PRAYERS: Gasps, tears as Iraqis return to ISIS-destroyed parish
Please keep those being persecuted in your prayers daily....
A Christian Iraqi woman cries after she
saw the St. Addai church which was damaged by Islamic State fighters
during their occupation of Keramlis village, less than 18 miles, 29
kilometers, southeast of Mosul, Iraq, Sunday Nov. 13, 2016. There were
gasps, and then tears, at the small church in northern Iraq as a group
of Christians returned to their parish to find everything had been
destroyed, including the statue of the Virgin Mary which IS militants
decapitated before they left. The church bell tolled for the first time
in more than two years, but few can summon up hope for the future.
(Credit: AP Photo/Hussein Malla.)
Keramlis, a Christian town on the Nineveh plains in northern Iraq, fell to the Islamic State in August 2014. Now the town is liberated, and Christians are returning to its churches under the protection of armed Assyrian militias.
KARAMLIS,
Iraq - There were gasps, followed by tears at a small church in
northern Iraq as a group of Christians returned to their parish Sunday
to find that everything had been destroyed, including the statue of the
Virgin Mary which Islamic State militants had decapitated before they
left.
A confession booth turned into a closet, a desecrated tomb, red prayer benches burnt. As Father Thabet Habib recited prayers at the Saint Addai church, the sound of broken glass crunched underneath worshippers’ feet.
Keramlis, a Christian town on the Nineveh plains in northern Iraq, fell to the Islamic State in August 2014, two months after the extremist group took Iraq’s second city of Mosul and surrounding areas, sending most of its inhabitants fleeing.
The town was liberated around three weeks ago as part of the push for Mosul, but most of its homes have been destroyed in the process.
Many residents of Keramlis, an ancient Assyrian town less than 18 miles southeast of Mosul, now live in camps in Iraq’s Kurdish region. Hundreds of others fled to neighboring countries, Europe, the United States and further afield.
Some of those returned Sunday to attend Sunday prayers in their hometown, and check on their homes.
Emotions ran high when the church bell tolled for the first time in more than two years, but standing amid the ruins of their church, few could summon up hope for the future.
“It was amazing, I got goose bumps. The bell for us means a great deal,” said Sahir Shamoun, an athletics teacher who drove four hours with his wife from Zakho, near the Turkish border, to check on their home Sunday.
Shamoun and his wife found their home largely standing, amid a vista of almost completely destroyed houses; but all their electronics and furniture had been stolen.
“I feel great sadness,” he said. “I’m not sure when or if I’ll be back. I think of my children, will they have a future here?”
Christians once constituted a sizeable minority in Iraq, but their numbers have dwindled since the 2003 U.S.-led invasion as many have emigrated to the West to escape violence.
Shamoun himself said he’d been displaced five times in his life, and that by now he believes there’s no future for Christians or minorities in the Middle East.
“You put the cornerstone for your home, but still you know it’s not yours,” he said. “But we are stubborn people, we will keep building.”
Inside the church, Habib, the priest, and a few other men banged bibles and other holy books against each other, creating puffs of dust. A 54-year-old woman, Almaz Sleiman, sobbed quietly, holding a tissue against her face as she looked around.
Prayers were held under the watchful eyes of armed Assyrian Christian militiamen, known as the Nineveh Plain Protection Units, or NPU.
“First when you see it of course it’s unsettling, and then you cry because of the situation here, and the conditions we are living in now. Honestly I cannot describe the way I feel,” Sleiman said.
A confession booth turned into a closet, a desecrated tomb, red prayer benches burnt. As Father Thabet Habib recited prayers at the Saint Addai church, the sound of broken glass crunched underneath worshippers’ feet.
Keramlis, a Christian town on the Nineveh plains in northern Iraq, fell to the Islamic State in August 2014, two months after the extremist group took Iraq’s second city of Mosul and surrounding areas, sending most of its inhabitants fleeing.
The town was liberated around three weeks ago as part of the push for Mosul, but most of its homes have been destroyed in the process.
Many residents of Keramlis, an ancient Assyrian town less than 18 miles southeast of Mosul, now live in camps in Iraq’s Kurdish region. Hundreds of others fled to neighboring countries, Europe, the United States and further afield.
Some of those returned Sunday to attend Sunday prayers in their hometown, and check on their homes.
Emotions ran high when the church bell tolled for the first time in more than two years, but standing amid the ruins of their church, few could summon up hope for the future.
“It was amazing, I got goose bumps. The bell for us means a great deal,” said Sahir Shamoun, an athletics teacher who drove four hours with his wife from Zakho, near the Turkish border, to check on their home Sunday.
Shamoun and his wife found their home largely standing, amid a vista of almost completely destroyed houses; but all their electronics and furniture had been stolen.
“I feel great sadness,” he said. “I’m not sure when or if I’ll be back. I think of my children, will they have a future here?”
Christians once constituted a sizeable minority in Iraq, but their numbers have dwindled since the 2003 U.S.-led invasion as many have emigrated to the West to escape violence.
Shamoun himself said he’d been displaced five times in his life, and that by now he believes there’s no future for Christians or minorities in the Middle East.
“You put the cornerstone for your home, but still you know it’s not yours,” he said. “But we are stubborn people, we will keep building.”
Inside the church, Habib, the priest, and a few other men banged bibles and other holy books against each other, creating puffs of dust. A 54-year-old woman, Almaz Sleiman, sobbed quietly, holding a tissue against her face as she looked around.
Prayers were held under the watchful eyes of armed Assyrian Christian militiamen, known as the Nineveh Plain Protection Units, or NPU.
“First when you see it of course it’s unsettling, and then you cry because of the situation here, and the conditions we are living in now. Honestly I cannot describe the way I feel,” Sleiman said.
