A new creation

 

Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; old things have passed away; behold, all things have become new.

 

2 Corinthians 5:17

 

I have included a selection of my scribblings going back to 2005, just reflecting on some of the many ways in which the events of Jesus' last Passover, Passion, death and resurrection can be seen - poetic, music, art, family, mystery, discipleship. Whichever way you view and experience this most extraordinary week - edge ever closer to the one who loves us, who still gives totally of himself that we might live fully.

 

In a most fruitful and discerning conversation with several colleagues yesterday on the Sacrament element for Years 7 and 8, we pondered on this statement: Students will understand that: The wonders of creation and the sacramentality of life offer an opportunity to encounter God’s presence. I was grappling with how a student would perceive that presence when the opportunities for encountering God are manifold, but what it is that enables that child to see the face of God and know they are loved? Yes, I know it is faith - but how to we lead them from the awesome sunrise to a relationship with the Creator himself?

 

Holy Week, at first very different from the wonder of creation, is, for the Church, a week-long and then a life-long, and finally an eternity-long revelation of God himself. The God of Abraham's ultimate outpouring is of himself in the person of Jesus. St Paul maintains with utter clarity that without the cross and resurrection all is in vain (1 Corinthians 15ff). So when we walk the way of the cross with Jesus these coming days and celebrate on Easter Day the dawn of a new creation, we are all made new, for now, for eternity. Pray for, and be there for those who are holding the door to faith even slightly ajar - that the gift of faith might be theirs - even with the slightest glimpse of our marvellous and wonderful God.

 

Wishing you and happy and holy Easter and well-earned rest.

 

 

Peter

 

14 March 2005

Bread is broken, a cup shared. At his final Passover meal Jesus gives himself spiritually, ritually, totally. He is the bread, he is the wine. There is communion at the one table. As an act of humility he washes feet in the sacrament of service.

From the garden of agony, an anguished Jesus is arrested and stands trial. He is mocked, beaten and spat upon. King of the Jews. He must die. Hands are wiped clean, a cross upon his shoulders, his Calvary on the hill of skulls. He is torn by whip and by love, finally broken by the giving up of his Spirit. A curtain tears, the earth trembles. The son of David is dead.

The tomb is empty. ‘He is not here.’ He is risen. He has been raised. A gardener meets the women. There is no recognition. They seek out the disciples, hearts on fire. They know he is LORD, Lord of all. The gift of life. Alleluia. Alleluia.

This beautiful story is deeply embedded in our hearts. It satisfies our yearning that there must be more to life than this. It is a hope, a promise of what is now, what is to come and of what has passed. The resurrection transforms all time, nothing is the same again.

We give each other symbols of that transformation, of the true miracle of life, an egg, a sign of our own uniqueness, vulnerability, placed into the hands of those we love.

May you be truly blessed this Easter.

 

13 April 2006

 

 

The name Maundy is most likely derived from a Latin word that means mandate or commandment. In particular is refers to Jesus' commandment that His disciples wash one another's feet as He had washed theirs. This gesture is linked with His words to the disciples, "A new commandment I give you, that you love one another (John 13:34)." In our Catholic tradition we call today Holy Thursday, the night on which we commemorate Jesus’ institution of the Eucharist – and the night during which Jesus placed himself at the service of his own disciples by the washing of their feet. In Britain, the Maundy Thursday washing of feet and giving of alms originated with the medieval monks, a practice taken up successive monarchs. To this day, the Queen distributes Maundy pence on this day, though it is probably more ceremony than substance.

Holy Week is full of richness and surprise: the stories that emanate from 2000 years of experience and tradition which overlay and envelope the gospel record to give us the colour and taste of chocolate Easter eggs, the sombre and beautiful Stations of the Cross, the fire and candlelight of the vigil. Here is the story of our faith, literally and figuratively the crux of who we are as Christians: here we get taken up into the very life, death and resurrection of Jesus. As real as the Passover is to every Jewish family which celebrates the ritual meal this evening, so it is that the paschal mystery makes real and becomes real as the Church unfolds once again the events of Jesus’ last hours. It is we who eat at the Lord’s own table, who pray in the garden, who follow Jesus from pillar to post in Jerusalem, who stand before the cross on Calvary, and we who ultimately view the empty tomb.

This weekend, join us in remembering, celebrating and making real the Jesus of our hearts and hope. A very happy and safe Easter to you all.

 

 

29 March 2007

Patrick O'Halloran with his children circa 1903

My late mother-in-law Marjory was an O’Halloran - from a long line of O’Hallorans who now populate the far North West and West Coast through to Devonport. They are ubiquitous. When I began teaching in Burnie, I had two O’Halloran descendents in my home room. I have since taught many more. I have worked with a number of O’Halloran descendents too, Mrs Wootton being one, and last year, Miss O’Leary (unbeknownst to me at the time she was hired!) is another. The O’Hallorans have their Tasmanian origins in former convicts who settled around Irishtown. Apart from the name, the O’Hallorans also passed on their Catholic faith. My children are justly proud of their Tasmanian heritage - as they are of the faith into which they have been baptised.

There are occasions when families draw together to celebrate their common heritage, reunions, weddings, baptisms, funerals. These occasions are often built around and upon a shared faith. Such celebrations dig deep into the shared memory: stories are recollected, reinterpreted for a new generation.

The community of faith also gathers through Holy Week to remember our common heritage: to hear, commemorate and re-live the words and deeds of the Passion and Death of Jesus. On Palm Sunday the entire Passion narrative is proclaimed. We walk with Jesus and his family and disciples, enduring the exaltation, the joy and then the humiliation, pain and suffering, the mockery, the misunderstanding, the agony and injustice. These emotions and experiences are lived afresh each day in our world, and our televisions bring their stories into our lounge rooms. The words become real. 

None of us can place flesh on those words and walk away unaffected. The Passion is the story par excellence, transported to us by the Gospels (from Luke this year), and its remembrance is marked with the deepest respect, and accorded great honour. You are invited to be with the community of faith as it is once again declared.

This story is our story. Come and worship.

 

2 April 2009

 

My life changed yesterday afternoon – definitely for the better. I will get to bed earlier and sleep longer. I will regain some ‘me’ time. And, yes. My daughter has finally got her P plates. Time to celebrate!

Such a change – though welcome, does, of course, bring other difficulties – some foreseen, some unforeseen.

The solemnity of Passion Sunday signals the beginning of Holy Week – from the joyous welcome into Jerusalem, from his acceptance and acclamation as king. Holy Week ends with the death and burial of Jesus.

This is a journey that we know intimately. Retelling it has not altered its meaning or impact. We wonder what was in these people’s minds as they waved their branches and laid out their cloaks along the road. It is not only a question of who they were welcoming. It is equally a question about who they were and what they were expecting. This entrance of Jesus is Messianic. This event has been prophesied by Zechariah, the throwing of the cloaks alludes his royal status, while the strewn and waving branches recall the procession of the Feast of Tabernacles. This is the Davidic king whom they have awaited. They cry, ‘Hosanna!’ – using this term of praise to God, taken from the Jewish liturgy, and attributing it to this man who arrives seated on a colt.

Did they see more than a man? What drove them to gather in crowds to see him? What had they heard about him? What did they want from him? Did they know who he was? Is this the same crowd that days later would call for his death? For a crime in which they complicit?

Undoubtedly their patience with God was running thin. They had been promised salvation, and now, following the Greeks, the Romans now controlled the country. Hundred of years of subservience to foreigners. How strong was their desire to offload their oppressors? What kind of Messiah did they long for? A general? A politician? A high priest? A great prince? A carpenter’s son from Nazareth?

We know how this story ends. We’re heard it before. It’s not good. And yet it is also a beginning, and in the continuing story, it is all revealed.

I don’t know what lies ahead as my daughter takes to the road. Yes, I’m free. Others on the road will expect her to follow the rules, to drive safely. In turn she will expect the same from other road users. She will have to use her common sense, her growing skill. There are consequences if you get it wrong. It’s about choices

Who are you waiting for? And, why are you waiting? Start your journey today.

  

20 April 2011

Only this I want…

You might never have heard of the St Louis Jesuits. In the 1970s and 80s they were the Church’s answer to The Beatles. Wonderful engaging tunes with lyrics drawn directly from or with beautiful allusions to and images from the sacred scriptures of our forebears.

In 1981 one their members, former Jesuit Dan Schutte, penned an extraordinary song, one of my favourites, Only this I want:

Only this I want,

but to know the Lord,

and to bear his cross,

so to wear the crown he wore.

 

Let your hearts be glad,

always glad in the Lord,

so to shine like stars

in the darkness of the night.

This is the plaintive call from the depths of the heart: if I have faith, what I am asking for? For me it is to have that relationship with my Lord, Jesus, and that while I acknowledge what he has done for me in his dying and rising, I want to share part of that agony, that suffering so that I too can make a difference, and share in his rising. And in the final verse, the gladness that comes from knowing Jesus, from sharing his cross and his crown is like the shining of stars in the darkness of the night.

These next few days are the most sacred days of our religious calendar. The fascination and focus we have on the events of Jesus’ last days is not morbid. If at one end Jesus’ incarnation is the most radical event in human history, then our salvation, our redemption through suffering, death and rising fundamentally moves the boundaries for all eternity. Christ continues to suffer and die each day – through our inhumanity to one another, and yet each day there is resurrection. This mystery is past (what happened circa AD 30 – 36), present (what we now experience in our daily lives) and future (what is yet to come, what is yet to be fully revealed).

Don’t underestimate this mystery, for the huge armada we call the church is founded upon, driven and directed towards its understanding, of living it out, day by day.

Your child’s awareness of this mystery must go beyond chocolate eggs and the Easter bunny. As appealing as they are, they are distractions from the main event. While we have sanitized so much of our civilization, there is no escaping that our faith is balanced on the beams of the cross upon which Jesus was hung.

Wishing you a holy and happy Easter.

28 March 2012

He emptied himself, taking the form of a slave,
coming in human likeness; and found human in appearance,
he humbled himself, becoming obedient to the point of death,
even death on a cross.

Philippians 2:7-8

Sometimes it takes illness to remind us of our limitations and humanity. None of us is exempt from the onslaught of colds, flu, bacterial and viral infections, nor, in fact, the ravages of age itself. Those of us who have reached milestone, and honoured ages understand the process by which our physical goals diminish, but our desire to achieve great things has no bounds!

The three-year journey of Jesus to Jerusalem, during which he ministered, preached, healed, served and loved came to a close, beginning with his entry into the city, greeted by the cries of ‘Hosanna!’ and the heralding of palms. The coming week brought both the agony and the ecstasy of his decision to accept the will and plan of God. His acceptance is of heroic proportions and divine in accomplishment. He is not the aged, sagacious Father of his People. He is young, at his peak, his disciples have not yet understood his message, there is so much more he could do – and yet everything he has said and done these past three years is leading him, thrusting him to the tree of life.

These days of darkness and shadows reveal the fullness of Jesus’ humanity as he struggles with the choices before him, the finality of his decision, the acceptance of and release of his self, his body, his life, for his Father, for us. Indeed, as Paul writes: He humbled himself, becoming obedient to the point of death

What an awesome mystery this is, what surrender, what passion.

A part of us too should ache with the knowledge of that passion, for that is our share in the mystery. Join us this Sunday in worship as we remember and relive the Passion of Jesus, our Lord and Saviour.

 

9 April 2014

 

St Paul of the Cross (1695 – 1775) was utterly convinced that God could be most easily found in the Passion of Jesus. He formed a community of men (and later a community of nuns) that would live an evangelical life and promote the love of God revealed in the Jesus’ Passion. His congregations of men and women are called Passionists.

Such a singular focus could be see to be unhealthy, and it was a reality that Paul had difficulty attracting members because of his congregation’s austerity.

But for you and me, our focus on Jesus’ Passion begins on Palm Sunday and ends on Good Friday. In that time we are deeply challenged to reflect on the efficacy of Jesus’ suffering and death. What it achieved for the first disciples; what it proclaimed to the people of Jerusalem; what it meant for the early Christian communities in Rome, Corinth, Thessalonica, Philippi, Galatia, Ephesus, Colossae etc., what it implies for all of creation; and finally how it impacts on me.

When we decide to learn about something, the greater the commitment we have to the learning experience, the greater is our learning. The learning itself can and ought lead to a changed, matured, and fuller understanding of the area of study. For those who chose to read, study and examine the Passion narratives the richness is quite overwhelming. Jesus’ Passion moves well beyond efficacy to transformative and ultimately, salvific. If we allow it, the impact will be extraordinary.

And if this is so, how does it change the way I live and work? Just as for Paul of the Cross, the Passion of Jesus becomes a lens through which I view the world, my behaviour towards others and my actions. If I act like Jesus, I am unselfish, I am full of compassion, I am prepared to carry the pain of those I love, I will share all that I am.

As we enter this final week of our preparation for Easter, I firmly encourage you to see beyond the latter day customs of chocolate eggs, hot cross buns and fluffy bunny rabbits.

A community of Passionist priests and brothers is present in Hobart at St Joseph’s in the city.

 

15 March 2018

Carrying the cross by himself, he went out to what is called The Place of the Skull, which in Hebrew is called Golgotha. There they crucified him, and with him two others, one on either side, with Jesus between them. Pilate also had an inscription written and put on the cross. It read, “Jesus of Nazareth, the King of the Jews.” Many of the Jews read this inscription, because the place where Jesus was crucified was near the city; and it was written in Hebrew, in Latin, and in Greek 

John 19:17 - 20

10 very short years ago I walked with my family through the majestic St Peter’s Basilica in the Vatican. It is an awe-inspiring testament to humanity’s capacity to create beauty from the materials the earth provides. The churches of Rome and Florence overflowed with the treasures of the of the world’s great artists and artisans.

There is nothing more beautiful than Michelangelo’s Pieta. Smaller than you would imagine and shielded behind a Perspex window. It is surrounded by viewers from every part of the world. It speaks of the tragedy that is the death of Jesus, it is humanity expressed at its weakest moment, of a life ebbed away, of a mother bereft of her child, of the fragility of who we are, a reminder of our shared humanity, of despair, of loss. Michelangelo has captured this one moment as an expression of the tentative unfolding of God’s plan. For from these depths arises nothing less than a transformation of the world, a promise that we too will participate in this - the most extraordinary story - known to us. But the Easter event is not yet with us, our anticipation must rest like Jesus in the tomb, to await the fullest possibility – that God will raise him up 

These coming days you are invited to enter into the Church’s sacred Triduum, its three days of reflection, penance, quiet and then joyous celebration. May you be blessed with every Easter blessing.

 

Called by name

 

Now the Lord saw him go forward to look, and God called to him from the middle of the bush. ‘Moses, Moses!’ he said. ‘Here I am’ he answered. ‘Come no nearer’ he said. ‘Take off your shoes, for the place on which you stand is holy ground. I am the God of your father,’ he said ‘the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac and the God of Jacob.’ At this Moses covered his face, afraid to look at God.

Exodus 3:4 - 5

My sister DonnaLynn is the last of my 10 siblings to become a grandparent. Last weekend her daughter gave birth to a handsome young lad named Hohepa (a Maori transliteration of Joseph). Hohepa is named specifically for his dad's great grandfather who brought him up, but by chance, this young fellow also bears our own father's second name, Joseph, and was brought into the world a day after the feast of St Joseph.

Choosing names for children is rife with difficulties. Today we are less likely to burden our children with the names of grandparents, uncles and aunts. There are mercifully few Arthurs, Archibalds, Basils, Beryls, Gwendolines, Cynthias, Dorises in schools today, though they too were popular in their day. There are even websites today for those who want to make up names – there is an apparent ‘science’ to it.

My own children were blessed (or cursed) with Lebanese, Polish and Maori names after endless debate and reflection. They’re still unusual, and in my sons’ cases, somewhat rare.

The Hebrews chose proper names that were descriptive or prophetic, they often carried a sense of the spiritual, capturing something of their dependence on God (e.g. Joshua/Jesus means the Lord is our salvation).

In days gone by, we only knew adults – other than relatives – by their surnames. Everyone was a Mr or Mrs. Only relatives or intimate friends called adults by their first names; so it was always a privilege to be invited to call an adult acquaintance or senior staff member by their first name. Addressing others required deference and respect.

When Moses encounters the burning bush (Exodus 3:1-8a, 13-15), he hears a voice calling out to him. The voice announces that it is the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob. God then calls and sends Moses to free his people from the hands of Egyptians. When Moses asks by whom he should say he was sent, he is told,  “I am who am” – Yahweh – has sent you.

Thus the God who had been revealed himself to Abraham a half millennium earlier, now discloses his own name, and  such is the respect for this name, it is still considered holy and unutterable by the Jews and for most Christians to this very day. Where Yahweh is found in the scriptures it is usually replaced by THE LORD (in capital letters).

And this is the intimacy to which you and I are also invited: for while his name may be unutterable, we know it; and this God continues to speak to us through the burning bushes of our everyday life. You and I too are called and sent by this same God to rescue the poor and suffering, to be compassionate.

The names we give our children must last a lifetime and be remembered by the generations yet to be born. Choose carefully! This Lent remain vigilant to the voice of God: he will call you by name.

 

Peter Douglas

Act of consecration of Russia to the Immaculate Heart of Mary: Full text

Here is the Vatican text of the Act of Consecration to the Immaculate Heart of Mary, sent by the Vatican to bishops throughout the world. Pope Francis has invited bishops and the rest of the world to join him when he recites the prayer March 25 in St. Peter’s Basilica.

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Act of Consecration to the Immaculate Heart of Mary
Basilica of St. Peter
March 25, 2022

O Mary, Mother of God and our mother, in this time of trial we turn to you. As our mother, you love us and know us: No concern of our hearts is hidden from you. Mother of mercy, how often we have experienced your watchful care and your peaceful presence! You never cease to guide us to Jesus, the prince of peace.

Yet we have strayed from that path of peace. We have forgotten the lesson learned from the tragedies of the last century, the sacrifice of the millions who fell in two world wars. We have disregarded the commitments we made as a community of nations. We have betrayed peoples’ dreams of peace and the hopes of the young. We grew sick with greed, we thought only of our own nations and their interests, we grew indifferent and caught up in our selfish needs and concerns.

We chose to ignore God, to be satisfied with our illusions, to grow arrogant and aggressive, to suppress innocent lives and to stockpile weapons. We stopped being our neighbor’s keepers and stewards of our common home. We have ravaged the garden of the earth with war, and by our sins we have broken the heart of our heavenly Father, who desires us to be brothers and sisters. We grew indifferent to everyone and everything except ourselves. Now with shame we cry out: Forgive us, Lord!

Holy Mother, amid the misery of our sinfulness, amid our struggles and weaknesses, amid the mystery of iniquity that is evil and war, you remind us that God never abandons us, but continues to look upon us with love, ever ready to forgive us and raise us up to new life. He has given you to us and made your Immaculate Heart a refuge for the church and for all humanity. By God’s gracious will, you are ever with us; even in the most troubled moments of our history, you are there to guide us with tender love.

We now turn to you and knock at the door of your heart. We are your beloved children. In every age you make yourself known to us, calling us to conversion. At this dark hour, help us and grant us your comfort. Say to us once more: “Am I not here, I who am your Mother?” You are able to untie the knots of our hearts and of our times. In you we place our trust. We are confident that, especially in moments of trial, you will not be deaf to our supplication and will come to our aid.

That is what you did at Cana in Galilee, when you interceded with Jesus and he worked the first of his signs. To preserve the joy of the wedding feast, you said to him: “They have no wine” (Jn 2:3). Now, O Mother, repeat those words and that prayer, for in our own day we have run out of the wine of hope, joy has fled, fraternity has faded. We have forgotten our humanity and squandered the gift of peace. We opened our hearts to violence and destructiveness. How greatly we need your maternal help!

Therefore, O Mother, hear our prayer.

Star of the Sea, do not let us be shipwrecked in the tempest of war.

Ark of the New Covenant, inspire projects and paths of reconciliation.

Queen of Heaven, restore God’s peace to the world.

Eliminate hatred and the thirst for revenge, and teach us forgiveness.

Free us from war, protect our world from the menace of nuclear weapons.

Queen of the Rosary, make us realize our need to pray and to love.

Queen of the Human Family, show people the path of fraternity.

Queen of Peace, obtain peace for our world.

O Mother, may your sorrowful plea stir our hardened hearts. May the tears you shed for us make this valley parched by our hatred blossom anew. Amid the thunder of weapons, may your prayer turn our thoughts to peace. May your maternal touch soothe those who suffer and flee from the rain of bombs. May your motherly embrace comfort those forced to leave their homes and their native land. May your sorrowful heart move us to compassion and inspire us to open our doors and to care for our brothers and sisters who are injured and cast aside.

Holy Mother of God, as you stood beneath the cross, Jesus, seeing the disciple at your side, said: “Behold your son” (Jn 19:26). In this way, he entrusted each of us to you. To the disciple, and to each of us, he said: “Behold, your Mother” (Jn 19:27). Mother Mary, we now desire to welcome you into our lives and our history.

At this hour, a weary and distraught humanity stands with you beneath the cross, needing to entrust itself to you and, through you, to consecrate itself to Christ. The people of Ukraine and Russia, who venerate you with great love, now turn to you, even as your heart beats with compassion for them and for all those peoples decimated by war, hunger, injustice and poverty.

Therefore, Mother of God and our mother, to your Immaculate Heart we solemnly entrust and consecrate ourselves, the church and all humanity, especially Russia and Ukraine. Accept this act that we carry out with confidence and love. Grant that war may end and peace spread throughout the world. The “fiat” that arose from your heart opened the doors of history to the Prince of Peace. We trust that, through your heart, peace will dawn once more. To you we consecrate the future of the whole human family, the needs and expectations of every people, the anxieties and hopes of the world.

Through your intercession, may God’s mercy be poured out on the earth and the gentle rhythm of peace return to mark our days. Our Lady of the “fiat,” on whom the Holy Spirit descended, restore among us the harmony that comes from God. May you, our “living fountain of hope,” water the dryness of our hearts. In your womb Jesus took flesh; help us to foster the growth of communion. You once trod the streets of our world; lead us now on the paths of peace. Amen.

 

A Ukrainian Jesuit's war diary

Andriy Zelinskyy SJ 

 

I find myself moved by a bright star in the deep, dark sky over the western Ukrainian city of Lviv. One tiny but very bright light sparkling through the cold night over the city I moved to because of Russian airstrikes on Kyiv, where I have been living and serving for the last 10 years.

I love Kyiv, one of the greenest, most pleasant and peaceful capitals in Europe. On Feb. 24, I woke up in a completely different world.

The peace was obliterated by the Russian bombs dropped on my city and so many other Ukrainian cities. Since that first morning, the Russians have not, even for a single day, stopped bombing and shelling our cities and villages.

Only a couple of weeks ago, Volnovakha, near Donetsk, was a town I visited many times, with people in the streets and hope in their eyes, with children going to school and parents thinking of their future. And now, like other cities under Russian bombardment, it doesn’t exist—neither the town nor the future for so many of its inhabitants. They have been killed by war.

During these first three weeks of Russia’s invasion, more than 900 rockets and missiles have been launched against Ukraine; more than 300 per week or almost 50 air attacks daily. In the city of Kharkiv alone, with a population of 1.5 million people, more than 600 buildings have been completely destroyed. The city of Mariupol, located on the northwestern coast of the Azov Sea, has been under siege for more than two weeks.

Similar stories can be told about the cities of Isyum, Irpin, Bucha, Chernihiv and many more.

Witnessing the level and scale of violence throughout these past days, I still can’t understand its source. The bombing of pediatric and maternity hospitals, of schools and churches, of a bread factory and residential apartments, has no strategic goal whatsoever. It is violence without reason, senseless cruelty.

Obviously, you can’t just start a war without a reason. And if there isn’t a legitimate one, you have to make one up. In his official declaration launching the “special military operation” against Ukraine, Russian President Vladimir Putin said that Russia’s two major goals are “demilitarization” and “denazification.”

We Ukrainians know well that the Russian military aggression did not start in February. It began in 2014 with the annexation of Crimea and the occupation of pieces of two eastern regions of the country where Russia has installed quasi-governments. The West made a strategic decision not to notice that war in Ukraine. Before this total war on Ukraine began in February, the lives of 14,000 civilians and more than 4,000 military personnel had already been lost fighting the Russians since 2014, and more than 1.5 million people had already been forced to leave their homes and seek refuge in other parts of the country or abroad.

The response of the international community to the seizure of Crimea and aggression in the Donbas region did not seriously affect Russia.

Now what Mr. Putin means by “demilitarization” is to deprive our armed forces of any capacity to defend Ukraine from this ongoing Russian military aggression in the east.

Even more problematic is Mr. Putin’s term “denazification.”

To give that effort any credibility, it is necessary first to find a “Nazi” in the Ukrainian government, which is headed by President Zelenskyy, who is Jewish, in a country that lost around 9 million lives in its fight against the Nazi army during World War II. Everybody in Ukraine understands very well that Mr. Putin’s mission cannot be accomplished: you can’t find that which doesn’t exist.

But Russia’s authoritarian tradition makes it easy to undermine reality: You can always make something up. Most Russians have accepted the claims of their president about the threats coming from Ukraine or about the necessity of the military means used in the operation. With few exceptions they have not displayed the courage required to question the legitimacy of Mr. Putin’s justification for this war. In authoritarian societies, reality is dictated, not discovered, and the truth is constructed, not received. A “real” truth is dangerous. It sets people free.

Where there’s fear, there’s always room for shame. And shameful in this whole story is the official position of the Russian Orthodox Church.

The church of Christ has had the same mission through long centuries of human history: to announce, in words and deeds, to all people the healing truth of our Lord and savior Jesus from Nazareth, in whom eternal God manifests boundless love to humanity, that makes us all brothers and sisters in Christ, recipients of his eternal mercy.

After three weeks of ferocious bombardments, after so much suffering on the part of innocent civilians, most of whom consider themselves the faithful of the Orthodox Church, the patriarch of Moscow has not said a word in their defense. Instead he makes loud political statements accusing those countries that provide the means of defense to the Ukrainian people of somehow provoking or prolonging the war.

To make his arguments more “credible,” the patriarch focused the attention of his flock on the proliferation of gay pride parades that supposedly are a “test to enter the club of these powerful countries.” But he has said not a single word about innocent victims of the Russian air and artillery attacks, not a word of consolation for those whose houses and lives were cruelly destroyed.

This is what happens when the church preaches not the Gospel, but state ideology; when the value, significance and dignity of a human being vanishes before the shadow of a “great culture”; when the obligation of political authorities to serve the needs of their people is replaced by an insatiable desire to satisfy their own interests at the cost of the governed; when personal responsibility gives way to exaggerated national pride and reality to nicely decorated mental illusions.

The concept of the “Russian world” is often defined by the representatives of the Russian elite, especially by Patriarch Kirill and Mr. Putin, as the “Holy Rus,” a transnational “Russian civilization.” It includes the nations of Russia, Ukraine and Belarus, as well as territory occupied by ethnic Russians and Russian speakers all over the world.

According to this ideology, the “Russian world” has one political center in Moscow and one spiritual center in Kyiv, with one Russian language as a means of communication and the propagation of Russian culture. The Russian Orthodox Church is its single dominant religious institution, and the patriarch of Moscow its primary religious leader, now acting in a complete spiritual symphony with the president of Russia, the political leader of this vast social, spiritual and cultural realm.

Russian leaders position the collective West as an opponent to this political and spiritual civilization, arguing that Western “liberalism,” “globalization,” “militant secularism” and “gay pride parades” are its antitheses. The “Russian world” has been used throughout the past decades as an ideological cover for the high degree of social injustice in Russia, to prevent citizens from sympathizing with Western democratic institutions and to legitimize the imperialistic ambitions of the Russian political establishment. State propaganda based on the tenets of this ideology have for years distorted citizens’ perception of reality by describing anything and everything that would stand against the autocratic regime of Mr. Putin as “Nazi” or “fascist.”

The problem with this ideology of the “Russian world” is that it simply doesn’t exist. The Russian war against Ukraine proves this better than anything else. When you see a Russian tank blowing up an elderly man in Mariupol or Russian soldiers killing civilians standing in line for bread in Chernihiv, and when you hear not a single word against this diabolic violence from the spiritual leader of the ”Russian world,” you understand that it simply has nothing to do with spirituality, humanity or reality.

When you see Russian bombs destroying Orthodox churches, and Russian-speaking Ukrainian soldiers sacrificing their lives in a courageous fight against the Russian army, and when you listen to Ukrainian mothers who have lost their sons, cursing Russian invadors in Russian, you realize that no spiritual or cultural unity provided by the Russian language or the Russian church really exists.

The “Russian world” appears to be no more than a mental construct, a nicely decorated illusion, cultural cover over a dangerous antihuman political core. It’s a fake.

That bright sparkling star in the cold night sky absorbed my whole attention for a minute. It was a beautiful and peaceful sight, an alternative to the world destroyed by war that I had been living in for some days.

But no matter how peaceful and beautiful it appeared, I know it inhabited a far-off space that was probably not fit for human life. Like the shiny idea of Holy Rus, it was sparkling and appealing, but it offered no safe place for human life to carry on.

People fall prey to illusions. They seek to create a significance that will outlast their lives. A social class, a political nation, a biological race or a cultural identity—all of them may seem bright enough to capture our imagination, offering a belonging to something greater than ourselves. Yet just as bright, remote stars in cold space, these ideologies cannot sustain human life.

We have already experienced this a number of times in this last, bloody century. It looks like we have not learned the lesson yet.

Maybe it’s still not too late.

Father Zelinskyy SJ is the Ukrainian Greek-Catholic Church’s chief military chaplain.This article was published in America on 22 March 2022.