This morning, on our way to the firing positions, we stopped by some hidden old buildings where our soldiers – our defenders – were resting.
Along the frontline, the scars of war stretched as far as the eye could see; they were fresh and raw. The earth beneath us trembled with explosions. The wind carried smoke and sulphur, leaving a bitter taste that felt like it was grinding in our teeth.
We entered a dark room. As our eyes adjusted to the dim light, we noticed a small stove in the centre. Its warmth spread through the cold space, offering some comfort to the freezing soldiers. Around the stove, we could make out many soldiers resting on ammunition boxes and crates. Above them, damp clothes hung on shoelaces attached to the ceiling, resembling a spider's web.
The soldiers gathered around us on benches, while others remained seated on their makeshift "beds". We started our conversation. Among them was a man around 60 years old. His face bore the marks of war exhaustion.
When Bishop Valeriy Antonyuk mentioned Satan during the conversation, everyone burst into laughter. We couldn't understand the reason for their reaction at first. Later, the commander explained that the soldier sitting near us had the call sign "Satan".
The defender, who identified as Satan, turned our conversation into an engaging discussion with his thought-provoking questions and comments. He started by calling himself an agnostic, later claimed that Buddhism was the best religion, and insisted that Satan never forced anyone to do evil. Instead, he argued that Satan always provided people with a choice. He claimed that Satan was a son of God who simply disobeyed his Father, asserting that Satan never lied and does not deceive people today. He challenged us to question God: Why war? Why bloodshed? Why do children die? Throughout the meeting, this soldier truly resembled the character of Satan in some ways.
Father Vasyl took the Bible and read the account of how Eve and Adam were deceived making the beginning of lies. The following discussion was lively and profound, as we delved into existential questions.
"Satan" then shared the story behind his call sign. He was from Luhansk, now occupied by the Russians. His parents remained there, supporting the enemy as separatists. He said he disobeyed his father and was forced to leave, and now he no longer communicates with his parents. As he spoke, every word carried deep pain.
I read a passage from Psalm 119, verses 84–94. A heavy silence fell over the room.
At the end of our meeting, we suggested praying together. The prayer was heartfelt, given the intense atmosphere. Here we were, in a dark hangar, discussing Satan while bombs exploded outside.
As soon as the prayer ended, 'Satan' asked aloud, "Can I have a Bible?" Father Vasyl gave him one as a gift. The soldier then asked if he could hug each of us. War had stolen his parents and his hometown. The pain he felt was unbearable.
As we said our goodbyes, another soldier shared his story. He, too, was from Luhansk. His parents supported Ukraine and paid the ultimate price. They died during the battles when the enemy seized the Luhansk region.
Quietly, he asked, "I don't have the call sign Satan, but could I have a Bible too?" He added, "I've never owned one, but my mother used to read it to me when I was a child." His name was Ilya, and he was 52 years old.
As we walked back to the vehicle, Bishop Valeriy Antonyuk turned to 'Satan', who was seeing us off, clutching the Bible tightly. "We're giving you a new call sign," the bishop said. "Moses".
