Don’t Forget the Persecuted

‘H ave mercy on us — and ISIS.”

Shortly after the genocide in Iraq ten years ago, a young woman born in a refugee camp led an arena of young people in prayer. She believed so much in God’s mercy that she even prayed for the Islamist militant group who had killed members of her family.

This has been typical of my experience with Iraqi Christians: They are forgiving. The only time I ever cried while conducting an interview was when I spoke to a priest from Iraq. I had defended the war in Iraq and dismissed Pope John Paul’s concerns about the United States’ intervening.

A documentary that aired a few years ago followed a journalist who spoke with families who had fled their homes in Mosul. Among them was a woman who said, “Thank God for ISIS.” Yes, you read that right. And the reason she said it, she explained, was that she hadn’t fully appreciated her priorities before. Her family had a nice home. She and her husband had good jobs. But then she was asked: “Do you renounce Christ?” This made her realize how much God meant to her. It could have been easy to just give in. But the circumstances made her realize that everything important in her life had to do with the grace of God. Another woman rejoiced in the fact that her family was closer — physically and otherwise. The kids didn’t have a yard to play in anymore, so they were interacting more with each other instead. I interviewed a bishop around the same time who said that he was proud of his people. Someone asked him whether Iraqi Christians could just pay lip service to the enemy. “No,” he said, “no one did.”

In these times of anxiety and loneliness in the West, the witness of courage in other parts of the world is inspiring and instructive — if we pay attention.

In addition to the forgiveness, and the courage, what I was blown away by when I was covering the plight of the Iraqi Christians was the gratitude. Many Americans don’t even know there are Christians in Iraq. They tend to be thankful even for the acknowledgment of their existence. The priest I interviewed, who had been tortured, received my tears in that spirit because he saw that I at least somewhat recognized their experience.

Iraqi Christians now are concerned that the war in Gaza will expand and that they will suffer in both new and old ways all over again. They are not asking us to do much more for them than to recognize that and to pray for them. This doesn’t seem too radical a request from people who have had to leave their homes and have had to change their entire lives. Archbishop Bashar Warda in Erbil took in people into his diocese. He didn’t have a plan, and yet he figured it out. He even built a university and a hospital, and he helped people deal with the trauma.

He is asking, again, as he did ten years ago, for us to acknowledge that they exist:

In the miserable dysfunction of Iraq today, we are disappearing. Deeply ingrained, religiously motivated persecution against our people continues at the everyday level despite the stated concerns of leaders. Our once-thriving entrepreneur class finds its businesses extorted and its profits stolen. Our diligently crafted proposals for international assistance to our hospitals and schools are now routinely set aside, not because of failures at these institutions, but simply because the eyes of the world have moved on. We find ourselves increasingly in the world’s rearview mirror, and quite soon we will be out of sight — permanently.

Here in the United States, we have religious-liberty debates that are real, but we’re not faced with an existential crisis. At least not as long as we don’t forget who we are. Part of not forgetting who we are involves keeping in mind our neighbors — even those who are a world away — and learning from them. Don’t forget the Iraqi Christians. We will all be better for it.

Archbishop Warda writes:

Here in what remains of Christian Iraq, we persevere and hope. We are striving to bring along a new generation of leadership, fully inclusive of the role of women and supportive of the courageous young people who still, in faith, remain. We are working tirelessly to establish anchor institutions in the fields of education and health care that benefit all Iraqis and show to them and the world our witness to Christian service. And we accept that within our own ranks, there is a great need for improvement and growth; we struggle for the way forward in this, as do countries and peoples everywhere.

The priest I interviewed during the genocide had said something similar: “We are not angels, . . . but we have grace from God.”

“Christianity is not just for good days but bad days. As Christians in Iraq, we have a lot of bad days for a long time.” But, again, he was quick to add, “we’re not complaining about that.” He also made clear: “We are not looking for revenge. We just want the world to tell the truth, as we try to live in dignity.” And they still do. While the rest of us moved on, as we often do.

Have mercy. Say a prayer. And don’t forget the people who are suffering for what should be our greatest priorities.

This column is based on one available through Andrews McMeel Universal’s Newspaper Enterprise Association.