Advent Hope in Ukraine

by

Practicing Faith

Special to United Methodist Insight | Dec. 8, 2025

 I worship “virtually” every Sunday with Christian friends in Kyiv, Ukraine, 5,000 miles from my home in Menomonee Falls, Wisconsin. They post their services on Facebook. I do not speak Ukrainian, but the Spirit is universal, and I recognize many of the hymn tunes.

After 195 Sundays since the Russian invasion, I look forward to seeing the faces of these virtual friends each week on my computer screen. I pray for their safety. My stomach tightens every time I hear of another Russian rocket attack and see photos of burning apartment buildings like the one where my new friends live.

 Maia Mikhaluk, whose husband, Nick is one of the pastors of the Kyiv congregation, has been posting accounts about the daily life of her family, and the other families in their congregation, ever since the war began on Feb. 24, 2022.  She shares a faith that has never wavered in the face of daily terror. The Office of The United Nations High Commissioner of Human Rights has verified that at least 53,000 civilians have been killed or injured since the war began. A reported 745 children have died in just the first 10 months of this year. An estimated 500,000 Ukrainian soldiers have died, and at least 3.7 million refugees have been internally displaced by the war.

 In 1997, Maia and her husband Nick started International Partnerships, a Ukrainian ministry, staffed by Ukrainians who focus on planting Gospel-believing churches in Ukraine and in countries like Kazakhstan, where several home churches have been established. What was unforeseen was the need for humanitarian relief work. Since 2014 with Russia’s ongoing aggression, Nick and Maia have personally made countless trips with their teams into the war zones. This work is ongoing and tragically shows no signs of slowing down.

 Maia confesses to being weary of this seemingly endless war. She is quoted in a December 4, Christianity Today article by Jill Nelson:

“Being tired doesn’t mean we’re ready to give up,” said Maia Mikhaluk, a pastor’s wife who lives in Kyiv and has helped plant churches across Ukraine for the past 18 years. She believes the original plan handed the Kremlin its ‘Christmas wish list’ and provided “nothing that is good for Ukraine.”“ ‘If Moscow’s land grabs are legitimized or expanded, many of the Mikhaluks’ 27 church plants across the country will be in danger…. ‘We have pastors in our network who would have to flee from the areas occupied by Russians, because if they stay, they’ll be slaughtered,’ Maia said.”

 In one of her Facebook posts on Sunday, October 26, 2025, the 1,341st day of the war, Maia wrote:

 “After a night of missile and drone attacks — waking up to the news of several residential buildings hit — our church gathered for Sunday service.

 “Today we celebrated Thanksgiving (Harvest Day). Our choir reminded us that we are just one small part of God’s great Church. We rejoiced in the Harvest of Nations — the truth that every church around the world worships the same God, carries the same Message of Hope into their corner of a broken world, and learns to live by faith.

 “This special treat from our choir included songs in Swahili, English, Spanish, and Hebrew. The church in Ukraine faces great challenges today, but we do not feel alone. We know that the Body of Christ is praying for us — in many languages, from every nation.”

 On Friday, October 28, the 1,374th day of the war Maia wrote: “Today my granddaughter brought me to tears with one simple sentence.

 “We were walking through a shopping mall when she suddenly noticed the suitcase—the one from our many imaginary stories. Pink (of course), with Minnie Mouse on the front and flowers on the back. She lit up, asked to see it closer, and then stood there like a tiny fashion model in her pink jacket, perfectly coordinated and ready to board her imagined flight. She wanted to buy it right away. I told her gently, ‘Maybe I’ll get it for you for Christmas.’ She paused, looked at me with calmness and understanding far beyond her 3.8 years, and said softly, ‘It’s ok, Grandma. You can buy it for me when the war is over.’

 “My heart just broke. How do you hear a sentence like that from someone who hasn’t lived a single day under peaceful skies? A child whose entire life has been shaped by sirens, blackouts, explosions, and whispered explanations about ‘bad noises’ and ‘danger outside’—and yet somehow she speaks about ‘after the war’ with matter-of-fact logic and innocence intertwined.

 “I hate this war. I hate that our children know these phrases, these realities, these compromises. I hate that they grow up thinking that happiness waits on the other side of air raid alerts and missile strikes. I hate that my granddaughter’s first instinct is not wishfulness but patience—patience for an ending none of us can promise soon.”

 The next day, Saturday, October 29, the 1,375th day of the war, Maia wrote:

 “God gave us another morning, and though it arrived wrapped in gloom and cold, it is still a gift — one we do not take for granted. The night was relentless — ten and a half hours of incoming missiles and drones, 632 in total, coming in waves that seemed endless. The air raid began around 11 p.m. and carried on until 9:30 a.m.

 “Explosions woke me at 2 a.m., jolting the whole house, and by the time I finally drifted back to sleep after 6, Kyiv was already reporting half a million people without electricity and multiple high-rise buildings hit. This is the rhythm of our nights: fear, exhaustion, waiting, and the strange stillness between explosions when you brace for the next one.

 “In those hours when sleep refuses to come, the mind reaches for something human to hold onto. Last night, I kept thinking about my granddaughter spotting that pink suitcase in the mall — the one from all our imagined adventures. She touched it with such innocent expectation, as if she really were moments away from boarding a plane, and then, with the quiet wisdom no child should need, she said, ‘It’s ok, Grandma, you can buy it for me when the war is over.’

 “That small moment, that small suitcase, became the image in my mind while missiles were flying over the city. It reminded me of the future we are fighting for, the dreams our children postpone because war has forced them to learn patience far too early.”

On Sunday, November 30th, the1,376th day of the war, Maia wrote:

  “On this first Sunday of Advent, we lit the candle of Hope. Hope that does not deny the night, but shines into it. Hope that does not erase fear, but gently whispers, ‘You are not alone.’ Hope that bends heaven toward earth just as it did long ago in Bethlehem.

 “But this year, Hope feels even more essential—not a decoration of Advent, not a sentiment, but something integral to our life and our survival. We hold on to Hope the way you hold on to a lifeline in a storm. Without it, these 1,376 days would have crushed us. With it, we stand, rebuild, sing, pray, and keep going. The words of this song echoed in our hearts:

 ‘The whole earth waits for the Savior…

Oh, come, King of mercy, shine on all who sit in darkness.’

 “In the days explosions shook our windows, Hope whispered that heaven still bends low. In the days when so many felt exhausted, Hope reminded us to lift up our weary hands. In the days when despair tried to settle in, Hope opened ‘new strength and fullness.’”

 “Advent begins right here—not in perfect circumstances, but in longing. Not in silence, but in air raid sirens. Not in comfort, but in the cry, ‘O come!’

 “And the miracle is this: Hope answers. Hope comes. Hope is born among us. Emmanuel—God with us—even here, even now!”

 Sunday services in Maia and Nick Mikhaluk’s Church in Kyiv, Ukraine can be seen on their You Tube channel. Subscribe to their newsletter by writing to support@impministry.org or to International Partnerships, Inc.P.O. Box 3740, Boone, NC 28607.

The Rev. John Sumwalt is a retired United Methodist pastor and the author of “Shining Moments: Visions of the Holy in Ordinary Lives.”