By Aid to the Church in Need (USA)John Pontifex
Bombs are falling and the sound of the explosion is sending shock and fear into the hearts of the people. Amid the sound of crying and frenzied activity, people pack up what belongings they can carry and make off into the night.
In the midst of it all stands Martin Baani, a 24-year-old seminarian. It’s dawning on him that this is Karamlesh’s last stand.
For 1,800 years, Christianity has had a home in the hearts
and minds of the people of this village so full of antiquity. Now that era is
about to be brought to a calamitous end; Islamic State are advancing.
Martin’s mobile phone rings: a friend stammers out the news
that the nearby town of Telkaif has fallen to “Da’ash” – the Arabic name for
Islamic State. Karamlesh would surely be
next.
Martin dashes out of his aunt’s house, where he is staying,
and heads for the nearby St Addai’s Church. He takes the Blessed Sacrament, a
bundle of official papers and walks out of the church. Outside a car awaits –
his parish priest, Father Thabet, and three other priests are inside.
Martin gets in and the car speeds off. They leave Karamlesh
and the last remnants of the village’s Christian presence go with them.
Speaking to Martin in the calm of St Peter’s Seminary,
Ankawa—a suburb of the Kurdish regional capital of Erbil—it is difficult to
imagine he is describing anything except a bad dream. But there is nothing
dreamy in Martin’s expression. “Until the very last minute, the Pashmerga [the
Kurdish armed forces protecting the villages] were telling us it was safe.
“But then we heard that they were setting up big guns on St
Barbara’s Hill [on the edge of the village] and we knew then the situation had
become very dangerous.”
Taking stock of that terrible night of August 6, Martin’s
confidence is bolstered by the presence of 27 other seminarians at St Peter’s,
many with their own stories of escape from the clutches of the Islamic
militants.
Martin and his fellow students for the priesthood know that
the future is bleak as regards Christianity in Iraq. A community of 1.5 million
Christians before 2003 has dwindled to less than 300,000. And of those who
remain, more than a third are displaced. Many, if not most, want a new life in
a new country.
Martin, however, is not one of them. “I could easily go,” he
explains calmly. “My family now live in California. I already have been given a
visa to go to America and visit them.”
“But I want to stay. I don’t want to run away from the
problem.”
Martin has already made the choice that marks out the
priests who have decided to stay in Iraq; his vocation is to serve the people—come
what may.
“We must stand up for our rights; we must not be afraid,” he
explains. Describing in detail the emergency relief work that has occupied so
much of his time, it is plain to see that he feels his place is to be with the
people.
Martin is already a sub-deacon. Now in his final year of
theology, ordination to the priesthood is but a few months away.
