic circumstances.
Painful questions and division in the congregation
But here lies the greatest challenge of our time. The Ukrainian Orthodox Church, to which I belong, has become the center of heated debates about belonging, patriotism, canonical status. These debates aren’t conducted somewhere far away in hierarchs’ offices or on internet forums. They enter my church, the thoughts of my parishioners, confessions, and everyday conversations after services.
“A father—whose son is fighting in the east—asked me: ‘Father, how can we pray in a church linked with Moscow, when Muscovites are killing our children?’” In his words there’s no wrath toward me personally—only the pain of a Ukrainian father who cannot reconcile this contradiction. I feel his pain, for it is mine too. Every day, reading news from the front, looking at destroyed cities, hearing stories from refugees who find refuge in our village, I ask myself the same question.
Our services changed when the war began. We not only gently Ukrainianized the liturgy, but also added prayers for Ukrainian warriors, the wounded, captives, and refugees—these prayers have become an essential part of our liturgies. But is it enough? Can prayer alone suffice in response to the challenges history presents us?
And hardest of all is that our congregation has become divided. Not from quarrels, not from personal slights—people still greet each other on the street and help one another in tough times. But on the question of church allegiance, opinions diverge. Some respected parishioners find the idea of change hard to accept. “Father,” one parishioner—who has attended services for many decades—told me, “should we now replace our church? We were baptized here, received grace and forgiveness of our sins. Has God split into Ukrainian and Moscow?” Her words reflect the wisdom of someone who has endured much and understands that the essence of faith lies deeper than political disagreements.
But there are other voices. Other parishioners, especially those whose relatives fight at the front, demand a clearer stance. “Father,” they say, “how can we remain in a church tied to the aggressor?” And here is where it becomes hardest for me, because I understand both sides. I understand the concerns of the elders, the long‑standing parishioners who wish to preserve tradition; I also understand the pain of others, their desire for church independence, their yearning for the church to clearly stand with Ukraine.
The pastoral cross and the search for unity in the parish
A priest bears responsibility. My decision will affect more than just my personal life—it will shape the fate of the entire parish. If I stay in the UOC, some of the congregation might seek another priest. If I join the OCU, the other most active portion will feel betrayed, abandoned.
This is not simply an administrative matter of changing church affiliation. It is a matter of pastoral responsibility, of love for the people, of serving God through serving one’s neighbors. Every family in my parish is dear to me. How can I choose between them?
Gradually, I have come to understand that the most important thing is to preserve unity within the congregation, despite the variety of opinions and positions. To create a space where everyone can freely express their views—where the older generation feels their traditions are respected, and the younger generation senses understanding for their patriotic aspirations. We all desire the same: peace in Ukraine, victory over the aggressor, well‑being for our families. We only differ in how to achieve it.
Jesus Christ prayed for unity among His disciples: “that all may be one.” I believe that unity lies not in identical opinions, but in unity through love, in seeking Christ together, in serving others. When we together ask God for peace, for protection of our warriors, for blessing our land—we experience unity that transcends ecclesiastical or administrative differences.
Perhaps this is the answer to the question that haunts me—not which church structure one belongs to, but how to preserve faith and love in people’s hearts; how to help them find God in these difficult circumstances. I feel that the most important task of any priest now is to help people not lose faith altogether. When surrounded by so much death and cruelty, when innocents perish, it is easy to believe that God does not exist—or that He is indifferent to human suffering.
Perhaps the hardest part of my position is realizing there is no perfect choice. Therefore every step must be weighed more than once. Any decision will upset some, disappoint others. But following Christ together with the parishioners is what must remain unchanged regardless of church structures. On that, I anchor my hope, though I know the path ahead will be difficult.