‘Tell God the truth’: The Ukrainian priest confronting the toll of war

KHARKIV, Ukraine – Chaplain Mykola Bagirov placed pieces of consecrated bread on an altar set up behind a camouflage net in a forest in north-eastern Ukraine, several dozen kilometres from the front.

Ukrainian soldiers lined up around him, emerging from the rows of surrounding pine trees.

“Dear brothers and sisters, the liturgy will last about three hours. If anyone gets hungry and eats a bit of sausage, just make sure I don’t see you!” Rev Bagirov said, nodding at food piled on a table.

Luckily for those gathered, the early morning service lasted about an hour.

The 39-year-old Greek Catholic priest, with close-shaven auburn hair, always brought jokes and food when addressing military crowds – a trick he learnt helps win over a sometimes difficult audience.

Like hundreds of clerics who attached themselves to military units after Russia invaded in February 2022, Father Bagirov confronts the daily challenge of spreading the faith in the middle of Europe’s deadliest conflict since World War II.

“No one had studied for this, no one was ready. I never thought I’d be wearing one uniform and the other. It was very difficult at first: I didn’t know how to approach people, how to choose my words, or even where to go,” he said.

Now preaching in the north-eastern Kharkiv region with the 33rd separate mechanised brigade, Father Bagirov is more than 1,000km from his home in the Carpathian mountains.

He grew up in the Greek Catholic community that the Soviet authorities had banned, like all other religions.

Greek Catholic believers recognise the authority of the pope but perform Eastern rites, like most Orthodox churches.

Covert services used to be held in people’s houses, a tradition that endured after the Soviet Union fell.

For a young Bagirov, it cloaked religion with an aura of mystery.

He was particularly impressed by the priests who returned from the Gulag prison camps with their belief intact.

“That was a serious experience of faith, and this is probably the force driving me,” he told AFP.

Some 70 per cent of Ukrainians describe themselves as believers. Most are Orthodox, but around 12 per cent are Greek Catholic, according to the Razumkov Centre pollster.

When Russia invaded in 2022, it did not take long for the first bodies of fallen soldiers to start being sent back to Father Bagirov’s parish.

The church was staging funeral after funeral, he recalled.

He decided to enlist with the military chaplaincy when a ceremonial gun salute during one farewell ceremony scared the daughters of a killed soldier.

“These girls got scared and pressed themselves against their mother, while their father was lying there dead. When I saw that scene, when I saw how frightened they were, I thought: that’s it,” he said.

“I don’t want to bury anyone else. I’d rather be here with the guys, to laugh with them, talk to them, see them alive,” he said.

Around 1,700 people from 13 different religious organisations are part of Ukraine’s army chaplaincy service.

Father Bagirov quickly learnt his duties went beyond spiritual guidance.

People turn to him for practical help – to see a doctor, solve legal or financial issues.

“At first I knew nothing!” he said.

In one instance, a soldier was anxious that his mother, living alone, could not fix her broken heating pipes.

Father Bagirov called a local chaplain, who in turn contacted the town’s mayor, who accompanied plumbers to fix the problem.

“Soldiers know that we care not only for them but also for their mother, brother or sisters back home,” Father Bagirov said.

Across the front line, the grief of war – tens of thousands of soldiers and civilians killed – has strained belief among Ukraine’s fighters.

“They hate God inside because their brother-in-arms was killed,” Father Bagirov told AFP.

He suggests honesty.

“They should tell God the truth. I always think arguments with God can even make for a better prayer.”

Earlier in the war, he used to drive to the front to comfort soldiers.

But as drones have infested the skies above the battlefield, he now stays further behind – running services online and holding phone calls with soldiers.

Before new troops head out on a rotation, Father Bagirov usually tries to see them, encouraging them to pray.

“When they return from combat positions, they are the ones telling me about God. It’s the other way round.” AFP