Russia's politics have taken religious believers hostage and are using the Orthodox Church as an instrument of imperialist policy. The recent press event held by the nuns of the Pühtitsa Convent, where they attempted to present themselves as innocent victims of religious persecution, was clever from a communications standpoint but dangerous in substance, because behind the facade of peaceful piety lies an ideology that justifies war.

The nuns of Pühtitsa organized the press event to demonstrate how deeply devoted they are to God and how disconnected they are from politics. This was done in light of proposed changes to the Churches and Congregations Act, which would prohibit their affiliation with the Moscow Patriarchate but would not in any way restrict their freedom of religion. This well-orchestrated attempt to portray themselves as victims of persecution ultimately rang hollow.

But let's take a step back. In the New Testament, there is a story of Christ overturning the tables of the moneychangers in the temple. This episode points to a broader theme that runs through the New Testament: that those who organize religious life are not always the best servants of God. Early Christian philosophy thus developed a concept distinguishing the symbolic, heavenly Church from the earthly organization of the Church. The heavenly Church unites all Christians in shared faith, while the earthly institution is run by people — who, alas, are often sinners.

No earthly law can take a believer's faith away from them. And the Republic of Estonia isn't trying to do that either — there is no prohibition against praying to one's God. Nor does our state dictate what language a believer may use to speak with their God, or how they must cross themselves. These remain inalienable rights for the nuns. They can continue practicing their faith just as they always have, even if they leave the jurisdiction of the Moscow Patriarchate. No one is forbidding them from being part of a spiritual Christian community.

But the principles change the moment we start talking about purely earthly matters, like real estate or compliance with the laws of a secular state. Then we enter a conceptual space where secular and religious ethics must find common ground.

When the Russian Federation's forces occupied Ukraine's Kherson and Zaporizhzhia regions in 2022, the Orthodox Church under the Moscow Patriarchate, with the FSB's involvement, seized the places of worship and property of other denominations. Ukrainian Orthodox priests were given a choice: join the Moscow Patriarchate or disappear into basements guarded by gunmen — many of whom never came back out. We know what this means. It shows that the Orthodox Church under the Moscow Patriarchate is unequivocally part of a terrorist apparatus — one that actively repressed religious freedom.

Of course, many Russian Orthodox believers are not directly involved in these crimes. But I feel that their church has egregiously violated core tenets of Christianity. Christ came among people to redeem their sins, but that redemption often requires a willingness to repent.

And it's precisely in this light that I have questions, because Patriarch Kirill has violated the commandments: "Thou shalt not kill" and "Thou shalt not steal." Have we heard Kirill — or anyone else from that institution — express remorse for their sins? Has the Church under the Moscow Patriarchate ever admitted that they, too, are sinners? On what grounds, then, do they claim Christ's redemption?

As a secular person, how can I forgive earthly crimes committed by members of this organization when they have shown no repentance? And more importantly: how can I remain indifferent to this organization, knowing that I have been to Kherson myself and spoken with a Ukrainian priest who described his suffering in an FSB torture chamber?

I ask Orthodox believers to show compassion for the suffering inflicted upon fellow Christians in Ukraine with Patriarch Kirill's blessing. As a secular person, the very least I can do is not allow a terrorist organization to operate in our country. If I do not support banning it, then I, too, become complicit in the crimes committed in Ukraine.

With that said, let me return to the realm of secular politics. The Pühtitsa Convent is directly subordinate to the Moscow Patriarchate. In 1990, by decree of the Moscow Patriarch, the convent was placed under Moscow's control, removing it from the local diocese and, in doing so, signaling a lack of trust in local leadership. The convent's history includes even more intriguing details. For example, in 1944 and 1945, it was under the jurisdiction of the Ecumenical Patriarchate of Constantinople. And although, during the German occupation, congregations in Ida-Viru County were again permitted to align with Moscow, they themselves declined to do so at the time.

The nuns of the Pühtitsa Convent say they must act within the framework of canon law. But I respond that in earthly life, the laws of the Republic of Estonia take precedence. Otherwise, I feel that a foreign canon law is limiting my compassion for the victims in Ukraine. And beyond that, I want to believe that God has granted us a measure of free will — one that cannot be constrained by Patriarch Kirill, but only by our own conscience.

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