Cardinal Robert Prevost, or rather, Pope Leo XIV is said to be a quiet man – “a discreet man of God, almost timid”, according to the French newspaper Le Figaro. A former missionary from the poverty-blighted south side of Chicago, he has said his path is to give a voice to the voiceless. He follows the teachings of Saint Augustine, whose work in the church largely focused on humanity.
Leo’s work will trail the work of Pope Francis – whose tireless love for the poor, the imprisoned and the desperate included shipwrecked migrants, prisoners and the hungry and frightened in Gaza. Francis’s last visit before his death was to prisoners in Rome. Every day, he phoned a church in Gaza to remind the Christians there that they were not alone.
Pope Leo could also look to the embattled Christians of the Middle East when he begins his work, as a priority. First must be advocacy for the Gazan Christians, who, along with the rest of the population of the Palestinian enclave, are being starved to death and bombed daily by Israel.
A fiercely proud, ancient community that stretches back 2,000 years, Gaza’s Christians had several churches – Latin, Orthodox, an ancient Byzantine church which was used as a museum and even a small Baptist church above a shop. Today, the Christians who have survived the latest conflict are mostly sheltering in Saint Porphyrius Church, where rationed food is being distributed and families are hiding from the bombs.
This doesn’t stop them being slaughtered. I think of Elham Farah, the 84-year-old, much-loved organist at Holy Family Church, whom I had spent time with. She was killed by Israel in November 2023. Ms Farah, who was the descendent of an old Christian family and the daughter of a Palestinian poet, had stepped outside the church to see what damage had occurred to her house from a recent attack. She was shot by an Israeli sniper and an Israeli tank later ran over her body.
On my last trip to Gaza in 2022, to research my book The Vanishing, about Middle Eastern Christians, there were roughly 1,000 Christians left in Gaza. It is now estimated that 3 per cent of these have been wiped out since October 7, according to Churches for Middle East Peace (CMEP).
I hope that Pope Leo continues the daily phone calls with the community, if only to reassure them they are not abandoned. He must pressure global leaders, as Francis did, to end the siege of Gaza and to protect civilians.
Leo should continue this work because his predecessor never shied from difficult missions; if anything, he sought them out. In March 2021, during the Covid-19 pandemic, a frail Francis held mass with the shrinking Christian community in Iraq. Advised not to go because of his poor health and the high security risk, Francis went anyway. One of his goals was to strengthen ties between the various Christian groups in Iraq who are often at odds with each other. Visiting Raqqa, the former headquarters of ISIS’s so-called caliphate, he made appeals for forgiveness and reconciliation and denounced extremism. Violence, he said, was a “betrayal of religion”.
With conflicts and tensions spreading in too many parts of the region, attention must be paid to the Christians of the Middle East. They are essential to the fabric of the region’s society, but they are far too often caught in the web of conflict. They face immense challenges politically, socially and economically. In some places they are openly persecuted for following their faith, politically underrepresented and even barred from holding public office.
But overall, there is their fear of extinction. In Syria, Iraq and parts of Egypt, extremist factions have openly targeted them, burning churches and killing parishioners. In some countries, blasphemy laws are weaponised as forms of harassment.
During wartime – in Iraq, Syria and Yemen – Christian communities have often either been seen as neutral parties or else aligned with government forces in exchange for protection. This has also cost them, particularly in northern Iraq, when ISIS drove them out of Mosul and other areas they historically called home. I remember sitting through holy masses prayed in Aramaic, the language of Jesus, in ancient Assyrian monasteries where families had arrived seeking shelter from ISIS, who were burning a pathway through their villages. Many had roots that stretched back more than a millennium, but they thought those days were their last on earth.
In some cases, Christians are trying to adapt. Last March, when more than 1,500 people were killed in the Latakia region of Syria, there were mistaken reports that Christians were being targeted. While the Christian families I spoke with were apprehensive about the new government, NGOs like Open Doors, who focus on protecting Christians from persecution, reported there was “no evidence of Christians being targeted”.
Above all, perhaps the greatest enemy of the continued presence of Christians in the region is emigration. Even before Israel’s onslaught of Gaza, young Christians I met and interviewed were torn between leaving to find work – most of them are highly educated – or staying to bolster the diminishing community. They must be encouraged to stay and given reassurances for their safety, and even economic initiatives. When Gaza is eventually rebuilt, there should be representatives from the vital and ancient Christian community.
When I presented my book to Pope Francis in 2023, his words to me were of the importance of protecting Middle Eastern Christians. “They are precious,” he told me. There is a great opportunity now for Pope Leo to follow the humane and urgent work that Francis began.
