Tag Archives: ISIS

Fr. Douglas Bazi: Praying the Rosary in ISIS Captivity

Fr. Douglas Bazi (a.k.a Abouna Douglas Joseph Shimshon Al-Bazi) recently spoke at the 2017 Spirit in the City conference in Brisbane. He spoke of how his people, our Christian brothers and sisters, have been systematically killed or driven out of their homeland since the 2003 Iraq War destabilized his country. He told us how his church in Baghdad was bombed while he received a gunshot to the leg; he carries the bullet in his leg today.

He said, “I am going to tell you my story, of how I was captured by ISIS. It is not easy for me to tell.”

In November 2006, Fr. Bazi was kidnapped by ISIS militants (“Maybe because I look like Robert De Niro”, he joked). They bound him in chains, blindfolded and gagged him. In a room where the Quran was broadcast on television all day long, they broke his nose, tortured him with cigarettes, and smashed his face, knees and back with a hammer. He was deprived of water for four days.

Yet, like St. Paul, Fr. Bazi continued his priestly ministry in his chains. One of the terrorists came to the bound and gagged priest for advice about his wife, who kept sending him multiple messages a day. The blindfolded Fr. Bazi calmly advised the terrorist to be more loving and attentive to his wife.

Fr. Bazi realized that the chains binding his hands had exactly ten links. He admitted that under normal circumstances, he sometimes found the rosary tedious, but as he lay aching in the darkness, the scriptural prayers of the rosary illuminated his imprisonment, bringing comfort and sustenance amidst the uncertainty and pain. He was prepared to die.

Using a chain he had bought upon arrival from New Zealand, Fr. Bazi demonstrated to us how he had prayed the rosary, kissing the lock that kept him at the mercy of his kidnappers.

He also showed us his bloodstained shirt.

After nine interminable days, Fr. Bazi was released.

He said to us, “You must be our voice. You must tell our story. Our children go to school, and we don’t know if they will come back. We go to church, not knowing if that is the day we will die.”

Here in comfortable Australia, it was sobering to think of our Middle Eastern brethren living from day to day in fear of death or the loss of their family members, or their homes.

Fr. Bazi has started Project 52, aimed at bringing 52 disabled Iraqi children to New Zealand. With our donations and prayers, we can help make his dream a reality.

ISIS, Robin Williams, and “Those Who Mourn”

The descriptions are many, the adjectives are abundant. Travesty. Horrific. Incomprehensible. Senseless. You can’t scroll down one page on Facebook without seeing a shared link of the pain, suffering, and death of people around the world.

The implications of such extreme evil and despair are difficult to wrap our minds around. We want to grieve deeply, truly, effectively, but we aren’t sure how, so we scroll one post down until we get the relief of a Clash of Clans invite or yet another “I couldn’t believe #17 was real!” post.

But let me encourage you to slow down the scrolling, momentarily. Lift your hand from the mouse. Let the twinge of saddened confusion be an alarm clock, a reminder, a barrier even, shielding you from the temptation to self-medicate with the opiate of distraction.

Just hurt.

Let your heart break. Let your soul crush. Let your back bend, bow, and slouch.  There is a world of pain that can shatter us if we let it in and, in many times and places, it is prudent to let it do so.

The unbelievable pain being endured worldwide at any given moment is staggering, to say the least, and a chintzy blog post by an inexperienced writer with absolutely zero credentials has very little chance of adequately speaking even an ounce of comfort into the suffering.

I recognize that.

But I also recognize that we are not powerless in the face of the wounds and mass graves. We are not without means. We—you and I—are capable of astounding feats of sacrifice, healing, and love. By virtue of our existence as human persons, made in the “image and likeness” of God, we not can only participate in the heights and depths of infinite joy, we can also willingly step down, condescend (descend with), and enter into the mire of pain and persecution. We can, like Christ, blend “into the gray mass of sinners waiting on the banks of the Jordan”(Ratzinger). If we choose to, we can make a dent in the utter heartache that many of those around us and abroad experience at each moment.

Whether it is the unspeakable atrocities we read of in news reports from around the globe, or the devastating news of the apparent suicide of one of the greatest comedic minds of all time, we do not need to run from the sadness.

On the contrary, we can hurl ourselves headlong into the onslaught. We can size up the meteor of ache that we see hurtling towards us and, with all confidence and joy, lean in to meet it.

When we see terror on the rise, we can, if we choose to, bring peace of mind and comfort. When the “hissing false witness” of depression claims another precious life through its deceit, we can, if we choose, open our eyes to the overwhelming presence of the same lies in those around us and work towards their healing. When everyone else is building walls of “us” and “them”, we can work to prove them wrong through our idiotically loving actions.

For some, this will mean allowing the brokenness to finally help them sell all they own and travel to the most visibly pained places of the world. For others, it may mean quitting multiple “extracurricular” activities in order to place themselves in a position to meet the needs of a suffering friend. One thing is certain, for ALL who choose to do so, it will require sacrifice akin to death on their part.

If you’re not hurting now, choosing to love will take care of that for you. If you’re not bleeding yet, love can do the piercing for you.

I don’t know if “the world” will miss Robin Williams or those slaughtered in Iraq, but I do know that you and I can, and must, grieve their loss. I know that you can choose to hurt with those left to tidy up the affairs of the departed. I know that you can mourn with the most downtrodden.

There is hope. Always, always, hope.

Death does not have to be the end of the story. “We are the Easter people, and ‘Aleluia’ is our song”!!! You can toss yourself headfirst into the mourning, because we are assured of joy in “the morning”. We are blessed if we weep now, for someday, we shall laugh (Lk 6:21). It’s fine to feel the sting, the lack, the blood now, because they are capable of ushering us into the balm, the fullness, and the life later.

Again, stop the scroll down, open your heart and eyes, and find a way to grasp someone else’s burden in your own two hands.

In his book Descent Into Hell, Charles Williams addresses the concept of bearing one another’s burdens. I think it is a fitting springboard into the healing the world so badly needs:

But that means —-“ she began, and stopped.

“I know,” Stanhope said. “It means listening sympathetically, and thinking unselfishly, and being anxious about, and so on. Well, I don’t say a word against all that; no doubt it helps. But I think when Christ or St. Paul, or whoever said bear, or whatever he Aramaically said instead of bear, he meant something more like carrying a parcel instead of someone else. To bear a burden is precisely to carry it instead of. If you’re still carrying yours, I’m not carrying it for you – however sympathetic I may be. And anyhow there’s no need to introduce Christ, unless you wish. It’s a fact of experience. If you give a weight to me, you can’t be carrying it yourself; all I’m asking you to do is to notice that blazing truth. It doesn’t sound very difficult.”

“And if I could,” she said. “If I could do –whatever it is you mean, would I? Would I push my burden on to anybody else?”

“Not if you insist on making a universe for yourself,” he answered. “If you want to disobey and refuse the laws that are common to us all, if you want to live in pride and division and anger, you can. But if you will be part of the best of us, and live and laugh and be ashamed with us, then you must be content to be helped. You must give your burden up to someone else, and you must carry someone else’s burden. I haven’t made the universe and it isn’t my fault. But I’m sure that this is a law of the universe, and not to give up your parcel is as much to rebel as not to carry another’s. You’ll find it quite easy if you let yourself do it.”

“And what about my self-respect,” she said.

He laughed at her with a tender mockery. “O, if we are of that kind!” he exclaimed. “If you want to respect yourself, if to respect yourself you must go clean against the nature of things, if you must refuse the Omnipotence in order to respect yourself, though why you should want so extremely to respect yourself is more than I can guess, go on and respect. Must I apologize for suggesting anything else?”