Crushed Roses in Ukraine

The sun shone hot on the faces of the mourners gathered along the highway that ran through our village. The line stretched from the entrance of the village to the home of Sergei, a soldier. He had left the village to serve his country. And he served faithfully until four days ago when a landmine claimed his life.

The military sent his body from Kharkiv to the military hospital in Kiev. And like this village often does in times of need or distress, they asked my dad to use our family’s vehicle and go pick up the body. It is not the first time Dad has been the driver of a hearse. But just because one has hauled bodies before, does not make it easy, especially in a land where embalming is almost unheard of and the past four days have been some of summer’s hottest.

So Dad left early this morning, driving the two hours to Kiev. A lieutenant accompanied him, and they went to the morgue at the military hospital. There, after identifying the dead body, they loaded the casket into our vehicle.

Early afternoon they drove slowly into the village; a live corridor formed as people lined either side of the road. Many people fell on their knees and wept, throwing their bouquets on the road before the vehicle. I stood in the line with friends and neighbors, and together we mourned.

We mourned the death of a soldier, a young man, only twenty-eight years of age. We mourned for the hundreds and thousands of other lives who have been snatched since the fateful day of February 24. As the vehicle pulled up to Sergei’s home, our attention was arrested by a flock of white gulls circling overhead. We watched in awe as they circled over his home and vanished as silently and mysteriously as they had come.

The horror of war struck anew as soldiers carried the casket from the car to the courtyard in front of his house. His mother’s wail broke the hush. “My son! My son!” Tears filled the eyes of many of the onlookers. We wept for the grieving family. We wept for the broken country.

Several Orthodox priests arrived and led in the service. “Have mercy on us, O Lord! Have mercy!” they chanted. My heart echoed the prayer. O God, have mercy on us and help this awful war to end! After chanting through Bible verses and Psalms, one of the priest’s spoke. “Glory be to God!” he said as he scanned the crowd. “Praise Him forever,” the crowd reverently replied.

While many of the verses the priest quoted were taken out of context, I was touched to hear him urging our village to pray. “Pray that God would give us peace!” he pleaded. “Pray that God would protect us. We need His help!”

The heat and the heartbreak were intense. A military doctor rushed to the side of woman who collapsed in the heat. The village doctor was also present with his satchel, ready to calm the hysterical, to give tranquilizers, and to assist in any way possible.

The village head had urged everyone to attend the funeral. “Please come and bring your children. Show them the casket, and explain that this is the price that is paid so you can sleep in peace at night.” In the group of nearly one thousand mourners, I saw many neighbors, friends, and villagers. The town mayor was present. I saw Sergei’s first grade teacher, along with his classmates, pain written across their faces. Our gathering was sober; one of our own villagers had given up his life in an effort to save the country.

After the funeral service in the courtyard, we proceeded to the cemetery. A soldier from our village carried a cross, leading the procession. Several girls followed, scattering rose petals on the road. Then came the priests singing their mournful melodies and the soldiers shouldering the casket, followed by weeping relatives and mourning villagers.

The road was strewn with flowers which were quickly crushed under the feet of the throng. How symbolic of the many crushed lives across the country. The procession turned in at the cemetery, walking past the Victory Garden. Victory? But, oh, the cost!

One hundred twenty-six days have passed since war began, but victory feels as far away as ever. In the East, there are still fierce battles raging. And in the past week, war has struck rather close home. We were rudely awakened one morning when a loud bang, a whistle, and then a shuddering boom broke the morning silence. A Russian missile landed in a field a kilometer from our farm. What could have destroyed many homes and lives just made a “little” hole in one of God’s big wheat fields. Once again we are keenly reminded of God’s protection. Perhaps at that exact moment someone’s prayers kept that missile from landing in our village. Later on that day we went out to look at the damage: a crater in the wheat field, flattened grain, and pieces of metal scattered across the field. I claimed a little piece of metal as a souvenir, a reminder that God cares about me and is protecting us in the hollow of His hand. Can there be any safer place than that?

We wonder when this war will end and how many more times we will have to walk the path to the cemetery. Oh, how great is the price of national freedom!

Sergei gave his life to protect his country, trying to save his people from the nation’s enemy. But his blood was not enough to bring victory to Ukraine. Tonight we still watch the sky for missiles. Others hunker in their bunkers because their village is being bombed. Victory is far away. Nonetheless, Sergei’s body was met with gratitude and honor. Many fell on their knees and flung their flowers on the path before the hearse carrying his body. Many wept in gratitude and sorrow.

I can’t help but wonder if we as Christians honor our Captain enough. Do I weep in gratitude and sorrow when I think of Jesus, the true Soldier, who sacrificed His life for my spiritual freedom? Do I fall on my knees before Him, casting the flowers from my heart at His feet?

All of the honor that Sergei received today was worthless for him. He is not here to receive it. But our resurrected Savior is alive and here today. Do I lift up His name and give Him the honor He deserves?

My heart is heavy as I think of the soldiers across Ukraine who are suffering. A friend told me how her brother is fed up with fighting. He said, “I’m sick of seeing corpses lying everywhere. More than anything I just want to come home, but the only way I’ll be able to come home is in a casket.” Her other brother said when talking about the soldiers, “The good men won’t come home; only the beasts will. The way we are treated and the way we are forced to fight turns us all into beasts. We can’t even think clearly anymore.” These young soldiers grew up in a believing home but chose their own path. Now they wish they could return. “Keep praying for us!” they beg their believing mother and sisters.

A sister from church was surprised to meet a relative at the hospital, a soldier who had been sent home from the army for treatment. “I couldn’t believe the change in Uncle Vitya,” she said. “His eyes have a dazed look. He recognized me and seemed glad to see me, but his voice was gruff and distant. His cell phone ring was a song cursing the Russians. Can you imagine hearing that every time someone called you?” She shuddered. “He is not the same man that he was before war!”

Just like the roses crushed under the feet of the throng, the lives of these soldiers have been crushed by the horrors of war. It is depressing and heartbreaking to think about.

The trauma of this war will follow us into the future. The havoc that is being wreaked will haunt hearts until their dying day. I know God can bring good from this war. And He already has! I see it in the church house that is crowded Sunday after Sunday. I hear it in the refugee children reciting their memory verses from Sunday school. I feel it in the warmth between friends.

But at times the magnitude of sorrow outweighs the blessings. The horror of war hangs over us like a shadow, threatening to block out the light of hope. We wonder how much longer this war will rage. How much longer until we hear the trumpet sound when the Savior returns to call us Home? We become weary in the wait, and we worry what the future holds for us, for our village, and for this country.

We hang on to Scripture like a lifeline. “He that shall endure unto the end, the same shall be saved.” (Matthew 24:13) No matter how intense the heat of the battle, we choose to trust, knowing that with God’s help, we can be faithful until the end.

Pray that we would know how to relate to our grieving village, that we would be able to show empathy, even when we do not honor the soldiers and give glory to Ukraine. Living in the thick of war, it is hard to remain nonresistant. We are tempted to become caught up with the patriotic spirit. Pray that we would remember whose army we are a part of, and that we would continue to loyally serve our Master.

Anya Hursh
July 1, 2022