Eddie Shih
This August I made a pilgrimage to Ukraine. Family and friends questioned me why travel to a country under daily missile and drone attacks. I didn’t even know why myself, just that it was something important I tried to ignore, but couldn’t.
I had many intentions, some of them confusing. I wanted to pray for peace, to stand with the Ukrainian people, to say thank you for defending liberty, to experience wartime Ukraine as Taiwanese and American, to witness the cost of freedom, to understand, however imperfectly, what it means to live by faith amid uncertainty, and to meet the crucified and risen Christ. Also something more personal, I was bringing my own fears, sins, regrets, and burdens. I wanted to experience grace deeply, the promise of comfort to those who mourn.
One unexpected blessing during my stay was a kidney stone attack during an air raid. It lasted so long and so painful I thought my kidney was failing and perhaps I would die there. Ambulance took me to hospital and then I fainted. Doctors and nurses and other patients treated me like their family even though we couldn’t really communicate. An encounter with divine providence. I felt safe and protected. I went thru the usual urine and blood test, ultrasound and MRI and, after staying in a hospital room with two other patients who cared for me like their son, was released free of charge!
Another great blessing was serving at Gostomel Animal Shelter at rural Kyiv. Originally I had hoped to volunteer as a medic or foreign legionnaire, as I had obtained licenses as a remote pilots and emergency medical technician specifically for that purpose. But I was disqualified due to age. Then I planned to serve at Ants Kitchen, a factory where people make bread for frontline soldiers and civilians. But this random idea of animal shelter came to me and Google directed me to the shelter. After one day of tryout and instructions, it was fortunate the director offered me a room onsite, and that I was to help as the night watchman. They were short on staff as most men went to war and it’s good I got to sleep among the dogs I was taking care of. Caring for abandoned and wounded dogs and cats reminded me that even in the midst of war, compassion does not cease, even when providing refuge and home to hundreds of dogs and cats with dwindling budget. Every feeding, every cleaning, and every small act of care became like a prayer.
There was a black dog named Shultz who was the shelter’s guard dog. Somehow he liked me quickly. I was like a monk in the enormous shelter, mostly working alone silently taking care of cats and dogs and preparing the place for winter. Shultz’s companionship was a source of comfort. He would run off to patrol the compound by himself several times a day and then come to stay beside me as I cleaned sheds, cleared fields, and stacked firewood. At night as I watched Starlink satellites streak across the dark sky, Shultz ran around the field chasing rats. There were many rats that came out at night, even on the ceiling of my room as I slept. Shultz knew when I was leaving. He quietly watched me from a distance, like what my kids used to do when they were little and as they were leaving in my ex’s car when she came to pick them up on her visitation days. Hard goodbyes.
I was equally moved by the hospitality of the shelter staff. Although they themselves didn’t have much and lived under constant uncertainty of war, they welcomed me with warmth, generosity, and patience. Gostomel was a place of fierce battle 4 years earlier when Russians thought they could capture Kyiv in 3 days. The town was littered with battle scars, destroyed buildings and bullet holes everywhere. The shelter was briefly occupied by Russians and some dogs were killed. I went there as a stranger, but they received me as a friend. Christian hospitality is often most beautiful when offered by those who have little and yet sacrificed so much.
During my pilgrimage, I visited numerous churches, most of them hundreds of years old, with steeples and crosses reaching out to the sky like uplifted hands beseeching mercy. Strangely calm sitting in those ancient and silent churches built by huge corner stones that witnessed the ebb and flow of history.
I also paid respects to the Taiwanese volunteers 曾聖光 and 吳忠達, who were killed defending Ukraine. I also remembered American volunteers and all those from many nations who sacrificed themselves for people they had never met. Jesus said, “Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one’s life for one’s friends” (John 15:13). Standing before the graves at the Field of Mars cemetery in Lviv and among countless flags and photos in Maidan Square in Kyiv, each representing a fallen defender was overwhelming. I saw their loved ones sitting quietly beside or gently cleaning their grave, like what I remembered as a child during Taiwan’s 清明節. No longer names in newspaper articles. They were sons, daughters, husbands, wives, fathers, mothers, and friends. Their sacrifice made the cost of freedom deeply personal.
I could not help seeing parallels between Ukraine and Taiwan. Both countries remind me that peace and freedom aren’t free. Behind every headline are ordinary people who simply desire to live peacefully, raise their families, worship freely, and determine their own future. Anger turned into prayers, for Ukraine and Taiwan and for all peoples living under the shadow of conflict.
Throughout my stay, air-raid sirens became part of everyday life. Yet churches remained open. Families continued their routines. People worked, prayed, laughed, and cared for one another. Their courage was not dramatic. It was quiet courage of ordinary people refusing to surrender either their humanity or their hope. Terrorism stopped terrorizing.
Living under the possibility of missile attacks also changed me. I thought often my own mortality. I wondered if I might even die on this pilgrimage as I listened to the sirens, anti-aircraft fire, and distant explosions that terrified shelter’s dogs. It’s a deeper realization that my life was never in my hands. Ukraine made that truth, and my reliance on divine mercy, impossible to ignore.
When I returned home, everything appeared much the same. The same apartment, the same responsibilities, and the same concerns awaited me. Yet I returned with gratitude. Not all my burdens removed or questions answered. Instead, ordinary life and its struggles become like a gift. Grateful to be alive, and even dead when my time is done.
I continue to pray for Ukraine, for the friends I made there, for the staff at the animal shelter, for beloved Shultz, the dogs and cats, and for the families of those who made the ultimate sacrifice. Slava Ukraini! I also continue to pray for Taiwan, that peace, justice, and freedom may prevail. At same time, it gave me hope that Taiwan will find the same resilience and courage if and when war comes. Taiwan can also learn from Ukraine’s experience such as the pervasiveness of bunkers where many of Taiwan’s indoor parking and underground metro stations can quickly be converted.
蔡榮聰醫生 was like my mentor in this pilgrimage. We corresponded before the trip. I’m very grateful he gave me a rough sketch of itinerary and clarified some of my intentions. I remember him saying it’s perhaps better to go alone, implying the blessing of not being constrained by rules and political sensitivities. At the time I didn’t really understand him as I was busy checking everywhere to attach myself to a group, focusing on safety and people with experience of Ukraine. After journey started, I realized Dr. Tsai was right. I couldn’t have done many things I did and stayed for as long if I were part of a group mission. Perhaps it was for this reason I was denied a group despite months of searching. I was maybe like the Israelites entering Canaan the first time. Free to explore here and there. Some encounters were personal and intense I’m still forming and unable to talk about them. All in all, this pilgrimage reminded me that Christ is present wherever people continue to love, serve, forgive, and hope in midst of suffering, helplessness and confusion, whether in Ukraine, Russia, China, Taiwan and elsewhere.
I encourage everyone to visit Ukraine. Their tourism has been decimated and they certainly welcome the support. But for the traveller like myself it’s a grace to leave my ivory tower and encounter both suffering and divine providence. Few Ukrainians spoke English and translation app often didn’t work despite language downloaded beforehand. Society is homogenous and monocultural. Wartime Ukraine often stripped away many things I took for granted. My son said it’s weird seeing me there. It’s weird to me too. I never did things like this. At times I felt like another person had taken over me, and I was simply following and observing. I hiked whenever possible in Ukraine. I called my journey Camino Ukraine. My prayer is that this Camino experience continues to shape me, witnessing that extraordinary faith is often found in ordinary people living ordinary lives under extraordinary circumstances.
“God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble.”
— Psalm 46:1
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