How the Russian Orthodox Church Punishes Those Who Did Not Accept Aggression Against Ukraine
The story of Father Alexei Uminsky shows how support for the war against Ukraine in the Russian Orthodox Church has turned into a test of loyalty. For more than 20 years, he served as rector of a church in central Moscow, had his own parish, spiritual authority, and a long history of ministry. But for the church system, this was not enough when he refused to read a prayer that effectively places Russia’s war against Ukraine into religious language.
His removal from ministry and subsequent defrocking took about ten days. A few days before Orthodox Christmas in 2024, Uminsky was summoned by the archpriest responsible for the district. There, he was handed a decree suspending him from ministry. Less than an hour later, he was already standing before a disciplinary committee whose members did not introduce themselves, but demanded an explanation of why the priest did not read a prayer in support of the war during services. It became part of a broader process in which the Moscow Patriarchate punishes clergy for disagreement with the war, support for Ukraine, or even refusal to take part in the church justification of aggression. According to the international monitoring group Christians Against War, about 50 Russian Orthodox priests have faced persecution because of their position on Russia’s war against Ukraine.
The central element of this story became the prayer for “Holy Rus.” It was created by Patriarch Kirill, who openly supports Vladimir Putin and the full-scale invasion of Ukraine. The prayer speaks of those who allegedly “rose up against Holy Rus,” and also contains a request to God to grant victory. In other words, the language of war is brought into the church and presented not as a political decision by the Kremlin, but as a spiritual struggle.
That is why the refusal to read this prayer became for the Russian Orthodox Church not a minor disciplinary matter, but a sign of disobedience. When Uminsky was asked why he did not read it, he replied that he did not know what “Holy Rus” was. In this answer, there is not only a theological doubt, but also a refusal to accept a construction in which the attack on Ukraine is covered with sacred words.
For the Moscow Patriarchate, such a position is dangerous because it destroys the imposed picture of the war. If a priest does not recognize a prayer for war as part of ministry, he effectively places conscience above a church order. And in the current system of the Russian Orthodox Church, a conscience that contradicts the line of the patriarchate is perceived as a threat.
The procedure against Uminsky looks revealing. He was suspended quickly, without transparent consideration, without clear protection, with a demand to immediately remove the cross. After Christmas, he began to be summoned to a church court regarding possible defrocking. He did not appear, because he received a warning from a fellow priest that he could be arrested after the church court. Later it became known that Patriarch Kirill had approved the decision to defrock him for refusing to read the prayer for “Holy Rus.”
This system is very similar to the Russian state repressive model. Formally, there is a court, formally, there is a procedure, formally, a decision is made. But for a person who has come under pressure, almost no room for defense remains. The decision appears to be determined even before the hearing begins.
Other priests who have gone through persecution also speak about the opacity of church courts. Andrei Kuraev, who was also punished for criticizing the war, explained that the church system has no full procedural order. A person can be summoned to a hearing, but does not always understand what exactly he is accused of, who can be called as witnesses, who has the right to defense, and whether a lawyer can be brought.
The problem is not only the severity of the punishment, but the very nature of such a “court.” Judges depend on the bishop, continue to serve in ordinary parishes, and do not have an independent position. In such a system, disciplinary review becomes not a search for justice, but a mechanism for maintaining control. The story of Vladimir Seliavko from Lithuania confirms that persecution is not limited to the territory of Russia. Several members of the clergy of the Lithuanian Diocese of the Russian Orthodox Church were punished for speaking out against the war. Seliavko was defrocked together with colleagues from the main Russian Orthodox cathedral in the capital of a country that belongs to NATO and the EU. He believes that the persecution may have been initiated by the same church figure who then influenced their fate during the church process. The punishment of such priests has not only a formal dimension. For them, the loss of rank means a break with the parish, people, ministry, and part of their own life. Uminsky compares separation from his Moscow community to separation from family. Seliavko speaks of losing people whom he baptized, married, supported in grief, and now some of them do not greet him and cross to the other side of the street.
This is the greatest cruelty of church punishment. It strikes not only at status, but also at bonds, memory, trust, and the entire path of a person’s life. A priest who refused to support the war loses not only his place of ministry. He often loses community, family relationships, access to places that were part of his personal history.
After the internal mechanisms of the Russian Orthodox Church gave no chance for a fair appeal, some defrocked priests turned to Ecumenical Patriarch Bartholomew. He restored Kuraev, Uminsky, and Seliavko to the priesthood. This decision has not only personal, but also wider church significance. It shows that the verdicts of the Moscow Patriarchate are not final for the entire Orthodox world.
For the Russian Orthodox Church, this is a painful signal. Russia’s war against Ukraine has further intensified its conflict with Constantinople. The Moscow Patriarchate demands full submission to its line, but the Ecumenical Patriarchate effectively recognizes: a priest should not be defrocked only because he did not agree to pray for war. This story exposes the main thing: in today’s Russian Orthodox Church, an anti-war position has become not a moral choice, but grounds for persecution. Where the church should leave a person room for conscience, it demands political obedience. Where prayer should be an appeal to God, it is turned into an instrument of support for military ideology. The priests who refused to read the prayer for “Holy Rus” did not become political opposition figures in the classic sense. They did what should be natural for a priest: they did not agree to sanctify war. But this is exactly what proved unacceptable for a system that increasingly fails to distinguish church discipline from state loyalty. The stories of Uminsky, Seliavko, Kuraev, and others show that inside Russian Orthodoxy there are still people who are not ready to replace faith with support for aggression. They are few, they are punished, they are cut off from communities and forced to start life over. But their choice matters, because it shows: even in a system that tries to speak with one voice together with the Kremlin, there remains room for personal responsibility.
For Ukraine, this story matters not only as evidence of the internal crisis of the Russian Orthodox Church. It shows how Russia’s war penetrates religious institutions, forces priests to choose between order and conscience, between position and truth, between belonging to the system and refusing to bless violence. And it is this choice that becomes the line that some clergy still refused to cross.
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