Two miters under the sirens: when Ukraine receives two shepherds for its wounded sheep

Acts 20, 28

²⁸Therefore, take heed to yourselves and to all the flock over which the Holy Spirit has made you overseers, to shepherd the church of the Lord, which he purchased with his own blood.

1 Thessalonians 2:7

⁷Although we, as apostles of Christ, could have claimed some authority, we were instead full of condescension among you. Like a nurse tenderly cares for her children,

Ezekiel 34:16

¹⁶I will seek the lost, I will bring back the strayed, I will bind up the injured, and I will strengthen the weak; but the fat and the strong I will destroy; I will shepherd them with justice.

An episcopate received in war

Two dates, two rites, one college

On October 1st, in the Cathedral of Saints Peter and Paul in Chortkiv, Father Terentiy Vasyl Tsapchuk, a forty-six-year-old Basilian monk, received episcopal ordination from Sviatoslav Shevchuk. He became Auxiliary Bishop of Buchach, in the Ukrainian Greek Catholic Church. Two days later, today, Father Serhii Kippa, a forty-seven-year-old Capuchin friar, was ordained Auxiliary Bishop of Kyiv-Zhytomyr, in the Latin Catholic Church. The ceremony took place in the Co-Cathedral of St. Alexander in Kyiv. Two rites, two religious traditions, two sons of saints: and the same laying on of hands, received at the same moment as the drones fell.

Do not read these appointments as a mere administrative reshuffle. The ecclesiastical register records dates, titles, and sees. It says nothing of what it means, for a people at war for more than four years, to see two men under fifty emerge from their own ranks and accept the pastoral burden. A bishop ordained in peacetime receives a diocese. A bishop ordained under air raid sieges receives widows, orphans, exhausted priests, and newly established cemeteries. The mitre carries a different weight.

The Ukrainian Church is not waiting for the end of the conflict to ordain pastors. Through these two ordinations, it affirms that church life is not subject to the dictates of diplomacy. Christ did not tell the apostles to wait for a truce to become fishers of men. This quiet steadfastness is already a message of hope, and it is addressed to each of you, far from the front lines.

A sign of unity between Rome and the East

This simultaneity deserves closer examination. The Catholic Church, in the words of John Paul II, is breathing "with both lungs." Ukraine offers a striking illustration of this: an Eastern Church of the Byzantine rite, heir to the baptism of Kievan Rus' and firmly established in the west of the country, and a minority Latin Church, dispersed and sustained primarily by the faithfulness of a few communities. Many observers consider the former to be the third largest religious group in the country. The latter has few faithful, but it remains standing thanks to the tenacity of its members.

Then Pope Leo XIV appointed a Capuchin friar to Kyiv-Zhytomyr, and the Synod of Greek Catholic Bishops, with the Pope's approval, elected a Basilian friar to Buchach. Neither man came from the traditional diocesan clergy; they were both from the cloisters. One wore the brown habit of Francis of Assisi, the other the Rule of Basil of Caesarea. At a time when the Church was short of personnel, it sought out men trained in fraternal life, poverty, and obedience. It knew that the front lines also included community.

In a country where Christian denominations have long been rivals, even pitted against one another, this dual ordination speaks volumes about lived Catholicism. It does not merge the rites, but honors them. It also reminds us that unity does not come through uniformity. When Rome listens to the East and the East looks to Rome, Christ recognizes himself in the diversity of liturgies.

Religious figures who became bishops

The rule as a school of government

Father Tsapchuk entered the Basilian Order on November 4, 1998, at the age of eighteen. He took his perpetual vows in 2006 and was ordained a priest in 2007. Father Kippa became a priest in 2010. He then dedicated six years to vocation ministry and the formation of novices before leading the Capuchin Custody of Ukraine from 2022 to 2026. He thus assumed this responsibility from the very first months of the large-scale invasion. Four years as superior in a country where, each morning, it was impossible to know which friar would be evacuated, mobilized, or relocated: it was a more demanding school of governance than many seminaries.

The religious learns what the mere administrator often ignores: to govern is first and foremost to listen. The Rule of Saint Benedict, which Basil of Caesarea preceded and inspired, requires the superior to remember that he will be accountable for the souls entrusted to him. Francis of Assisi, for his part, called his brothers "minors" so that none would consider himself a master. A bishop trained in this discipline knows that he is not the owner of the flock. He is its servant, sometimes the last.

This training is particularly important for an auxiliary bishop. He is not the first in his diocese; he is second. He does not always sign off on matters; he often accompanies. This secondary position, which might seem like a compromise, is in reality the most in keeping with the Gospel: that of one who bears the burden without claiming the glory. It aligns with the logic of religious life, where one learns to serve without seeking the limelight.

The shepherd according to Paul to the elders of Ephesus

In his farewell address at Miletus, Paul gives the elders of Ephesus a warning that resonates strangely today: «Keep watch over yourselves and all the flock of which the Holy Spirit has made you overseers» (Acts 20:28). The apostle is not speaking of honor, but of vigilance. He knows that wolves will come, that the flock will be mistreated, that the shepherds themselves will be tempted to scatter. This verse is less frequently read than other texts on ministry, and yet it deserves to be reread in a Ukraine where the image of the wolf is all too familiar.

Notice the word order: first "yourselves," then "the whole flock." The shepherd who forgets himself ends up being unable to feed anyone. For a monk, this phrase resonates like an echo of the rule: to watch over one's own soul in order to watch over the souls of others. The two new bishops arrive with this practice. Their first task will be to remain strong inwardly, for one cannot console the bereaved with a weary faith.

It must also be noted that the Spirit "establishes" those in positions of authority. The verb is not administrative. It speaks of a divine initiative that precedes all procedures. Procedures exist, and they are necessary: synodal election for the former, papal appointment for the latter. But the Church believes that, behind these mechanisms, the Spirit is at work. This conviction prevents the episcopate from being reduced to a mere function and frees the bishop from the temptation of believing himself indispensable.

The time for fraternal formation

The two men belong to a generation born at the end of the Soviet Union. Father Tsapchuk was born in 1980, Father Kippa in 1978. They grew up as churches reopened, as religious orders emerged from clandestinity, as the long-suppressed Greek Catholic Church was reborn. They are fruits of the resurrection of a Church that had been thought dead. Their consecration is therefore a sign of continuity, almost living proof that the catacombs bear fruit.

We don't fully appreciate what this memory brings to their ministry. Their elders knew prisons, camps, and imposed silence. They received freedom as an inheritance and war as a new ordeal. The transmission entrusted to them is not abstract: it comes through the faces of elderly priests who celebrated Mass in secret, and through those of young seminarians who may be leaving tomorrow in uniform. The bishop finds himself between two generations of witnesses.

This liminal position is the source of his pastoral strength. He can speak to the elders without betraying them and to the younger generation without judging them. He knows, from his own experience, that a vocation is often born in vulnerability. When Father Kippa spent many years accompanying novices, he saw hesitant men become steadfast. He will bring this experience to the midst of a clergy facing trials. It is a discreet but crucial treasure.

Serving a wounded people

The priorities of a bishop from the hinterland

Before his ordination, Bishop Tsapchuk outlined his initial priorities for Buchach. He first wants to support the priests of the diocese and foster fraternal relationships among them. Next, he wishes to strengthen catechesis. Finally, he intends to provide assistance to those affected by the war. The order of these three areas of focus is significant: beginning with those who serve, continuing with education, and concluding with concrete acts of charity. This is not a hierarchy of values, but rather a long-term approach.

Supporting priests means recognizing that they, too, are wounded. Many have buried parishioners fallen on the front lines, welcomed displaced persons, and accompanied families without news. They do not always have the leisure to rest or grieve. A bishop who visits, who listens, who shares a meal, gives back to his priests something of the Gospel that the priest himself shares with others. Priestly fraternity is not a luxury, but a condition for spiritual survival.

Catechesis, meanwhile, is more urgent than ever. A traumatized population is asking questions that ready-made formulas can no longer answer: why does God allow this, how can we forgive, what can we say to a child whose father will not return? Catechesis worthy of the name does not respond with slogans. It teaches us to inhabit God's silence without losing our faith. It is about forming Christians capable of standing firm, not about shielding them from reality.

Tenderness as a form of authority

When Paul speaks of his own ministry to the Thessalonians, he uses an image that bishops throughout history have rarely dared to repeat: «We were gentle among you, like a mother caring for her own children» (1 Thessalonians 2:7). The comparison is bold. The apostle presents himself not as a leader, but as a nurse. He does not issue orders; he offers his warmth. In a land suffering from brutality, this gentleness is not a weakness. It is the most demanding form of strength.

Tenderness does not preclude firmness. But it changes its source. The shepherd does not harden his sheep to protect them; he comforts them so that they persevere. This approach echoes what Pope Leo XIV, since his election in 2025, has consistently reiterated: peace will not be merely a balance of power; it requires a disarmament of hearts. Just recently, the Holy Father proposed that the Vatican host talks between Ukraine and Russia. The Church has neither fortified divisions nor economic sanctions. It has meeting places and open hands.

The two new bishops embody this disarmed authority. Their legitimacy stems neither from power nor politics, but from the laying on of hands. In a society where uniforms have gained prestige, it is precious that men in religious garb retain the freedom to express something other than the logic of war. Not to deny legitimate self-defense, which the Church does not condemn, but to remind us that no victory absolves us of the need for forgiveness.

To console without betraying the truth

Nothing could be further from the truth than to present the episcopal mission as mere psychological support. The bishop is also a guardian of the truth. The prophet Ezekiel reproaches the bad shepherds for not having strengthened the sick sheep or cared for the injured, and he announces God's response: «I will seek the lost sheep, I will bring back the strays, I will bind up the injured, I will strengthen the weak» (Ezekiel 34:16). The verbs are concrete: seek, bring back, bind up, strengthen. The Lord enumerates his actions like a country doctor.

This list is a pastoral program for the Ukrainian territories. Seeking the lost sheep means finding the displaced, the isolated, those who have stopped coming to church because they can no longer bear the hymns. Bringing back the strays means welcoming those whose anger against God has replaced prayer. Healing the wounded requires listening centers and chaplaincies. Strengthening the sick demands daring to speak of resurrection without haste, even in the midst of mourning.

This pastoral approach is accompanied by a demand for truth. To speak the truth about war is to name the aggression, to refuse the trivialization of violence, to honor the dead without exploiting them. In this context, the bishop does not have the freedom to remain silent, but he has the duty to speak only after having listened. Here again, religious formation proves its worth: the silence of the cloister teaches the weight of words. A bishop who speaks little often speaks better.

A minority church that is taking root

The Diocese of Kyiv-Zhytomyr, where Father Kippa will serve, belongs to a Latin Church that represents a small minority in a predominantly Orthodox country. This situation of an internal diaspora is both a challenge and a blessing. A minority cannot rely on numbers; it must rely on the quality of its bonds. The Latin parishes of Ukraine are often small, but they are deeply united, nourished by courageous religious, nuns, and lay people who accomplish much with little.

A Capuchin friar is well-positioned to understand this paradox. Francis's order was founded on limited resources, simple living spaces, and closeness to the humble. A Capuchin bishop will likely be content with little and recognize the essential in simple gestures: a shared bowl of soup, a visit, a Mass in a cellar. He will not govern from an office. He will take to the roads, as the Friars Minor have always done.

There is a lesson here for the entire Church, including those around you. Everywhere, Christian communities are becoming smaller and more fragile. They are learning to rely on fraternity rather than prestige. Ukraine, in this sense, is not only a place of suffering, but also a laboratory for what the faith of tomorrow may be: concrete, compassionate, unadorned, and resolutely turned toward the poor.

What this ordination asks of you

Pray for those who wear the pectoral cross

The first act these ordinations invite you to perform is the simplest: to pray. Not a general prayer for "peace," addressed to whom it is no longer clear, but a specific prayer. In the liturgy, the Eucharistic Prayer mentions the local bishop by name. Add the names of Terentiy and Serhii to your intercession. The saints of Antioch already wrote to Ignatius of Antioch that nothing can be done without the bishop. The shepherd and his people support one another, like the strings of a lyre.

This intercession has real spiritual efficacy. It connects regions of the world separated by geography. A faithful person in Bagnolet, Montreal, or Kinshasa can thus support a bishop in Buchach. The communion of saints knows no borders, and this invisible solidarity sometimes holds firmer than official alliances. It reminds us that the body of Christ is not fragmented into nations.

This isn't about assuaging one's conscience. Authentic prayer is a commitment. Those who pray for a bishop in Ukraine are opening themselves up to a more concrete invitation: to give, to learn, to welcome. Don't be afraid of this next step. It comes from the Spirit, who doesn't like prayer to remain merely an intention.

Providing concrete support to the Church in Ukraine

After prayer, there is structured charity. Ukrainian dioceses, both Greek Catholic and Latin, organize aid for displaced persons, the wounded, soldiers' families, and traumatized children. Church charities diligently distribute these donations. For a layperson, a small, regular donation is more valuable than a one-off gesture. It allows pastors to plan, schedule, and sustain their efforts over time, which is precisely what is at stake in a protracted war.

Support can also take the form of hospitality. In several European countries, Ukrainian communities of the Byzantine rite pray in chapels loaned by Latin parishes. This liturgical hospitality is a small miracle of the Church. It allows refugees to hear their sacred language and to pray according to their tradition. If you have a place, a room, or an hour available, offer it. Sometimes a simple gesture is all it takes.

Finally, you can offer support by staying honestly informed. Media fatigue is a common occurrence for anyone following a protracted war. It's understandable, but it leaves victims isolated. Reading, listening, and talking about Ukraine with those around you is a way of refusing to be forgotten. Charity begins with attention, and attention is already a form of prayer.

A hope that does not depend on armistices

It remains to be said what these two ordinations teach us about hope. Christian hope is not measured by press releases. It rests on the promise of a God who does not abandon us. Two men today accept a heavy responsibility, in a country whose peace is uncertain: this alone is enough to demonstrate that faith is not a calculation of probabilities. It is a faithfulness that precedes outcomes.

This fidelity has its own unique beauty. It doesn't disdain reality; it embraces it. It knows that cathedrals can tremble, that bell towers can be struck, that ceremonies can be interrupted by an alert. But it also knows that Christ remains in the boat, even asleep. The bishops of tomorrow will not have to promise easy tomorrows. They will have to offer a presence.

Thus, these two bishops, one Basilian, the other Capuchin, become in their own way signs for the whole Church. They remind us that the Gospel is not a theory of consolation, but a life given. It is now up to you to extend this message in your own places, through a prayer, a gesture, a glance. And if you are looking for a watchword for this time, take up that of the apostle: to give not only the Gospel, but one's own life.

Lectio divina

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