“Thou shalt not idolize your motherland”: Russian Orthodox priests on the war in Ukraine and the degradation of their church

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“I do not give my blessing for the war”

Father Daniil, Priest of the Russian Orthodox Church

Until 2014, I wasn’t particularly interested in public or political life. Hearing a bit from the news or reading some basic information was enough for me. When the events of 2014 began — Maidan, Crimea, Donbas — I mostly trusted what was being said on television.

At some point, I began to realize that I wasn't happy about Crimea being “ours,” although some of my parishioners were delighted with this turn of events. One man even had relatives in Sevastopol who strongly supported the annexation. But I understood that there would be a price to pay for the violation of international agreements. Ultimately, as the Bible says, “Thou shalt not remove thy neighbor’s landmark.”

I felt that the price for the seemingly bloodless annexation of Crimea (though, as I understand it, there were casualties even there) was beginning to show itself in the events in Donbas. I started looking for videos from the battlefield. Most of what I found were clips filmed by people fighting on the Russian side — for example, showing a large Ukrainian army unit being destroyed by rockets. These videos were posted on VKontakte and widely circulated. Anyone who wanted to see them could do so. And I needed to see them. Burning bodies, dead soldiers — I felt deep sorrow for those who had been killed.

What struck me most was a video of the military operation in Debaltseve — in the “cauldron.” At first, it was filmed by Ukrainian soldiers on their own phones: they’re sitting by a campfire, trying to keep each other’s spirits up, with the echoes of explosions in the distance. They joke, curse, behave like ordinary people at war. And then those same phones end up in the hands of Russian soldiers — and they’re filming the corpses now: some shot, some burned. These men proudly say, “We killed them here.” I watched it and thought, “My God, how dehumanizing this is.”

When the full-scale invasion began in February 2022, I started following events much more closely. I was acquainted with people from the human rights community and understood that they weren’t “agents of the West.” They were normal people whose everyday life was a struggle. For me, it was a gift from God that I managed to find sources showing reality from different perspectives.

Then I noticed that many people — both parishioners and close acquaintances — began to completely change their views on the war. How can a reasonable person say something like, “My first reaction was negative, but now I heed the call of Sergey Bodrov, who said that you must support your Motherland in wartime no matter what”? It’s a strange position.

I came to realize that people are often guided by their inner idols. Analyzing myself, I understood that I, too, had a powerful “idol of the motherland,” instilled in us in the classroom. It sounds like “loyalty to the motherland.” But in reality, it’s a rather amorphous entity: the Motherland encompasses the state, specific rulers, the army — all of them together.

You must not idolize the Motherland. Because when you do that, you start convincing yourself that “a great goal justifies the means.” You walk over human beings — over their pain and suffering. You become willing to make them “sacred sacrifices” to your god, to disregard their lives. But those very people are the Motherland, aren’t they?

On February 24, I quoted from the pulpit the words of Metropolitan Onufriy of Kyiv about Cain’s fratricidal war against Abel. It offended and shocked some of the parishioners who were most loyal to the state — especially former soldiers.

The rector summoned me afterward, and I told him, “Please understand me: I’m grieving over people’s ruined lives and deaths. I cannot accept this on a human level. This isn’t a political struggle for me; it’s primarily a moral judgment. Besides, I have distant relatives in Ukraine.” He replied, “I understand everything, but I advise you not to stir up the topic. You’re an adult. The choice is yours, but I won’t be able to protect you before the higher authorities.”

That conversation got me thinking about my future — and wondering why people act the way they do. If I choose to argue with them, I’ll be arguing with their idol, challenging something they hold sacred. So you can’t confront them head-on. You have to look for other doors to reach them. Your foundation in this is the Gospel and the figure of Christ. He allows His disciples to feel that they have another identity — one beyond kin, nation, tribe, or state.

I myself used to admire the might of the army as proof of the Motherland’s greatness. But I began to rethink that even before 2014. For a Christian, it’s wrong to glorify anything military. After all, any war, even a just one, leads to innocent victims.

What really helped me, by the way, was the documentary “The Merry Soldier” about the life of Viktor Astafyev and the reality of war. I watched that film, and it triggered a kind of “withdrawal syndrome” that became part of my healing. The ideology falls apart, and truth stands before you.

Many Christians — not only Orthodox ones — like to romanticize soldiers. They believe that if a person, driven by emotion, goes to “defend the Motherland” with a weapon in hand, it somehow ennobles them, changes them for the better, almost makes them a saint. That’s false. It doesn’t work that way.

In reality — even in World War II, in any war — these people not only killed others but also killed something within themselves. When you shoot at a human being, you have to convince yourself you're doing the right thing. Moreover, in war, you sometimes shoot at the enemy and end up hitting your own. And civilians inevitably die, too. It’s a carousel of violence and pain that runs on the fuel of hatred.

Some clerics are staunch supporters of the war and everything that goes with it. They are captivated by nationalism, by the dream of the “Russian World,” steeped in the myth of “Holy Rus” and idealized Russian history. This worldview was shaped in part by Orthodox Christian outlets like Radio Radonezh and the TV channel Tsargrad.

The ideological fusion of the Church with the regime began back in the Yeltsin era, when military personnel and intelligence officers were strongly drawn to monarchist movements within the ROC. Church officials accepted donations from them and, in return, turned a blind eye to their activities and blessed everything they did.

Starting in 2014, I had acquaintances within the Patriarchate. They told me about the ongoing consolidation of supporters of fundamentalism and the so-called “Russian World” ideology. Their numbers were steadily growing.

The Church apparatus was heavily dependent on the security services. No one was allowed near the Patriarch. Sadly, he still lives in a kind of vacuum, cushioned by the Federal Protective Service.

Among themselves, priests aren’t particularly close and don’t really know each other personally — another feature of the post-Soviet Church apparatus. As a result, they can hardly trust one another. The Church is still, to some degree, under the influence of the security services. Moreover, some parishioners can also report dissent “to the competent authorities.”

I witnessed all of this, and I chose to exist in parallel to the administration. I’ve always tried, as much as possible, to remain independent from the system, including within the ROC. Since I didn’t come from a family of believers or hereditary priests, I never took what happens in parishes or in the seminary as a given. I employed a critical approach and realized that the governance system in the ROC is far removed from the Gospel.

Nevertheless, there is space for freedom. Among the younger clergy, this is especially noticeable. But the officials and bishops are highly dependent on the system, often openly committed to loyalty to the secular authorities.

There are clergy with a “none of my business” attitude. They perform the service, receive their salary, and that’s it — after that, they are off to their families. Some create something despite the system. Meanwhile, careerists bow down to the authorities. We are all very different.

Even the Prayer for Holy Rus — which has become a friend-or-foe marker — is treated very differently. Some priests modify it, while others try not to recite it. Others still recite it but put their own meaning into it.

I had a curious incident. When I began speaking out against the war, both in my sermons and on social media, a journalist acquaintance came to see me and said, “Look, I’m really worried about you. Let me outline what you can and cannot say.”

At some point, I realized that I, too, was being “monitored.” I think they single out “difficult” individuals, much like in the KGB era. As for repressive measures, they are applied primarily to people with obvious informational influence. For example, Father Alexey Uminsky was removed without hesitation at the start of the war, on the principle of “better now than later.”

The FSB doesn’t act directly, preferring to go through the Church administration. If the agency is unhappy with you, you won't get a call from an FSB officer but from a Church official — an authorized clerk. And they won’t confront you about your political stance, but something else. Like they told Father Alexey Uminsky: “You’re reciting prayers incorrectly, violating the canons.” Everything is done with other people’s hands. They break human lives, hearts, and consciences, cause pain, and drive people away from the Church — and sometimes even from God.

In the end, I decided that the Church as an institution is something I cannot change. I cannot reform it, even if I threw myself against the ramparts. But I can create a parallel space of communication, trust, and unity. I can preach the Gospel in my parish and among acquaintances and friends. I have seen how this bears fruit, how this circle grows, and how relationships with people deepen.

It’s clear that the topic of the war is usually left unspoken. People rarely discuss it openly. But I do encounter believers who have a human rights stance and who sincerely reject what is happening. Most of them are in deep despair, seeing no way out. Through them, I know of people who have been removed from their jobs or imprisoned. I like the idea — I heard it in a video by Maxim Katz — that when surrounded by an abnormal reality, your number one task is to preserve your own sanity.

Personally, I never blessed a formation of soldiers — I’m not an army chaplain. But sometimes people come to me for a blessing before going off to war. Or a wife would bring her husband to the church before he signs a contract with the military. He’s not a believer, but she worries about him. She says, “At least bless him, so that everything goes well for him…”

My position is this: I do not bless people for war, but I can pray with them. I can pray that God would break their overconfidence. I understand that a person can be set in something — you can’t simply turn them around. But making them doubt that they’re on the right path is important. Sometimes I say bluntly: “You came to me asking for a blessing to go there, to war. But understand this: I have relatives on both sides. And you’ll be exchanging shots with them.” People are sometimes taken aback and start to think. They say, “At least pray for me.”

One case stands out in particular: a man came home on leave and was about to go back. He had already seen blood and death, and he had a strong sense that he might not return alive. On the front, everything happens under the influence of adrenaline. Adrenaline narrows the mind: you just push forward. It’s a state of non-stop survival. Then he returns and sees peaceful life again. Suddenly, he begins to reflect: who he is, where he is, and what is happening to him. Yet at the same time, he realizes that he will be sent to war again, and doesn't see any way around it.

He comes to me in fear: “Pray for me. I feel that I won’t return.” And in my prayers, I ask the Lord that this person may see the difference between good and evil — that he may not commit crimes, that he may be freed from his intoxication with violence. I can pray for him as I pray for someone who is spiritually lost or unwell. He can tell that I do not see him as an enemy. On the contrary, I try to help him rise from the pit or emptiness in which he finds himself.

I talked to another priest, and he told me that the same thing is happening in his ministry. Because he also holds an anti-war stance, he was transferred from a central district to the suburbs. He stopped giving anti-war sermons and now focuses on reaching people's hearts and praying for them.

But I made another decision for myself. A believer once told me, “To live freely, you need to make an inner decision that you are ready for anything. You won’t be free until you tell yourself: tomorrow I might no longer be a priest. I could be expelled, ostracized, called an enemy of the Church, and so on. If you have wisdom, you won’t rush in, firing words left and right — people won’t understand or accept them. But you will have inner freedom.”

I am firmly convinced that people’s hearts are not lost. We may find it hard to believe, but the future is already arriving — through the faith of those who still have it.

“Our generation will leave nothing the next generation would want to continue”

Father Dimitry, Priest of the Russian Orthodox Church

Most people around me have long adapted to the reality of war for two reasons. The first is the general message conveyed even by the very name — “special military operation” — which implies something that doesn’t directly concern us. Just like “security service,” the phrase “special operation” is not part of day-to-day vocabulary. It immediately creates the sense that this is a special matter.

On the one hand, the state signals the absence of a total war. On the other hand, society has developed a natural reaction to stress — the tendency to ignore it. On days of major political events, intense fighting, negotiations, tragedies, or massive attacks, you walk through the center of any Russian city and see crowded cafes, people strolling about. Life goes on — and despite the tragic events, their historical magnitude, and impact on millions of lives, the war seems to exist in parallel.

As a priest, I am also part of society. In many ways, my reaction is similar. On the one hand, I understand with both mind and heart that we are standing witness to probably the most tragic events for our generation. On the other hand, in order to survive and fulfill my social and family duties, I have to distance myself as much as possible. That’s what I do, just like a great many Russians.

The control system in societies like ours doesn’t need mass repression. It relies on targeted, high-profile actions in every sphere, creating a general atmosphere. And people adapt to it.

Meanwhile, the work of a priest — like any other helping profession — offers the opportunity to immerse oneself in the personal. Genuine engagement with the lives of those who come to you brings moral fulfillment.

I have served as a priest for many years, and all that time I’ve seen the same thing: the vast majority of people have a tremendous need for human values. If you practice what you preach, without banners and slogans, the space for shared effort turns out to be much wider than it seems.

For example, since 2022, ROC priests have been mandated to recite the so-called “prayer for Russia’s victory” in the war with Ukraine. But in local parishes, deep inside Russia, it turns out to be easy to bypass this requirement.

Our diocese does not send priests to serve at the front. There is currently a shortage of clergy across the country as it is. Every year, more people leave the clergy than join it.

The trend is not limited to Russia. Priesthood in Christianity is becoming increasingly unpopular all over the world — except perhaps in some African and Latin American countries. This makes a priest of the Russian Orthodox Church more valuable to his superiors. If he leaves, he'll be hard to replace.

The image of the Russian clergy has been tarnished by provocative statements made by some of its most media-active members. Some priests have blamed women for their husbands’ alcoholism, others call on people to pray for those in power, and others still advise beating children or going to war. One such example is Father Andrey Tkachev.

The ROC has always had plenty of such priests. Most of them are fairly intelligent, and I think such statements are a way to gain media attention, to build a personal brand. That’s why they say things that are sure to spark debate. But this isn’t about preaching Christianity — it’s a form of self-promotion.

People in Russia are looking for ways to cope with their depression, to make life easier. Extra hype or emotional tension is the last thing they need. I know for certain that a lot of people are drawn to calm, thoughtful priests.

I find great relief in creating a certain atmosphere in the parish. It’s a space where one can experience positive emotions. I constantly meet exhausted and unhappy people: overworked doctors, teachers, shop clerks, minibus drivers — the list goes on. A person broken by the system is so drained that they simply have no moral or physical energy left for compassion. So if life provides the chance to create a place where people can experience their humanity, it is a true gift for them.

At the same time, in recent years I have felt immense disillusionment with all structures, under any flag. In the liberal camp, the patriotic camp, or any camp at all, the interests of ordinary people are disregarded.

You can, with one hand, declare the value of human life, speak about the importance of every human being, while with the other hand imposing large-scale sanctions that affect ordinary people’s lives but barely touch the economy. On the one hand, private individuals are barred from using convenient services, while on the other, countries continue to buy oil from Russia. This set of contradictions is what led me to disillusionment.

Perhaps the most important consequence of the current events will be a generation-long delay in the development of strong public institutions. Instead, we will continue to rely on personal connections, acquaintances, and small communities — much like we did in the 1990s.

Each new generation of Russians seems to repeat the steps of the previous one. Take the 1970s–80s — a huge shock, the war in Afghanistan, but by the 1990s, people barely remembered it. Then came the war in Chechnya. Each new generation had its own trauma. Today's trauma is the “special military operation.” The next generation’s first instinct will obviously be to dissociate from the “SMO.” And again, society will fail to reflect on what happened, restarting this cycle all over again.

In terms of public life, we Russians are eternal teenagers. We really need to grow up. It’s a pity that, most likely, our generation will leave behind nothing that the next generation would want to continue.

“I left the ROC clergy — I don’t want to wither in an atmosphere of doublethink”

Pavel, former priest of the Russian Orthodox Church

There came a moment when I left the clergy, left the ROC. To be honest, if religion can’t stop anything in this world, then what good is it? It can’t stop the war, or defeat evil — its only use is to support the government's ideology. It’s there to inspire people to kill one another.

I used to feel differently. In the 1990s, I held openly pro-monarchist views. I considered pacifism a harmful ideology because more pacifists were non-believers — either atheists or agnostics.

Now I have a different job. The worst part is dealing with people who find out I used to be a priest. You come to a new workplace, and they look at you as if you’re either leprous or an idiot. An accountant once found out about me and reported to the director, who eventually decided against hiring me. Apparently, there’s a superstition: if you hire a priest, everything will go to hell for you. To overcome this resistance, I had to fight for my place in the sun.

Now I see religion as a cultural phenomenon, a mental reality of sorts. It has the right to exist, but it is not the only truth. There is also paganism. In Russia's Mari El Republic, for example, part of the population is not Christian. They have sacred groves where people go to pray. They have their own faith. The Mari people are not cruel, though the “SMO” has claimed a very high percentage of their lives.

I feel sorry for the Mari. Try to drag a Muscovite off to war — he'll tell you to get lost. But in remote rural areas, it's easiest to lure someone into the army. Like my neighbor who went to the war. He says, “I'm living off my mother, I'm 54, retirement is far off, and I have no money. I'll go to earn some extra cash.” The Mari region is extremely poor. So is Bashkortostan. That's who joins.

Regarding the war, people are transitioning from bargaining to acceptance. Right now, everyone would be glad if the war ended — no matter the outcome. To be honest, sometimes I want Kyiv to sign a capitulation just for it all to end — so that there are no drones or missiles in the air.

We get hit all the time. Just the other day, there was an explosion — it felt like it went off five meters from my house. Sometimes you step outside and something’s flying in the dark, buzzing. There’s an oil refinery nearby, and it gets hit occasionally. Mobile internet is jammed — completely dead in the city center, and sometimes they just shut it off everywhere. It’s a real paradox: you drive out of town, and the internet works. You return — and it doesn’t. It used to be the other way around.

I know priests who go to the frontline. They consecrated things there and handed out little icons — maybe trying to ingratiate themselves. People at war need some consolation. That’s probably a good thing. There’s a sad necessity in being a chaplain, because people need support everywhere. But supporting them doesn’t mean urging anyone to kill; it means teaching them to show mercy to the enemy.

Now, if it’s done willingly — if a man goes there for money — I cannot accept that. But if it’s not voluntary… I don’t like it when our people are called “orcs.” It's also a kind of inhumanity, just from the other side. The person was grabbed, restrained, and sent to war. How should you treat them? They've been coerced.

I don’t hear many patriotic conversations on buses. People generally try to avoid these topics. Society maintains a “conspiracy of silence.” Some raise funds for the army, and church parishes are really a gold mine. I visited a fellow priest in a provincial town who has a strong anti-war stance, but he’s still in the system and has nowhere to go. He says, “We collected about 35,000 rubles across the deanery. That’s the kind of quota you get — try to refuse, and people start giving you dirty looks.”

In practice, priests on the ground can subvert a lot. They can give a new meaning to the prayer for victory in the war. The thing is, no text lives outside interpretation, and there are several ways to read it. You can gloss over the words, you can change them, but only for a time. Everything depends on the stance of the rector and the “conscientious” parishioners — whether they’ll snitch or not.

I hardly see any actively pro-war priests. There are maybe a couple who are really fanatical. Some do it for career reasons. But there’s another important point: the ROC operates under negative selection. The smartest steer clear of the church. Who studies in seminaries these days? Those who can’t get into universities, who have trouble passing the Unified State Exam. The exam is difficult, and if you score high, you go to a proper educational institution, not a seminary.

Seminaries attract those who aren’t the brightest, and those people are easy to control. They are guided by emotions. And religion itself doesn’t require much critical thinking — especially Orthodox Christianity. As the saying goes, a step to the right or left is already heresy. In Catholicism or Lutheranism, you can doubt, question; in Orthodoxy, everything is very rigid. In Europe, you can doubt and object, but not in Russia. Whatever the bishop says, that’s what you’re supposed to think, even if your mind tells you otherwise. Some priests sincerely follow this.

The ROC is facing personnel shortages. There aren’t enough priests. But this is already a systemic problem in Russia. We’re short on police officers, doctors, teachers. This year, one seminary had 13 applicants and enrolled 12 of them. Apparently, the thirteenth was a complete disaster, so they decided not to take him. When I entered in the early 2000s, there were 90 of us competing for 40 spots.

From what I see, religion isn’t trendy among young people. Most young people are either indifferent to religion or outright atheists. The fad of the ’90s has faded. In the early 2000s, some of it still lingered out of inertia, but now it’s all gone.

Can you force people into church? I don't know. Personally, I believe the role of violence shouldn't be underestimated. As they say, if you hammer away at something long enough, something will come of it. Soviet ideology was also imposed by force, and, strangely enough, it worked.

I’m not sure about the younger generation. Trying to shape 17-year-olds probably won’t achieve much. But indoctrinating preschoolers from age three — that might work. As for schoolchildren, they attend these talks about “important things” half-heartedly, in my experience. Most just sit through these sessions, playing on their phones. Some don’t come at all.

I’m glad I left the Church. Every time I think about it, I feel relieved that I didn’t get dragged into that mess. I would’ve had to live in an atmosphere of doublethink, in constant inner turmoil.