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(OPINION) ZOSIN, Poland — “Can I ask you a stupid question?” the border guard said. “Where are you going?”

He had just asked me if I was a farmer since I live in Oklahoma. So this question seemed much less stupid.

“Kyiv,” I said.

“Why?” the guard asked, with a hint of snark in his voice.

“Preacher training school graduation,” I said. He waved us through.

Crossing the border into Ukraine felt different than it did two years ago, when Audrey Jackson and I accompanied a small group from Sunset International Bible Institute and the Program for Humanitarian Aid. Back then, as we approached the border near Siret, Romania, no fewer than seven uniformed men surrounded our van. Our driver, Adi Voicu, talked to them as I feared the worst. They’d spend hours looking through our bags of relief supplies, I thought.

But no.

“These guys want to help us carry our bags to the border,” Adi said.

They were volunteer firefighters and emergency workers. Along the path to the checkpoint, we saw tents manned by priests and aid workers offering coffee and sandwiches. When we returned to Romania the next day, they asked us if we were OK, if we had a place to stay.

Two years later, in Poland, we chose to cross at a small checkpoint in Zosin. Days earlier, Polish farmers had blocked a bigger checkpoint that leads to Lviv, Ukraine, in protest of the European Union lifting import duties on Ukrainian grain after the war with Russia began. “Ukrainian grain is flooding Poland,” one farmer told Al Jazeera, “and we’re getting poorer and poorer.”

I came here to attend a workshop and graduation ceremony sponsored by the Ukrainian Bible Institute. I accompanied Richard Baggett of Sunset; Jay Don Rogers, who directed the Bible institute for 19 years; and Rogers’ wife, Mary Lee. Inna Kuzmenko, a Christian from the hard-hit town of Kharkiv, was our translator. Our drivers, Oleksander Sikorski and Philip Mocknuk, serve with Volunteer Brothers. For two years, workers with this ministry have driven shipments of relief supplies to churches and community centers near the front lines.

In the early days of the war, we were united in purpose. I didn’t know what to expect now. My Ukrainian brothers and sisters must be exhausted, I thought. And they have to know that support has wavered in the U.S. — that some politicians have called for my country to drop its financial support for Ukraine.

Would I find tired, resentful faces this time?

I underestimated my Ukrainian friends. More than anything else, they were grateful that we made the 15-hour journey from Warsaw to Irpin, a suburb of Kyiv that bears terrible scars from the early days of the war. The burned shells of cars form a makeshift memorial on the side of the road. The city’s cultural center is in ruins, festooned with promises that it will be rebuilt.

During the three-day conference, I talked to church members who made the dangerous journey from Kharkiv, Kramatorsk and the Donetsk region, just miles from the frontlines. Air raid sirens and explosions have become common, “like birds singing,” one woman told me.

But they keep on praying. They keep on helping those in need. They keep studying their Bibles and baptizing. When the power goes out, they worship in the dark.

Prayers seem to mean more now. So do goodbyes.

On the first day of the war, I put together a piece titled “Why Ukraine matters to Churches of Christ,” drawing on the 20-plus years I’ve covered the fellowship in Ukraine. I wrote about how the free-thinking coal miners of eastern Ukraine provided a white field for harvest when the Iron Curtain fell. Ukrainian Christians have taken their zeal for the Kingdom across their country and, now, across Europe.

I don’t know when or how this war will end, but I’m so encouraged, so proud, to see God working through our Ukrainian brothers and sisters. Truly, this is faith under fire.

I said as much on this most recent trip when I presided over the Lord’s Supper for the Irpin Church of Christ. There were about 35 of us there. Several women had sons serving on the front lines. They shared photos and shed tears as they told us their stories.

The church’s minister, Sergey Shupishov, told me about his brother, Dima, who’s also a minister. Dima was called into military service, and his unit went missing about four months ago. I’ll share that story — and many more — in future issues.

Before we left Ukraine, Sergey gave me a military patch from one of Dima’s uniforms. It reads “Simul ad Victorium” — “Together to Victory” in Latin. Sergey said it was a way to honor his brother and thank us for our visit, for remembering them.

I find myself stunned and speechless by this act.

Remembering is important. There are plenty of verses in the Bible about how important it is for us to remember what God has done for us. God also remembers us. When the children of Israel were enslaved in Egypt, God “heard their groaning and he remembered his covenant with Abraham, with Isaac and with Jacob” (Exodus 2:24).   

I remember the words Ukrainian minister Yura Taran told me two years ago: “This is our Exodus. Soon, we will find the promised land.”

I will continue to remember. I will continue to pray.

Ukraine still matters.

This piece is republished with permission from The Christian Chronicle.

Erik Tryggestad is president and CEO of The Christian Chronicle. Contact erik@christianchronicle.org, and follow him on X at @eriktryggestad.