The faithful who aid Ukraine's front line

Surrounded by a green park in the middle of social housing blocks from the communist era, the Greek-Catholic Monastery of Ivano-Frankivsk exudes a sense of calm in otherwise tumultuous times.

Loudspeakers broadcast litanies to the elderly people sitting on benches, who echo the prayers in whispers. Nearby, women with baby carriages and children in tow enjoy the spring weather. Most are internally displaced people who have sought shelter from the fighting further to the east; since Russia launched its invasion in late February, the monastery has taken in dozens of people. 

More than prayers and hospitality

Standing at the door of the monastery is Brother Ivan, who has agreed to show me how the religious community is supporting Ukraine's armed forces beyond their prayers and hospitality. 

We walk through a long corridor, which borders several living areas and bedrooms still under construction. There, time seems to have stood still. "As you can see, consequences of the war are noticeable here as well," says Ivan, adding that the renovations had to stop once construction workers signed up to support the army and left for the front line.

Away from the litanies and half-finished construction site, he guides me underground to a vast, vaulted room lit up by a crude white light. There, a group of women, young and old, are busy tying rope into knots to form a net.

Most are churchgoers and native to the Ivano-Frankivsk oblast, or region, in western Ukraine, where over half of the population observes the Greek-Catholic faith. Among them are pensioners who just didn't want to sit at home idle while the war was raging outside.

Nadiya, whose name means "hope" in Ukrainian, is among them. "Since I can't use a gun, I do what I can," she says. "I could be cooking dumplings, but I prefer making those camouflage nets instead — they can protect someone's life, especially that of our soldiers."

In another room, half hidden by a stack of cardboard boxes, sits a sewing machine. This is where volunteers have pieced together hundreds of pairs of underwear for the soldiers. To date, they've already filled about 70 boxes.

Bread, clothes and first-aid kits

Back upstairs, the comforting smell of freshly baked bread spreads across the monastery as we make our way through the upper floors. Hundreds of loaves are made here every week. Some are given to the refugees sheltering at the monastery, while the rest are distributed to local people in need and sent to soldiers further afield.

Behind a locked door, which Brother Ivan, with a wry smile, calls their "war cabinet," crucial supplies are being assembled for the front line. The room is piled high with boxes and dozens of handmade balaclavas and other gray, green and sand-colored articles of clothing. A nearby bookshelf holds a few pairs of army boots, lined up in front of dusty religious texts and a collection of "Lord of the Rings" DVDs.

Here, under the watchful eye of a painting of St. Alonso, one of the monastery's patrons, volunteers prepare the military gear and sew bulletproof vests.

"We've already managed to assemble 30 complete vests with plates that were given to soldiers already, and we've ordered more plates," says Brother Ivan. Such material has been difficult to come by since the start of the war, even in military circles. But when it finally arrives, volunteers immediately assemble the vests and transport them to the front line.

To make up for the lack of basic medical supplies, the monks are also putting together first-aid kits for hostile environments from scratch, following the guidelines used by most Western armies. Known as Modular Lightweight Load-carrying Equipment (MOLLE), the kits contain basic equipment to handle combat injuries such as gunshot wounds. But the most important item is missing: a tourniquet, used to slow bleeding.

"We used to have some, but there is a shortage at the moment," says Ivan. "Each of them costs around €25. We have reached out to our sponsors, and hopefully, we will get some again very soon." Support comes mainly from Greek-Catholic monasteries all over Europe, which have been providing financial or logistic aid since the war began.

At least once a week, Brother Ivan and his fellow monks pile up what they have managed to piece together and drive to the front line, risking their lives in a bid to protect their country.

Edited by: Martin Kuebler