Dear sisters and dear brothers,
In 2024, when we met at the Christmas table in the Center of the Most Holy Name of Jesus in Fastiv, the pope’s almoner from the Vatican who was there with us, Cardinal Konrad Krajewski, expressed his hope that it would be the last Christmas of the war. Unfortunately, this year again, we celebrated Christmas without electricity and with blaring sirens announcing new rocket attack alerts. A couple days earlier, Russian missiles had completely destroyed nearby train stations and surrounding railroad infrastructure.
“When I think that Jesus was born as a child, I understand that God enters human fragility to be close to us in the most difficult moments and to tell each one of us: I will fight for you so that you may live,” Vera from Fastiv said. “I live in Ukraine. Behind my window, winter and ten degrees below freezing. Yesterday we had no electricity for 15 hours. We don’t have it today either. And this is life, too. Life that I want to live with hope — despite all this.”
On Christmas day, hope could be seen in Kyiv. A great crowd of carolers went through the streets of the capitol before noon singing Christmas carols. Hundreds of people of all ages, dressed in traditional outfits and carrying stars and other Christmas symbols were singing carols, which are not in short supply in Ukraine. Almost every region has its own Christmas and New Year customs. At the main subway stations, one can meet groups of singing carolers. When Christ is born, peace is born — even if the road to its full realization still seems so long.
The same day that the presidents of the USA and Ukraine met in Florida to talk about a peace agreement, the Dominican brothers were singing the liturgy of the hours in the chapel of the priory in Kyiv and read a sermon that St. Bernard of Clairvaux gave for the feast of the Epiphany: “How long will you keep saying ‘Peace, peace’ when there is no peace?’ And so the angels of peace weep bitterly saying Lord, who has believed our report?” Before this, we had an alarm that lasted many hours, and drones and rockets were flying over the city. The sky of Ukraine that night was covered with more than five hundred of them, and the fight lasted almost till noon. That’s a very long time — even for us who have already survived many similar nights.
So one might ask a legitimate question: Do the people of Ukraine still believe in peace and an imminent end to the war? The results of research by the Kyiv International Institute of Sociology suggests that only 10% of Ukrainians expect the war to be over before the first half of 2026. (In September it was still 18%.) A quarter of respondents still hope that it will end in the relatively near future, and 29% expect peace to be reached in 2027 or later. At the same time, a majority of Ukrainians (62%) declare their readiness to continue enduring the war for as long as necessary.
These results reflect well the attitudes of the people I meet daily. Despite long blackouts in all regions of the country, problems with heating, artillery and rocket barrages, the huge number of people who have lost life, health, or loved ones in this war, despite destroyed houses and factories, Ukraine is still fighting, and it is not raising its hands in surrender. For an outsider, this attitude might seem naive or impossible to understand. For us who live in the very heart of these events, it is shaped by a love of freedom and by the awareness of what Russian occupation would look like.
Sr. Kamila, an Orionine sister from Korotych outside of Kharkiv, whom I mentioned in several other letters, wrote on social media: “Yesterday, when I was walking, enjoying the beauty of falling snowflakes and the world dressed in white… Suddenly, explosions. Three horrible explosions. Far away from me — a couple of kilometers — but I knew that for someone else, it was near. Someone was going to die, and someone was being wounded… The children would remain terrified for a long time.” Daily life in Kharkiv, Kherson, Odessa, and many other places is composed of moments like this. Recently, when I was on my way to the nearby store during the alarm, I heard a sudden explosion. It was hard to say for sure where that “thing” (as we call it) landed. “It was probably Lukianivka again”, said the store clerk while she asked what I wanted. The name Lykienivka signifies the area around the subway station located near our priory and the Dominican Institute of St. Thomas Aquinas. That station has been under fire many times and became a sort of “trademark” of this war throughout Ukraine. But despite the fact that the building is in complete ruins, the merchants opened a stand with Christmas trees across the street, and women offered chicken, eggs, fish, and preserves that they brought from surrounding villages.
This year, almost 250 people sat around the Christmas table at the House of Saint Martin de Porres in Fastiv. A similar Christmas Eve meal also took place in Kherson, where the volunteers prepared kutia and pierogi. The people who come here need above all a community — they don’t want to be alone on Christmas Eve. “I met a woman from Donbas from the Lugansk oblast who lost everything,” said Fr. Misha. “She lives in Fastiv now. She told us with tears in her eyes how important it is for her to be with somebody. She is longing for her city, for her family’s tombs, but now she has to be far away because this war deprived her of the possibility of living in her own home.”
War means a terrifying experience of loss. It takes away the lives of loved ones, and it destroys homes. It also steals dreams. Many Ukrainian artists have become chroniclers of the emotions caused by loss. War documentarian and writer Myroslav Laiuk, in his book Lists about the experience of loss during the war, describes places very familiar to me: Kherson underwater, the ruined center of Kharkiv, Velykyi Burluk in Eastern Ukraine, not far from the Russian border, or the children’s hospital “Okhmatdyt” in Kyiv that was destroyed by a bombardment in July 2024. “I was recording how people experience and verbalize loss, because it shows us the things that we really value, what we are grabbing when we run from a burning building”, writes Laiuk. “We wouldn’t want loss to be the place where we stop and stare without moving, because the place we are staring at is empty. We know very well what happens when we stare into the abyss for a long time.”
“In order to overcome the darkness, it is necessary to see the light and believe in it,” wrote Pope Leo XIV in the message for the Day of Peace. We are starting another year with the belief that: “Peace exists; it wants to dwell within us. It has the gentle power to enlighten and expand our understanding; it resists and overcomes violence.” My brothers and I want to thank all of you who are with us and support our Dominican family in Ukraine and the whole country with your kindness, prayer, and material help.
With greetings and request for prayer,
Jarosław Krawiec OP
Kyiv, January 3, 2026
How to support relief efforts in Kyiv:
Account Name: Polska Prowincja Zakonu Kaznodziejskiego O.O. Dominikanów
Address: ul. Freta 10, 00-227 Warszawa, Polska
Bank: BNP PARIBAS BANK POLSKA S.A.
Address of bank: 2, Kasprzaka str., Warsaw, Poland
Branch Code: 16000003
Account Numbers (IBAN):
PL 03 1600 1374 1849 2174 0000 0033 (PLN)
PL 73 1600 1374 1849 2174 0000 0034 (USD)
PL 52 1600 1374 1849 2174 0000 0024 (EUR)
SWIFT code (BIC code): PPABPLPK
With the note: “War in Ukraine”
