#BeingHuman. #OnTheRoad. “For we do not have a high priest who is unable to empathize with our weaknesses” (Hebrews 4:15).
Today, April 23, 2025, exactly nine months separate me from that July day when the body of my brother Andriy – a senior lieutenant of the medical service of the Armed Forces of Ukraine, a military doctor (callsign “Monk”) – was lying in the morgue, awaiting burial. Like Christ on Holy Saturday, he was waiting for his resurrection – his transition into the memory and hearts of the living. He was brought “On Shield” – an ancient symbol of a warrior who did not retreat, who faced death looking at the enemy. And now, through these nine months of pain, I am still searching for something new in my understanding of God, myself, and my emotions.
In my youth, some of my “church spiritual fathers” (not my mom and dad), who at that time were high spiritual authorities for me, taught me that spirituality and maturity in faith are expressed through complete control over emotions. “Don’t cry, you’re a Christian,” “Rejoice moderately,” “Always be serious,” “True faith is expressed in your calmness,” “Don’t laugh, because laughter is a sin,” etc. – these ideas in various forms, like “spells” (forgive the term), were repeated by those spiritual mentors. And I sincerely believed then that to be spiritual (like them) meant wearing and never removing a mask of seriousness and imperturbability; creating an internal prison for my emotions and feelings and calling it spiritual self-control…
Isn’t it paradoxical? I wanted to speak freely about God’s love, about my youthful joys of life, but I was afraid to allow myself to experience the whole palette of feelings with which the Creator endowed me, because “you are a child of believing parents” (as these “spiritual fathers” instructed me). At the same time, when “newly converted” people rejoiced, these same “spiritual fathers” admired their emotions, because they were “spiritually newborn, not infected with Baptist tradition,” etc. I felt a deep sense of guilt when my emotions escaped from my inner prison and I appeared “unserious” to these mentors, while “newly converted” students could rejoice in all fullness, and these “spiritual fathers” encouraged their “joy in the Lord.” No, I’m not talking about destructive emotions, not about deep paralyzing depression, but about ordinary human life with its natural manifestations.
And even now, even in my 50s, I feel shame when emotions overwhelm me during a sermon, lecture, podcast, or in conversation about the war… Shame that I am human, not an ideal spiritual automaton like some of those “spiritual fathers”…
… When they brought the body of my younger brother Andriy, who was killed by Russians, I stood before a choice: to swallow my pain or allow it to become a bridge to my deeper understanding of God. I chose the second, although it was also one of the hardest choices in my life.
I wrote about my emotional experiences on Facebook, and in response, some church ministers called or wrote to me: some instructed me that Andriy was killed because he went to kill people; others said that our family did not sufficiently cover him with a “prayer dome” (I don’t know what this means); still others said that we bear responsibility for his death because we didn’t get him out of the country “by hook or by crook,” and so on. Each such comment was a new nail in the cross of pain for our family, parents, brothers, and sisters…
My path to understanding my own emotions and feelings has been long and painful. It continues to this day. Every day, I try to make a conscious decision not to hide my emotions in prison – neither in relationships with my wife and children, nor with my extended family and colleagues, nor in my public speeches or posts. This is not an easy choice, especially when your vulnerability meets criticism regarding what was said or written with a certain emotional coloring.
At the same time, I refuse to wear a mask of pretended spirituality, behind which real life hides. I refuse to pretend that my faith makes me insensitive to pain and joy. And in this refusal, paradoxically, I find more strength to be present – both for myself, for others, and for God. Because our emotions are not just “horizontal” reactions to events and people around us. Each feeling that pierces our heart contains a “vertical” dimension – a scarlet thread that connects me with the heart of the Father. Once I perceived anger as sin, sadness as weakness, and fear as a lack of faith. But now I still learn to see them as windows into the inner world of the Creator, Who was not ashamed to show His emotions in His sufferings on the Cross and in His seven cries of Crucified Truth…
Modern positivist Christian culture offers us to use God as a tool for achieving emotional comfort. “Believe in God – and you will be happy,” “Pray – and you will get rid of depression,” “Give an offering – and you will receive success,” “Read the Bible, and stupid thoughts will never enter your head,” etc… Through such teaching, we ourselves try to turn the Almighty into a spiritual antidepressant who has neither feelings nor emotions…
My inner journey through grief from the loss of my little brother Andriy – I still refuse to accept and recognize this loss – revealed another truth to me: I refuse to use a “prayer connection” with God to improve my emotions… I want to live my emotions also as a way for deeper knowledge of God… no, absolutely not the only way, but one of many given to us by God for knowing Him as Father…
It was in moments when I allowed myself to feel pain for those killed in the war (three from our family during the “full-scale” war) that I met God Who cries with me… When I allowed myself to feel anger over the injustice of war (five from our close family at the front) – I came to know God who is terribly outraged at evil… When I experienced fear and helplessness (our family is also divided by this demonic war) – I discovered Christ in the Garden of Gethsemane, Who begged that this cup would pass from Him…
…In my sermons, speeches, on the blog “Being Human” I risk being vulnerable… I risk showing that under my “robe” beats the heart of an ordinary and vulnerable person who continues to seek God, although he has found Him… I risk admitting that my theology is born not only from books and research, but also from tears, laughter, fear, and hope… And in this risk, I paradoxically find inner strength, which, as I believe, comes from the Holy Spirit. Not one that controls emotions, but one that transforms them into a bridge between my heart and the heart of the Father…
Reading the Psalms, I see God Who is not ashamed of His “negative” emotions. He gets angry, is jealous, grieves, and even in Christ asks from the Cross: “Father, why have You forsaken Me?” And this does not make Him less divine… on the contrary, it reveals the depth of His character… I look inside my emotions and feelings not to replace pain with joy… I do this to see through them how my heart interacts with God and people. To ask myself: “What does this emotion reveal about my relationship with God? How through it can I see the heart of the Father?”
… The most stunning discovery I’ve made for myself: each of my “dark” emotions points to the mystery of the Cross… My anger over war and injustice – to Christ Who overturned tables in the temple… My sometimes existential, sometimes panic fear – to His agony in the Garden of Gethsemane… My longing – to His cry of abandonment… My shame – to His nakedness on the cross… And if God allowed Himself to experience this whole spectrum of emotions and feelings… God, Who created me in His image and likeness… then – who am I to call them unworthy of a believing person?
Our spiritual maturity is not the absence of emotions. True maturity is the ability to allow our feelings to lead us to a deeper understanding of God, without drowning in them, but also without suppressing them… When the coffin with Andriy’s body was loaded at Maidan into a car to be taken to the New Cemetery for burial, I fell on the stand for coffins of heroes killed by Russians, and completely gave myself to tears… My relatives cried with me… close ones… friends…. And in these tears, I was closer to God than if I had kept a stone spiritual face… Because my God cried with me… the One who cried at Lazarus’s tomb cried with me…
… Today, nine months after Andriy’s funeral, I and our close-knit family still feel the pain of loss acutely. I still feel angry about the war and the mass betrayal and silence from former Russian evangelical colleagues. I still fear for my future, for the future of my children, our family. I still have many painful questions for our evangelical Church (as an institution), as well as questions about my place and calling in this same Church… And this inevitably reflects in everything I say or write publicly, sometimes emotionally…
At the same time, I know: each of my emotions is not an obstacle on the way to God, but part of my life (not just spiritual) journey. In this journey, I learn not only to express my own experiences, but also to see, hear, and respect the feelings of other people around me (in what they say or write) – whether sincere joy, deep despair, quiet sadness, or stormy anger. Recognition of their emotions is recognition of my and their humanity, created in God’s image. My emotions are not just reactions to circumstances. They are the place of my meeting with God, Who created me capable of feeling. And when I allow myself to be authentic in my feelings – I allow God to be authentic in my life.
Therefore, I continue to write, preach, and live – not as a disembodied spirit, but as a living person in a world wounded by war and other consequences of human sin. I allow myself to feel fatigue and inspiration, joy and sadness, anger and tenderness. Sometimes this causes discomfort for those who are used to seeing “ministers” in masks of stern pious imperturbability. But I believe that our emotionality is not the opposite of spirituality, but its necessary and integral component. Because we are created in the image of God, Who, incarnated in Christ, did not shy away from human experiences: rejoiced with the joyful, wept at the grave of a friend, felt thirst and fatigue, loved with special tenderness.
In everyday ministry and work, I see how honesty about one’s own feelings opens the door to deeper conversations and meetings. When I acknowledge my pain of losing my brother, people open up to me about their feelings about their losses… When I do not hide my questions to God, others dare to voice theirs… In this vulnerability, a true Community of Hope is born – a place where we can be ourselves, with all our emotions, doubts, and hopes. And it is in such a community, paradoxically, that we come closest to knowing God – not as an abstract idea, but as a living Person Who wants to have real relationships with us, including the full depth of human feelings…
… Let us not hide our feelings, for they are a God-given map that leads us to deeper knowledge of God. I pray that the darkest valleys of our lives become the place of the deepest encounters with God, and that we perceive our light and “dark” emotions not as an obstacle, but as a bridge to true worship of God. Because in this world broken by sin, He seeks not perfect spiritual automata, but real people with living hearts filled with life and blood.
Thank you, brother Andriy, for your service… Life for life…
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Taras M. Dyatlik, Ukraine
April 23, 2025
The 1155th day of the full-scale Russian war
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