On the cold, desolate battlefields of Ukraine, the silence of the night is pierced only by the groans of the dying and the whispers of the dead. Some 600 or 700 thousand Ukrainian soldiers lie strewn across these landscapes—young men who had no choice, old men who had no strength, all men who had no chance. These are not just bodies, they are sons, brothers, fathers, and friends, now without family, sacrificed on the altar of promises made by distant powers.
Let the angels descend upon this battlefield, visiting those who cry out for their mothers, their loved ones, or simply a way back home. Let them bring comfort not only to the Ukrainian soldiers but also to the Russian boys who wish for the same—a reprieve from the horrors of war and a return to peace.
The war in Ukraine began as a struggle for sovereignty, a fight for identity against an invading force. But as the months turned to years, it has become something darker, more complex, and far less idealistic. Ukrainians fight valiantly for their homeland, but many also question the endless bloodshed. Across the frontlines, Russians fight too, driven by a belief in their own sovereignty and stated narratives. Yet, both sides share more than they realize: a longing for the war to end.
The West, led by figures like Biden and Blinken, has fueled the conflict with endless weapons and rhetoric, pledging unwavering support for Ukraine while steering it into the abyss of unrelenting warfare. Behind these leaders are the engines of military-industrial ambition and neoconservative economics, to pour resources into a battlefield thousands of miles away.
The arguments for sustaining the war are worn thin. The first claims that Ukraine must fight to the bitter end for its territorial integrity, no matter the cost. Yet the cost is paid not by the architects of this policy but by the bodies on the ground, by the families torn apart, and by a nation turned into rubble. The second argument posits that the West must stand united against Russian aggression to uphold the global order. But this so-called order has long been built on the blood of the weak, sacrificed for the ambitions of the powerful. This is not a moral stand; it is a geopolitical game where human lives are the pieces.
In the midst the horrors of World War I, there came a moment of divine intervention—the story of the Christmas Truce of 1914. Soldiers from opposing sides laid down their arms, shared songs and food, and remembered their shared humanity. For a fleeting moment, peace triumphed over war. This spirit of Midnight Clear offers a lesson for the war in Ukraine. It is a reminder that beneath the flags, ideologies, and political ambitions, the men on both sides are human beings.
Let the angels descend upon these modern battlefields too, bringing solace to those who cry out for a humanity that feels distant. Let them touch the hearts of the Russian and Ukrainian soldiers alike, easing their burdens and reminding them of the shared humanity that transcends politics and war.
As Christmas approaches, the world’s gaze turns once again to Ukraine. But instead of seeing peace and goodwill, we see smoke rising from destroyed cities, bodies lying in rubble, and a conflict that refuses to end. The blood spilled on these battlefields cries out for justice, for meaning, and for an end to the senseless violence. In this season of remembrance, let us reflect on the true message of Christmas:
Who are the Herods of our time? Who fuels the fires of war, indifferent to the suffering it brings? As the blood of Ukraine’s fallen stains the earth, let it not be wasted. Let it cleanse and renew, infusing this broken battlefield with the hope of healing and peace. This Christmas, may the spirit of Midnight Clear guide us toward reconciliation, away from the ambitions of the powerful, and into the light of a shared humanity.
"Peace on the earth, good will to men, from heaven's all-gracious King…The world in solemn stillness lay to hear the angels sing.”
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