In Those Faces We Saw Jesus

When the first sirens of war wailed over Odesa, Vlad and Zhanna were not pastors or missionaries. They were a regular Christian couple—faithful churchgoers, raising their two children, involved in music ministry and some church events. But as missiles fell and fear took root, their lives were quietly and profoundly transformed.

In the earliest days of Russia’s full-scale invasion, they found themselves in a bomb shelter alongside nearly 200 others—elderly people, the disabled, children, and families with nowhere else to go. What they witnessed there shook them deeply. The poverty. The hunger. The helplessness. That night, they went home, gathered whatever food and supplies they had, and returned—not with a plan, but with hearts stirred by God’s love.

“In those faces,” Vlad says, “we saw Jesus Himself. And we couldn’t look away.”

What began with a few bags of groceries soon grew into something far greater. Vlad and Zhanna began ministering to people living in shelters, bringing food, prayer, and hope. They opened their Bibles. They sang with their kids. They listened to stories filled with pain and resilience. And slowly, a new community was born—one rooted in practical love and spiritual truth. That community became a church.

Today, Vlad and Zhanna serve full-time in what they call the First Christian Resilience Center—a humble but powerful gathering space where the hungry are fed, children are taught, haircuts are given, clothes are washed, and hearts are lifted toward heaven. The sign on the door doesn’t say “Church,” but everyone who comes knows: this is holy ground.

Each week, 10 to 40 people gather for worship, most (if not all) of them were touched first by a loaf of bread or a warm conversation. Children from the neighborhood come to Sunday school and day camps. Parents stay for prayer. Many had never opened a Bible before meeting Vlad and Zhanna. Now, some have already confessed their faith.

But this calling hasn’t come without cost. “Our greatest challenge,” Zhanna shares, “is balance. Ministry can take everything. But we’ve learned that we must also serve our own children, give them time, show them faith in the everyday moments too.” They live with their two kids (and another on the way!) in a small, crowded one-room apartment. “We’re tired,” she admits. “But we know we have to keep going.”

Vlad describes the spiritual battle they face: “In some places, the darkness is so real, you physically feel it. It is a constant battle for souls. But it’s in those moments you remember—Jesus never promised comfort, only His presence.”

In the face of limited finances, burnout, and a city still shadowed by sirens, Vlad and Zhanna continue to press on—not because the path is easy, but because it is sacred. Their dream? A large Christian center for social adaptation—where people in need can find not only food and shelter, but dignity, purpose, and the transforming love of Christ.

What sustains them is not ease, but purpose. They hold onto verses that guide them through the chaos:

“Seek first the kingdom of God, and all these things will be added to you.”

“Whatever you did for the least of these, you did for Me.”

And in the end, what carries Vlad through is this: “God has taught me to orient my life completely to Him—His will, His movement, His discipline. I’m learning not to rely on people or even my own strength, but to trust Him fully. Everything I do, whether with others or alone, I want to do in hope, and in total dependence on Him.”

And in one building in Odesa, that quiet faith is turning brokenness into beauty—one person, one family, one soul at a time.