The blasts of gunfire, mortars and J-Dams have largely subsided, but another quiet war wages on for the minority of Iraqi Christians – for safety, religious freedom, and political dignity.

As a chaplain assistant in the 82nd Airborne Division patrolling southeastern Baghdad, my duties include ensuring the tactical security and transportation of the unit chaplain throughout the commander’s area of operations (AO). Chaplain (Major) Jim Murphy, a Pentecostal Minister, is my supervisor and has been charged with the duty of assessing the needs of the religious communities and facilities in our sector of the city. This post-combat mission brought us face-to-face with Iraqi Pastors, Deacons and church leaders, as well as Christian laity.

Our first contact with Iraqi Christians came through Chaplain John Routzahn, 101st Airborne Division, whose brigade combat team was relieved by ours, the 2nd Brigade Combat Team, 82nd Airborne Division. As part of the “battle handoff”, Chaplain Routzahn shared his contacts in the community with us. First we were introduced to Boutros (Peter) Bashar over lunch in his dilapidated sidewalk café in early May. Boutros, an outspoken, gregarious entrepreneur insisted on stuffing us with native cuisine over some enlightening conversation. “Christianity has been in Iraq long before Islam,” Peter boasted. “The Apostles of Christ founded our Churches.” Although Iraqi law forbids the conversion of Muslims to Christianity, the community has thrived in Iraq, even under brutal oppression. “Saddam (Hussein) would not oppress Christians too much,” related Peter in broken English and Arabic filtered through our translator, “Because he knew that Christians do not steal, accept bribes or use violence.” Indeed, Saddam’s lavish palaces (more than 50 were built after the Gulf War of 1990-91) were staffed with many Christians, ostensibly because of their trustworthiness.

After obliging our generous host by eating until it hurt, we were mobbed by a small cadre of boys on our way back to our double parked humvees, each child clamoring for some attention from their American liberators. I cautiously distributed trinkets (such displays can often foment riotous unintended consequences) when two of the boys insisted on conferring their treasures upon me: postage stamps and a 250 dinari ($.08 US) bill. One little boy proudly displayed a pendant with the image of the Madonna and Christ child, querying me with “Christian? I am Christian.” I replied by showing him a coin I had received from the Division Priest that, as chance would have it, bore the identical image. “Christian! Christian!” I exclaimed, reflecting the beams of their innocent faces. I hastily blessed myself with the sign of the cross, which the boys quickly mirrored, punctuated by a kiss on their hand. And there, without words, we communicated the love of Him who is the Word, and confirmed a brotherhood deeper than the bonds of blood.

Our next encounter with Iraqi Christians brought us to the front gates of the “Church of the East”, a Syrian Rite Orthodox Church nested in an impoverished, high crime district of southern Baghdad. We were greeted enthusiastically by church custodians, primarily for our identity as US soldiers, and then even more warmly as we disclosed our identity as a military clergy team. The pastor, an Orthodox priest in his 70s, humbly invited us into the sanctuary as fellow Christians. He paused in the narthex to kiss the cross posted in the entranceway, an ancient eastern custom expressing reverence for the holiness of the edifice. He then knelt at the altar rail, praying silently for a few moments as the two Protestant Chaplains observed standing several feet behind, quietly bowing their heads with ballistic helmets in hand.

After some obligatory photographs, the Pastor invited us into the rectory for tea. In just a few moments, the room was overflowing with parishioners, each beaming with a jubilant glow, barely restraining their joy at having us for their guests. “Iraq Christian LOVE American!” exclaimed Bernadette our hostess, her eyes welling with happy tears. The event turned cacophonous as both Americans and Iraqis bantered through broken English, exaggerated (mis)pronunciations of each other’s tongues and the frantic hand gesturing that accompanies people communicating through a language barrier. No language barrier, however, could conceal the latent emotions of mutual love, Christ’s very own agape, which permeated the boisterous atmosphere in the modest rectory. Over several cups of hot tea, our meeting took on the ambiance of a family reunion instead of a civil/military assessment, with all the attendant exchanges of affection and honor. Our inquiry into the security and safety of the congregation disclosed a need for security above all other things. Iraqi Christians do not enjoy the same legal protections as Muslims, cannot bear arms, and are frequently denied justice in the courts of Iraq, which are uniformly corrupt for all plaintiffs, Christian and Muslims alike. Christian women do not leave their households after dark, and will rarely leave them during hours of daylight without male accompaniment. Yet for all the oppression, we found the Iraqi Christian women very much like Western Christian women: confident, modestly assertive, full participants in family, business and religious life and vibrantly communicative. This stands in stark contrast to our impression of Muslim women, particularly in rural areas of Iraq, where women cover themselves head-to-toe in the traditional black berqah, refrain from addressing men in public, and walk several paces behind men while traveling ensemble.

On Monday 12 May, 2003, our humvees pulled up to the gates of St. Peter’s Catholic Church, in the Al Hadhar district of southern Baghdad. The MPs over watched the situation from their machine-gun equipped truck, as Chaplain Murphy, Ghazi our translator, and I were introduced to Father Sami A. Danka, rector and Doctor of the Church (PhD). Father Sami and his associate pastor, wearing traditional Roman clerical garb of black garments and white collars, welcomed us warmly amidst the flutter of little children’s feet below us. Distributing candy to them on the front steps of the sprawling chapel complex (St. Peter’s lay on a tract of land roughly 10 acres square in urban Baghdad), I was captured by the stunning appearance of the little children with their deep, dark eyes, straight glistening hair and innocent smiles. Perhaps I was reacting to the privation of not seeing my own four beautiful children, left in Fort Bragg, NC on Valentine’s Day. In any event, the congeniality of the Priests, the children’s innocent reaction to American guests, and the oasis of Christian architecture in the desert of Islamic dominance aroused very strong sentiments in my war-weary heart.

Chaplain Murphy established the purpose of our visit with his command-mandated survey of questions. Again, the theme of security emerged as the primary need of the congregation. St. Peter’s served an enormous parish of more than 1,500 families; the Chapel complex lay in an impoverished district that the Church assisted with clothing and food outreach, to both Christians and Muslims alike. After the fall of Saddam’s regime, the limited law and order apparatus crumbled into chaos and corruption. Christians are disproportionately affected by the affects of crime and graft.

My discussion centered on the future of the Church in Iraq. A tall, distinguished man in his 50s sat down beside me during our interview with Father Sami, and politely joined the conversation with fluid English and poignant observations. Deacon Abdullah (Christians are required to maintain Arabic names outside the community in Iraq) identified himself as a PhD, an ordained minister (Catholic Deacons are a part of the ecclesiastical hierarchy), and an automotive engineer by trade in his earlier career as a layman. Like Ghazi our translator, who is an Armenian Orthodox Christian, Abdullah was forced to resign his position as an engineer for refusal to participate in graft and corruption with the Saddam administration. He subsequently devoted his efforts to the nurture and development of St. Peter’s, and the seminary run by the parish currently boasts an astounding 52 candidates for the priesthood.

Our tour of the premises revealed a very modest operation with few technological advantages. I inquired about immediate needs felt by the faculty, boasting about the generosity of American Christians of all denominations. Abdullah politely cautioned me against promising largesse I could not deliver. With typical Yankee grandiosity, I insisted on shaking him down for a list of appliances, facilities, and supplies that would enhance St. Peter’s Church in its Gospel mission. After much convincing, I ascertained that money, devotional materials written in Arabic, clothing, computers and automation equipment, reference books for theology and philosophy instruction, musical instruments, busses and cars, and entertainment devices for children (Iraqi children possess few or no toys typically) were the items most in demand. All of these can be sent directly to the Rector of St. Peter’s with the exception of large cash gifts, which must be funneled through the Vatican Embassy in Baghdad (all donations earmarked for St. Peter’s are distributed to St. Peter’s). St. Peter’s is among the most efficient parishes I have ever seen, with its massive parish, tiny budget, lack of political opportunity, and burgeoning priest population demonstrating thrift largely unknown in the Western Churches. Any donations given to the Church will be conscientiously sown in the fertile vineyard of Iraq’s Christian community with great potential for a harvest of peace.

Later in the afternoon, we visited the ornate Chaldean Orthodox Church of Saints Matthew and Barnabas in the Mechanics District. Although no clergy was available to greet us, several members of the congregation informed us of the danger they felt in their zone. Ghazi repeatedly warned us about letting the neighborhood people get too close to our trucks; he was very concerned about terrorism. It turned out that the Christians of St. Matthew’s had been victimized by kidnapping, a crime routinely committed in post-Saddam Iraq against Christian girls, some who are sold into Kuwait, as reported by the Christians in the area. They related that upwards of 60 Christian girls had disappeared in recent weeks, and that since the war, Masses had been cut down from 4 on Sunday to one, and that daily Masses were canceled because of security risks. Even the ladies who cleaned the chapel during daylight hours stayed away from St. Matthew’s for fear of the rogue elements terrorizing Baghdad under Coalition martial law. I reported this to our intelligence officer, who, after corroborating this intelligence with independent sources, in turn beefed up security patrols in the sector.

At this writing, Iraqi Christians are only beginning to draft plans for the embryonic stages of political participation in a new, democratic Iraq. Political power is something Iraqi Christians have not known since the rise of Islam in the 7th Century. It is imperative for the success of Iraqi Christian political aspirations that the Churches be potently linked with international Christian organizations. Solidarity with the Churches in Iraq will buttress them against isolation by Islamic nationalist groups, particularly the Shiites, who make up 60% of Iraq’s population and favor a Muslim State. Under Saddam, Iraq labored under the conditions of a closed state, virtually disconnected from the international community in media and trade, a condition that effectively walled out external support for Iraq’s Churches. While no external organization can guarantee the security or political viability of Iraq’s 1.5 million Christians, the support of Churches and individuals outside the country will internationalize the scope of the Church in Iraq, frame them as viable political brokers, and facilitate her ability to care for the poor, of both Christian and Muslim origin. Christians can potentially ascend to positions of leadership in civil administration, commerce and education with sufficient international support, creating a more benevolent Iraq, a trait required of a people embarking upon the experiment of self-government for the first time.

As an American soldier and Christian father, I could not help being touched by the resilient spirit, profound humility and stalwart courage of the Iraqi Christians. They refused to ask for help; they have survived for centuries on little outside assistance. Their Churches have roots in the original Apostles of Christ. Yet in the aftermath of Operation Iraqi Freedom, a glorious opportunity for establishing solidarity with the Church in Iraq begs our participation, particularly as American Christians. It is the hope of the author that readers will be open to the Spirit of Christ in demonstrating solidarity with these noble believers, and contribute generously to the cause of Christ in Iraq. Listed below are the addresses of the Churches mentioned in the article.

St. Peter’s Church and Seminary
Al-Hadhar District
PO Box 12035
Area 834 Road 70 House 15
Baghdad, Iraq Tel: 7752300/7752301

Archbishop Gewarqis Sliwa
Hay Al Wihda 9021488
Baghdad, Iraq
Tel: 7176233

St. Matthew and St. Barnabas Syrian Orthodox Church
Mechanics District
Area 834 Road 10
Baghdad, Iraq