FINDING HOPE IN IRAQ

Iraq is not a place to which Americans travel these days. For the past twelve years it has been forbidden, enemy territory, one-third of President Bush’s “Axis of Evil” along with Iran and North Korea. It is targeted by the United States for an impending military, regime-changing attack due to its reported trafficking in weapons of mass destruction. Every day U.S. bombing raids on the country continue just as they have since the end of the Gulf War.

But there I was, visiting with members of Iraq’s Christian community. I had, again, safely survived the long, hot taxi ride through the Syrian Desert between Amman, Jordan and Baghdad on what is called “the world’s most dangerous highway.” My friendly, non-English speaking driver seemed determined to flaunt the highway’s reputation by serving up hot cups of Nescafe, brewed by means of his cigarette- lighter-powered coffee maker as we streaked along at 110 miles per hour.

 Regardless of the risks involved, I wouldn’t ever miss that experience.  Only by car, are you able to see old Jordanian forts associated with Lawrence of Arabia, experience Bedouin encampments along the roadside, observe the constant stream of petroleum tankers carrying Iraq’s liquid gold to the outside world, and thrill to crossings of the legendary Euphrates and Tigris Rivers that link such ancient sites as Ur, Babylon and Nineveh.

Today’s political tensions can obscure the historical magic of Iraq, which is, indeed, the cradle of civilization, and our awareness of the historic Christian community that exists there. Only 18 kilometers outside Baghdad sit the remains of a church that dates back to AD 79, only 46 years removed from the time of Jesus’ death and resurrection. The Nestorian Church, also rooted in this region, was the first to send missionaries bearing the Gospel to China in the 8^th Century after Christ. Today, nearly one million Christians including such historic traditions as the Chaldeans, several varieties of Orthodox and Catholic Churches, and vibrant Evangelical congregations, worship freely in cities and towns all along the Tigris River Valley.

It was these Christians who sponsored my trip back to Iraq, to investigate how they are doing under the pressures of the twelve year U. N. embargo. What I learned during the trip gave me both reasons for hope – and cause for concern.

The hope springs from some obvious signs that the body of Christ is alive and well in Iraq. Consider two examples, one from the traditional churches and one from the evangelical community.

When Fr. Yousif Mirkis welcomed me to Baghdad’s St. Joseph’s Cathedral, he made certain that I noticed the symbolism expressed in the two light fixtures that stand on either side of the entrance to the church’s property. He said, “Notice how the fixture to the right is perfectly formed, but the light coming from it is dim. On the left, however, you’ll see that the fixture is broken but the light it produces is strong.”

“What this shows,” he went on to explain, “is that even though hardships have wounded the Iraqi church, our witness for Christ has been strengthened as a result of our suffering. For, as Paul said, ‘When I am weak, then I am strong.’”

The symbolism was stunning and the theology was flawless. And, the truth of his witness was evident in what goes on in this church. As I walked the cathedral’s hallways with Fr. Mirkis and a young seminarian, I saw pictures on the walls showing groups of hundreds and hundreds of vibrant young people.

I was thrilled to learn that each picture portrays one year’s class of graduates from their Bible Study course. Annually there are at least one thousand students being nurtured in the Word of God, studying for Christian service in this Christian education program! When you remember that in this overwhelmingly Muslim culture, achievements in Christian activity produce no public rewards, accolades or advantages, a program of this size is simply remarkable.

The emotional effect of this on me was similar to an experience I had on my previous trip to Iraq where I visited a Chaldean Church in the northern city of Mosul. There I found a Christian School filled to overflowing with the brightest, liveliest children you’ll ever see anywhere. It was clearly not what I imagined seeing in Iraq.

Sitting in the heart of Baghdad is another vibrant church – this one, evangelical, which, in Iraq, as in the rest of the Middle East, means Protestant. But, whereas worship in many Protestant churches in the United States is conducted with a kind of casualness, or, at the extreme, a total lack of deference for the Deity, the worship atmosphere in this congregation is deeply reverent. Many of the women have their heads covered with scarves or carefully arranged handkerchiefs. The service is conducted with decorum and order, combined with a feeling of warmth and a palpable friendliness.

I attended the major Sunday service, held at night (5:30 pm), and the sanctuary was so packed that some were forced to stand in the back, as all the seats were taken. It is important to know that this packed house on a Sunday night followed a full workday for the people in attendance. Sundays, in Muslim countries, are not holidays. Friday is the Holy Day in Baghdad, or Cairo, or Islamabad when Muslims attend their mosques. And so Sunday morning services are not possible, nor is church attendance here a matter of convenience; it is a matter of conviction for Christ’s people to worship on the first day of the week, which celebrates the Lord’s resurrection, regardless of the hour. I was blessed to be back here with these dear people, and my friend, the big Egyptian Presbyterian, Pastor Ikram.

The membership of the church consists of about 400 families, which makes it a good-sized congregation even by American standards. The church has a wonderful youth choir of 40 voices . . . a “Sunday School” for children (although they meet on Fridays to have more time available) . . . and an impressive resource center with a lending library, tape library, collection of Bibles for sale, and a supply of Biblical wall plaques in both Arabic and English.

On each of my visits to this church I have been so impressed with the fact that these people clearly understand the Gospel. During numerous interviews, I have been told that being born into a Christian family (each person is registered in a specific religion at birth) does not make one a Christian, but each person must make a choice to follow Jesus Christ. Clearly, evangelicals in Baghdad know the same Gospel that evangelicals know in Wheaton, Colorado Springs or Dallas.

The Evangelical Church in Baghdad belongs to a fellowship of five churches located in the major cities of Iraq: Baghdad, Basra, Kirkuk and Mosul, which I have also been privileged to visit. This fellowship is presided over by a military hero, General Georges Hormiz Sada, who is an Assyrian from the north of Iraq. This dear friend is one of the most dynamic and convincing Christians I have ever known.

The authenticity and fervency of Iraq’s Evangelical Churches, and their leaders, are convincing. In addition to elderly saints, they are filled with committed and competent young people who are excited about the challenges and opportunities of discipleship. They are communities of hope in Christ. And for that reason they give me hope.

But, there are also reasons for concern. Although most of us are surprised that Iraqi Christians enjoy considerable freedom of worship under the rule of the country’s secular government, the future of Christianity in Iraq is under a dark cloud. That cloud is the product of the economic sanctions imposed on Iraq by the United Nations and supported by the United States.

Those sanctions are forcing Christians to leave Iraq with its lack of food and medical care, and their exodus is weakening the church’s witness. Fifty years ago Christians comprised 10% of the population of Iraq. Due mainly to the effects of the twelve-year embargo, Christians now comprise less than 5% of the population, and perhaps as little as 3%.

Anecdotal evidence of this “Christian Flight” surfaced during my efforts to contact two evangelicals I had interviewed on my previous visit to Iraq. In both cases, they had left the country to live elsewhere, one in Germany, the other in Sweden.

Immigration out of Iraq is not easy. Judged by local standards, it costs an enormous sum of money to get government permission to leave. I have spoken with dozens of Iraqis who have been building up their savings for years to buy their way out at some future time.

Many Iraqi Christians confided their uneasiness over the decline in the educational system due to the sanctions. Not only are textbooks and basic school resources in short supply, but the teaching of English is not as prevalent as it once was. Their fear is that the worldview of Iraqi students will narrow down and that militant Islamic fundamentalism, which is beginning to grow among young people, will be nurtured in an increasingly myopic cultural environment.

It is easy for American Christians to understand why people would want to escape a dictatorial regime and go to a place where they can live free from oppression. The problem is, in many cases, the oppression from which Christians are fleeing is the tyranny of tribulation created by the sanctions.

This causes me to wonder: Can we as believers live with the probability that, at the current rate of attrition, there will be no Christian presence left in Iraq in fifty years? The history of the Middle East and of Central Asia warns us that the durability of historic Christian witness is not guaranteed and can be lost completely. A journey along the ancient “Silk Road” trade routes reveals a parade of mosques that were once vibrant churches. The flip side of Muslim advance is often Christian retreat.

We as Christians tend not to take church history and missionary strategy into account when we consider the foreign policy decisions of the American government. Our thinking, understandably, runs mainly to issues of national survival. But foreign policy also impacts fundamental spiritual issues. For example, when the United States government debated recently the possibility of revoking “most favored nation” status for China, Christian workers in China told us while we were traveling there, that such a revocation “would make Christian outreach in China much more difficult” for them.

In the long run, the total loss of a Christian presence in Iraq might turn out to be a greater tragedy than anything threatened now by “The Butcher of Baghdad”. There is no way of knowing, but we must consider it. We must care about the strategic witness exercised by our fellow believers in places like Iraq. We must be aware that they exist, and be concerned over the possibility that their presence might be snuffed out.                                                  

Yes, there are concerns. But, I am a ‘spy for hope’. And the Christians of Iraq inspire hope in me!

Do I comprehend the whole situation in Iraq? Of course not. Am I an expert with unassailable insights? Hardly. But . . . I have been there. I have spoken with such Iraqi notables as Nizar Hamdoun, Iraqi Ambassador to the United Nations. I have met with Iraqi public health officials and other Iraqi leaders.

I have had the privilege to travel through Iraq with Sandra Mackey, the perceptive author of the best current comprehensive book on Iraq (The Reckoning, Norton, 2002) and learn from her. I have conversed with U. N. Food for Oil Program observers.

But most of all, I have been a guest in Iraqi homes, kibitzed with Baghdad cab drivers, “high-fived” Iraqi teenagers, discussed at length matters of history and politics with a world-class archaeologist, dialogued with Shiite Muslim clerics in Najaf, and sifted the soil of Babylon and Nineveh through my fingers.

And . . . I have been alone in the crowd at Baghdad’s Saddam Hussein International airport just days ago. It was the one place I felt entirely at the mercy of “the enemy”, as I viewed dozens of graffiti-like scrawlings on airport rampways that said, “Down U.S.A.”,  and sensed my vulnerability to the whims of the uniformed Iraqi officials who control things inside Saddam’s very secure terminal, with no American support system to protect me had I been found by trouble. The little blue American passport that I clutched in my hand seemed to be the size of a Los Angeles telephone directory! Amazingly, every encounter within that airport was characterized by courtesy and even good humor. Even the customs inspector who examined my luggage apologized in broken English for the inconvenience he had caused me. That doesn’t happen at LAX!

It reminded me, as we have discovered so many times around the world, that people are vastly different from governments. They are made in the image of their Creator. And there are a million Christians still here in this country able to point the way to that Creator.