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When my editor asked me to report on how church institutions in Ukraine are still forming lay leaders for civil society, I knew this would be a challenging report to make. Two reasons: The first was the scale of the story — so much information. The second was practical: Ukraine was experiencing near-total blackouts, and they made basic reporting incredibly difficult.
The first challenge wasn’t really a problem. It was the opposite: too much to work with. I gathered so many reliable voices and compelling stories that one report wasn’t enough to hold it all.
First, I went to Lviv. Church-led initiatives in western Ukraine can feel especially powerful. That’s because the Roman Catholic Church and the Ukrainian Greek Catholic Church have deep roots here — and a long history of influence.
And while the war is never “far away,” missiles and kamikaze drones still reach even Ukraine’s westernmost regions — killing civilians in their homes and striking energy infrastructure — daily life here is different and easier than in frontline regions.
That’s why lots of organizations are able to keep a steady rhythm of work. There are programs, foundations, and training projects focused on forming lay leaders — people learning how to organize, serve, manage and lead inside their communities.
And honestly, that’s a good “problem” to have. You can’t pause education and leadership formation “until better times.” This full-scale war is now in its fourth year, and no one knows how long it will last. If learning stops, if civic life freezes, a skills gap forms quickly — and you can’t fix it overnight “after victory.” That’s why schools and universities keep going, along with sports clubs, arts programs, inclusion centers — even in places under constant fire. Likewise, church parishes continue to function.
In this reality, parishes serve despite danger and loss — working for the future of a country invaded by a powerful neighbor yet still fighting to survive. And the work of faith-based humanitarian networks is hard to grasp unless you have seen it from the inside. Caritas, for example, is not only emergency aid; it’s also a long-term support system that helps communities raise local leaders — people who take responsibility and help others. For the most vulnerable, that kind of network matters in big cities and in remote villages alike.
The second challenge was very real: Ukraine’s energy crisis.
In January 2026, a brutal cold snap hit. In another life, a crisp winter day might feel beautiful. In wartime Ukraine, cold means something else, because Russia has repeatedly struck power plants and heating systems. And when the temperature drops, the fallout is immediate: Millions lose electricity, heat and water.
For three weeks, nights stayed below freezing — at times down to minus 20°C, or about minus 4°F. In some homes, the temperature indoors fell to around 32°F — basically freezing.
As I worked on this story, whole neighborhoods were going through extremely hard days. In tall buildings, the people who suffer most are the ones who cannot easily leave: older adults living alone, people with disabilities, and parents with small children. In 20- and 30-story towers, elevators had been out for weeks. Phone service and the internet could disappear for hours and days. And even offices — government agencies, charities, church institutions, universities — were sometimes cold enough inside that your breath would show.
In conditions like these, I didn’t expect quick replies to my interview requests. But people responded quickly — and interviews were scheduled without endless delays.
Read Ms. Klochko’s story, “A Mission to Do More,” in the March issue of ONE magazine.