In Iraq, one could argue that cultural curiosities abound, particularly regarding the Christian community’s unique scheduling of church services. With Friday being the Muslim day of prayer, the largest Christian attendance occurs on this day, as Sunday is designated as a typical workday. Attending Mass at an Eastern Catholic church in Erbil, Iraqi Kurdistan, I was privileged to hear the Lord’s Prayer recited in Aramaic—the language spoken by Jesus himself.
This enduring faith community, one of the oldest branches of Christianity, exudes a richly layered narrative. Despite the precarious atmosphere fostered by Islamist extremists, notably ISIS, both Assyrian and Chaldean Christians have tenaciously retained their beliefs, language, and culture for nearly two millennia, all while facing the modern trials of persecution.
Christianity began its journey in Iraq, previously known as ancient Mesopotamia, during the first century AD. The tradition attributes its introduction to key figures such as the apostles Thomas, Thaddaeus of Edessa (often referred to as Addai), and Mari, who set forth to evangelize the regions of Assyria and Babylonia.
St. Thomas the Apostle, often reminisced about as “Doubting Thomas,” is one of the twelve apostles of Jesus. Tradition holds that he traversed through Mesopotamia en route to India, where he initiated what would become known as the Saint Thomas Christians.
Every day I tread in Iraq, I’m reminded that I walk the paths trodden by the apostles and worship in the very churches they helped to establish. The landscape breathes life into the biblical narratives. The Assyrians and Chaldeans are not just remnants of history; they are woven intricately throughout the Old Testament, with tombs of biblical figures like Job—the exemplar of tested faith—and Jonah—known for his celestial encounter with a marine creature—located right in Iraq.
If you grew up in an Italian household on Long Island, as I did, or if you hold Roman Catholic or Protestant roots from anywhere in the globe, you might have wondered about the prefix “Roman” attached to Christianity. The reality is that within the umbrella of Catholicism, there exist twenty-four distinct Catholic Churches; the Roman Catholic Church claims the largest share, encompassing nearly 98 percent of the global Catholic population, leaving the other twenty-three classified as Eastern Catholic Churches.
It’s critical not to mix up the Eastern Catholic Churches and the Assyrian Church of the East with the Eastern Orthodox Church, which diverged from Rome during the Great Schism of 1054. On the contrary, the twenty-three Eastern Catholic Churches are in full communion with Rome, comporting to the authority of the Pope.
Each Eastern Catholic Church boasts its own rich liturgies, native languages, and traditions that stand in stark contrast to the experience of a typical Sunday Mass observed in New York or Chicago. The schisms within Christianity over the years have emerged from theological disagreements and regional rivalries, leading some Iraqi communities, like the Assyrian Church of the East, to preserve their independence, while others rejoined Rome at various historical junctures, holding onto their cultural identities.
In my travels through Iraq, I engage with both The Assyrian Church of the East and Chaldean Catholics. The former resembles a standard Catholic church, though it does not hold full communion with Rome, whereas the Chaldean Catholic Church, the largest sect, returned to this communion in 1830, thus affirming the Pope’s ecclesiastical authority.
Interestingly, both the Assyrian and Chaldean Churches employ Aramaic as their liturgical language, eschewing Latin, and allow their priests to marry—certainly a deviation from Roman Catholic customs. Moreover, they adhere to the Eastern liturgical calendar and laws, which differ significantly from Western customs.
Saints revered in Eastern traditions, such as Thaddaeus of Edessa and Mari, may not ring familiar in Roman Catholic circles yet embody integral figures in the fabric of the Eastern Church. St. Thomas, however, is universally honored for his apostolic role, bridging both traditions. His feast day falls on July 3 in the Roman calendar, and he holds significant stature in the East for pioneering Christianity through Mesopotamia and India. Aptly, the singular Roman Catholic parish in Erbil bears his name.
Throughout my journey in Iraqi Kurdistan, the warmth of hospitality is striking. Locals often express a fondness for Americans, recognizing the support U.S. forces extended to the Peshmerga against ISIS and the key role played in securing the autonomy of Iraqi Kurdistan post-Saddam Hussein.
Daily life is punctuated by unplanned stops for tea or traditional sweets like baklava as I navigate through interactions with both Muslim and Christian locals. Conversations frequently gravitate towards the preservation of Kurdistan’s identity and pride in their communal achievements amidst adversity. When discussing Christians, the narrative inevitably turns toward the specter of ISIS.
The war against ISIS ignited in Iraq following skirmishes in December 2013, escalating dramatically in June 2014, when ISIS seized Mosul, the nation’s second-largest city, rampaging towards Erbil along the Nineveh Plains—a region historically populated by Christians.
As ISIS advanced, Christian communities in Mosul and surrounding regions faced unimaginable persecution. The militants laid down stark ultimatums—convert to Islam, pay jizyah (a tax levied on non-Muslims), or face execution by July 19, 2014. They marked Christian homes, seized churches, stripped away crosses, and inflicted destruction on over 1,500 religious artifacts. Estimates suggest that as many as 60,000 Christians in Mosul fell victim to execution, expulsion, or abduction into sex slavery.
Following the fall of Qaraqosh on August 6, 2014, many of the city’s 60,000 residents fled toward the safety of Erbil. Overall, UN reports indicate approximately 200,000 Christians abandoned the Nineveh Plains during that harrowing offensive. Many sought refuge in Ankawa, the Christian quarter of Erbil, which overnight became a sanctuary for up to 120,000 Christians.
During the ISIS occupation, harrowing accounts of beheadings, crucifixions, and other heinous acts proliferated. In recognition of these atrocities, on February 3, 2016, the European Parliament unanimously classified ISIS’s actions against religious minorities, including Christians, as genocide. Just a month later, on March 17, U.S. Secretary of State John Kerry formally declared that ISIS had committed genocide and crimes against humanity against not only Yazidis and Christians but Shia Muslims and others as well.
After ISIS’s defeat, a significant number of Christians opted for emigration, leaving Ankawa’s present population at around 80,000, with merely 60,000 Christians estimated to remain. While some have managed to return to their former homes in the Nineveh Plains, many who fled Mosul harbor legitimate fears about a return due to the memories of past violence. One Christian poignantly remarked, “Mosul was the ISIS capital, and while not everyone is ISIS, they were fine with living next to ISIS.” This lingering fear hinders many from reestablishing their lives where acceptance once thrived.
Iraqi Kurdistan stands as a bastion for minorities, including Christians and Yazidis, offering safety amidst the ongoing danger surrounding Mosul. Prior to the ISIS tumult, Mosul boasted a Christian population nearing 50,000; today, that figure plummets to fewer than 70 remaining Christian families. One priest reflected on the dire reality, estimating that monthly, about seven to eight Christian families abandon the country entirely. He emotionally remarked on dwindling birthrates, lamenting, “I can count on two hands all the Christian families in my parish who have three children. The rest have two or one.” A heavy pause followed his admission: “We are no longer at replacement levels.”
The statistics indeed echo his worries. In 1950, Christians accounted for an estimated 10 to 12 percent of Iraq’s population. By 1960, this number had dropped to roughly 3 percent. Presently, estimates suggest there remain as few as 140,000 to 400,000 Christians across Iraq, encompassing both Kurdistan and broader regions.
Yet, amidst these pressing challenges, the Christians who choose to remain, braving decades of hardship—including the traumatic ISIS years—are nothing short of stalwarts of faith, safeguarding an ancient legacy that can be traced directly back to the teachings of Jesus.
