From the lower level of an unfinished church in the city of Chortkiv, a solemn resonant chant rises. Amid the familiar prayers and hymns, the war ravaging Ukraine seems distant as the Reverend Volodymyr Zabolotnyi celebrates liturgy.

Afterward, a few elderly parishioners linger. They walk over to a small kitchen in the multipurpose hall that also serves as a temporary worship space until the main sanctuary dedicated to the new martyrs and saints of the Ukrainian people is completed. They tie on aprons and gather around a large table. It’s time to make pierogi.

“Their pierogi are always delicious and never fall apart in the pot,” Father Zabolotnyi says, explaining how many of the women find “comfort in this repetitive work” of making pierogi.

“Some of them have sons or grandsons serving on the front. Without something meaningful to do, where one can talk, reflect and feel useful again, one could lose one’s mind,” he adds.

Singing hymns as they work, those with loved ones on the front raise their voices louder, sealing the dough as they press more firmly and more deliberately.

Pierogi-making is at the heart of the parish’s social ministry, which donates copious quantities to the local hospital to feed the war-wounded soldiers undergoing rehabilitation.

“The boys will be well fed and recover faster,” Father Zabolotnyi says, noting the parish donated 22 pounds of pierogi that day. 

The proceeds of pierogi sold in town benefit the construction of the church.

Since Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine in 2022, more than 100 parishes of the Ukrainian Greek Catholic Church quietly became beacons of hope, launching over 70 social ministry projects. The aim of this nationwide initiative of Caritas Ukraine, the charitable arm of the Ukrainian Greek Catholic Church, is to strengthen local resilience, foster solidarity and bring to life Catholic social teaching. 

Hanna Homeniuk, who leads the Social Cohesion Program for Caritas Ukraine, says the initiatives were “just seeds” eight years ago and have since “grown into laundries, bakeries, health care centers — places where love meets logistics.” 

These initiatives have transformed local communities, providing a faith-appropriate response to basic human needs. Volunteers — some of whom once received assistance — receive donor-funded training and certification, eventually leading food drives, launching microenterprises and serving as project managers and grant writers.

While not all initiatives are profitable, the spirit of service is tangible as parishioners meet urgent local needs and restore dignity to the most vulnerable.

The program was created in 2016 as a response to the Russian-backed separatist war in the country’s eastern Donbas region and its subsequent occupation. The program initially reached more than 30,000 people, but has grown since the full-scale Russian invasion began in February 2022. It now focuses on supporting rear-region communities, integrating displaced people and nurturing spaces for peaceful coexistence.

Ms. Homeniuk says these projects also help to ease the tensions that may arise among people who served in the war and those who did not, those who remained under occupation and those who returned after liberation. To bridge these divides, Caritas combines dialogue facilitation and psychological and pastoral support with a culture of mutual care.

“We’ve built something powerful — a network of people who want to serve, who want to heal and who want to lead real change.” 

Anna Habelko, her husband and child fled the war in Kharkiv, eastern Ukraine. A broken evacuation train left them stranded in Ternopil with two suitcases and nowhere to go, but someone told her about the local Caritas center, where they were welcomed, given clothes, comfort and dignity.

To ease her anxiety, especially about the state of her mother, who remained behind in Kharkiv, Ms. Habelko began to volunteer. She joined the Social Wardrobe Project at Caritas Ternopil, helping to sort clothes and other items donated for those in need. 

“People brought so much, even expensive baby strollers,” she recalls. “Russians shattered my faith in humanity. But here, it was restored.”

Back in Kharkiv, Ms. Habelko was a real estate agent. In Ternopil, a local realtor helped her find housing and refused a fee. Moved by his selflessness, Ms. Habelko decided not to ask a fee when helping other displaced families find housing. Volunteering, she realized, was more than a temporary distraction — it was a lifeline. She also experienced a new, more personal model of relationship between the church and its people.

Many families displaced from eastern Ukraine have been surprised when encountering the Ukrainian Greek Catholic Church for the first time, says Alina Muts, deputy director of Caritas Ternopil.

“People encountered a living church,” says Ms. Muts. “They discovered a new way of praying, a new understanding of God and of the liturgy.”

In addition to food and clothing, internally displaced people often need “a sense of belonging, emotional safety and spiritual care,” she says. 

To meet this need, Caritas has organized pilgrimages, heritage tours, prayer groups and spiritual retreats to help them make new friends, adjust to their surroundings and feel at home.

With time, however, parishes and Caritas teams “also learned how to bring together the church, local authorities and the business community around meaningful initiatives,” she adds. 

“Through communication and social enterprise training, and by learning how to respond in times of crisis, we’ve built something powerful — a network of people who want to serve, who want to heal and who want to lead real change.”

The Ukrainian Greek Catholic Eparchy of Buchach stretches across a patchwork of villages and small towns nestled in the rolling hills of western Ukraine, each with its own parish. Here, where tradition runs deep among tight-knit communities, the seeds of social ministry were sown before the war began and took root through patient, persistent work, especially as more than 11,000 people from eastern Ukraine took refuge there this past April. 

The Reverend Roman Bronetskyi, director of Caritas Buchach and pastor of the Church of the Sacred Heart in Zalishchyky, is one of the architects of this quiet transformation. Six years ago, he and his team began visiting the eparchy’s 300 parishes, listening, encouraging and helping mostly elderly communities rediscover their capacity to serve.

“To launch a social initiative, it’s essential to have an active parish and a committed team — people who are ready to act,” he says. 

“But what usually gives the first push is donor support and the inspiring examples of others. When parishioners see a neighboring community succeed, they are encouraged and begin to generate their own ideas. That’s how real development starts.”

In the small village of Hlibiv, volunteers at St. Onuphrius Parish — mostly women — took the training program with Caritas and began baking with a microgrant from the social ministry program.

“We gather with women from the parish to pray, to bake cookies and small pastries together and, before major holidays, we deliver them to elderly and isolated people, those in need of warmth and attention,” says Hanna Stasyuk, deputy director of Caritas Buchach. 

“It’s not just baking. Each box carries our prayers. It’s an act of love.”

The limited market opportunities in the area mean the initiative would need additional support in logistics and marketing to grow beyond the 30 families it serves and become a sustainable business. For the women of the village, however, baking is more than a business. 

Social ministry is “a ministry of love,” says Ms. Stasyuk. “It’s about sharing your time, your gifts, your heart. People always sense when you’re genuine.

“We’re often asked, ‘When will the next project begin?’ People have seen how even small initiatives can unite, uplift and inspire.”

The Ukrainian Greek Catholic Church has fewer parishes in the eastern and central parts of the country, where the church had been liquidated during the tsars. In Fastiv, near the capital of Kyiv, the revival of the church began in 1996 — five years after Ukraine’s independence from the ashes of the Soviet Union — when a priest was given an abandoned municipal bathhouse to start anew. The Church of St. Demetrius the Great Martyr was established and has flourished.

Mykyta Dunaiev, a 23-year-old man with Down syndrome, assists as an altar server as the Reverend Vitalij Martyniuk celebrates the Divine Liturgy. The creak of the heavy church doors announces when another person has walked in, creating a draft that threatens 
to blow out the flickering candles.

“Ukraine is only beginning to develop a culture of [disability] awareness and inclusion,” says Father Martyniuk, who directs Caritas Fastiv. “Our society still has a long way to go in learning how to accept people with disabilities.”

When Mr. Dunaiev was 13, a fire destroyed his family home. The parish and the local council of the Knights of Columbus helped his mother, Vira Proshina, to rebuild the home. The teenager always loved to cook and dreamed of becoming a pastry chef. With Father Martyniuk’s guidance and Ms. Proshina’s unwavering belief in her son, the budding chef learned to be a pastry chef, but his job prospects were few.

“In a small town like ours, it’s incredibly difficult for people with disabilities to realize their potential,” Father Martyniuk says. “They are often left on the margins of society.”

Thus, the idea of an inclusive bakery — a place where Mr. Dunaiev could work and, by his example, inspire other young people with special needs — was born.

But just as parish volunteers, with support from Caritas Kyiv, prepared to launch the enterprise — an inclusive cookie workshop named Korzhyk after the traditional, sweet cookie — the full-scale war began. The project was postponed until April 2023.

Today, despite the war, families with children with special needs go regularly to Korzhyk, where Mr. Dunaiev leads cookie-making workshops. He keeps a notebook filled with favorite recipes and often creates his own. 

With the support of seasoned pastry chefs, he carefully weighs and mixes ingredients for cookies, pastries and éclairs, operates mixers and blenders, prepares creams and fillings, and meticulously assembles and decorates each dessert. 

“I’m so happy that I can work, bake cookies, earn money, and help my mom,” he says, beaming with the joy of knowing he is needed. 

Korzhyk is self-sustaining, but additional support from charitable partners is needed for its expansion, which includes plans to relocate from the second floor of a building without an elevator to a storefront that is fully accessible. Father Martyniuk says this would be the obvious next step. 

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