Imagine a group of children on a stage singing Christmas carols but never smiling. Imagine boys and girls, some as young as four, silently and inexpressively greeting St. Nicholas, who has arrived with arms full of presents. For my part, there’s no imagination involved. I saw this scene with my own eyes.
It was Advent, and while the Ukrainian songs were about the joyful coming of Christmas, the faces of the singing children reflected the trauma of war and the overwhelming burden of being separated from their homes and their fathers.
But during my five-day visit to Poland and Ukraine last month, I encountered more than sadness in the Ukrainian people I met. In fact, in the midst of their suffering, there was also hope. I saw it time and again — a spark of hope still visible beneath the weight of great sorrow, tragedy and anxiety.
Ukraine is in a more desperate situation now than when the war began 10 months ago. Humanitarian aid flowing into the country is dwindling, and during my visit, Ukrainians were bracing themselves for the coldest months of winter. In Lviv, people went about their business, but the atmosphere was tense. Air raid sirens sounded periodically, and there were rolling blackouts. And while there were decorations here and there, I saw no Christmas lights, as every bit of energy needed to be conserved. The cathedral’s stained-glass windows — images telling the story of Christ coming to earth and redeeming the human race — were boarded up and its statues wrapped in protective covering in case of a missile strike.
In parishes and seminaries, I met refugees who were staying in tight spaces, in storage rooms and other areas that have been converted into temporary living quarters. Most families were divided, with mothers and children together in a shelter and fathers serving the war effort in the eastern part of the country. Often, these displaced women and children burst into tears as they shared their stories.
And yet, in spite of all this hardship, what struck me about so many of the people I met was their deep gratitude. They expressed gratitude to those who have taken them into their homes and churches or helped them with medical care, and gratitude to the Knights for our care packages and support of refugee centers. And with their gratitude was an indomitable hope. It’s a hope that is much deeper and richer than the hope of military victory. It’s a hope that comes only from the knowledge that God is with them and desires for them a glory beyond imagination.
And yet, in spite of all this hardship, what struck me about so many of the people I met was their deep gratitude. And with their gratitude was an indomitable hope.
Witnessing to this hope, by simple presence, was my goal. My message was clear, and I kept repeating it: “You are not alone. We are here with you. And God, who comes to us in Jesus Christ, is here among us.”
Perhaps to lesser degrees or in more subtle ways, it is the same situation each one of us can find in our own communities — even sometimes in our own families — if we are aware.
Great evil exists in the world, and it shows itself in human suffering wherever it is found — not just in war zones. However, St. Paul urges us, “Do not be conquered by evil but conquer evil with good” (Rom 12:21). This is the lesson we can take from our brothers and sisters in Ukraine. This is their gift to us.
They remind us that the world around us needs the hope that only comes from a witness to Christ’s presence among us. They help us to recall the reason for all the charitable programs we undertake. In each case, Knights of Columbus are called to bear witness to this message of hope in Christ: “You are not alone. We are here with you.” And, most importantly of all, “God is here with us.”
Vivat Jesus!





