My Dear Sisters and Brothers,

It is past time for me to share with you news of our Dominican Family in Iraq. Our sisters and brothers want me to tell you, first of all, how grateful they are for your love and support. It was my privilege to carry to them your notes, well wishes, and prayers. And I was humbled to receive, on your behalf, their gratitude and promise of mutual prayer.

This letter is long. My apologies; there is much to tell. You don't have to read it all at once. Since this is a "family" letter, I'll try not to repeat stories that have already been published on the Pax Christi website, which you can still access for details about the other aspects of the journey (www.paxchristiusa.org).

In each place of pilgrimage, Jordan, Baghdad, Basra, and Mosul, we were welcomed with what I've come to know as characteristically Dominican Arabic hospitality. The basic elements are lots of kisses and laughter, lovingly and lavishly prepared food, non-stop conversation (What language barrier?) and a deep, infectious spirit of generosity and joy. My companions on the Iraq Peace Journey were duly impressed by the welcome we received from our Dominican sisters and brothers, and I must say, I was proud to show them off!

There are now five St. Catherine of Siena OPs in Jordan, which was our first stop on the journey. The two most recent arrivals, whom we did not meet, take care of the Vatican consulate in Amman. Three, Habiba, Najma, and Sara, run a clinic in Zarqa on the outskirts of Amman. They greeted us warmly at the airport in Amman and spirited us off to the hotel in a borrowed mini-bus. The next night they sent the bus again to fetch us for a feast at their convent in Zarqa. How they managed to prepare such a banquet after having worked all day still mystifies me. Though we didn't have time for a tour of the clinic, they explained that their clients are mostly refugees from Palestine, Iraq, and other nations in the region. On a typical day they and their small staff serve 180 patients. Further U.S. aggression (the term used by many Jordanians and Iraqis) against Iraq is likely to increase their workload some, though, according to the NGO representatives and aid workers with whom we spoke, Jordan will not allow refugees into the country, nor will other neighboring nations. These groups are preparing for tent cities inside Iraq near its borders, with the attendant complications of poor sanitation and nutrition.

In Baghdad, I was blessed to spend some wonderful hours with small groups of sisters and friars, in addition to the time all of us spent on tours of al-Hayat maternity hospital, St. Raphael's general hospital, and at one of the local convents, where we were treated to another great feast.

That evening I handed around the bag full of "I have family in Iraq" buttons and spoke about the efforts U.S. Dominicans are making to forestall the war. The hope and gratitude that generated was palpable. Father Yousif Thomas looked at the button, looked round the room at the guests, and said proudly "and I have family in America!"

It was the same reaction when we visited Sr. Mary Anne and the Presentation Dominican sisters at St. Raphael's hospital. I have great admiration for healthcare workers in Iraq who must deal everyday with the frustrations of trying to fulfill their healing vocation under the most desperate circumstances created by 12 years of economic sanctions.

In a private moment, Sr. Mary Anne confided that the emotional and psychological health of the people was severely tried by the crescendo of war rhetoric coming from Washington. I found it difficult to look her in the eye when she asked, "When will it end? Isn't this enough?"

I was in Mosul for only a few precious hours, but still was able to meet Sr. Rihab and Sr. Luma's families. Luma's mother and father, and Rihab's parents and five of her siblings made the short trip from Karakoosh to get a look at one of these American Dominicans. Like any families would, they wanted to know all the details about their loved ones' lives. Are they healthy? Are they learning English? Are they behaving themselves? I reassured them on every count.

Everywhere we went people wanted to know what we thought about the chances for war. After a while it began to feel absurdly like the small talk we make about the weather, with less chance of an accurate prediction. It must have seemed equally absurd to our Iraqi friends when we'd ask them what was their plan in the event of a war. Where would they go? What would they do? While some few seemed to have plans in mind, most of them said they'dstay put and do what they could.

What amazed me more than anything, I think, was that in the midst of the uncertainty and fear, our Dominican sisters and brothers maintain their commitment to their ministries and a deep sense of Dominican mission. As you may know, the first Dominicans arrived in Iraq in the 13th century and studied at the "House of Wisdom" in Baghdad, the oldest university in the world. Dominicans have had a continuous presence in the country for The past 250 years. They continue to publish, work, teach theology, pray, produce catechetical materials, keep open dialogue with the leaders of the Muslim community, minister to the sick and the orphaned, and comfort those who come to them.

In Mosul the sisters accept new postulants every year and continue to plan for the future of the community. They recently opened a new spirituality center where they provide retreats and conferences for the public. The sisters responsible for formation are intently updating their theology and passing that along to the new community members. The friars speak enthusiastically about opening a formation program in Baghdad. (Currently their students go to France.) Two of the Presentation sisters recently accepted a call to Basra to run a kindergarten - more like our re-schools - associated with one of the Chaldean parishes there. Basra, in the southern no-fly zone, has been ground zero for two wars, from which it has never recovered. It is likely to be one of the first targets in any further aggression. One of the sisters explained to me that she accepted the assignment even though it meant putting herself more directly in harms way, because she could provide a little hope for the children and families served by the program.

Are they daft? If love is daft.

The friars in Baghdad and Mosul were particularly pleased to show me their convents, renovated recently as part of the celebration of their 250 years in Iraq. I had seen the buildings the last time I was there and heard the same explanations. This time I understood, not because of the buildings, but because of the witness of their lives, reflected in that marble and stone: Those who love, suffer. God is love; God suffers with the people in Iraq. How can we not suffer, and love, with God? This theology is born of the experience of our sisters and brothers in Iraq. Their suffering-with, and their experience of God's love in God's suffering-with, is their Holy Preaching.

The circumstances under which they preach are chilling. Perhaps you saw news from the Vatican just before Christmas alluding to the dangerous situation that awaits Christians in the event of a U.S. aggression against Iraq. Archbishop Renato Martino, the prefect of the Council for Justice and Peace and the Vatican's former UN envoy, said a preventive war was a "war of aggression" and therefore not a "just war." Archbishop Jean-Louis Tauran, the Vatican's foreign minister, warned of "disastrous" consequences for the Christian community. "One must think of the consequences for the civil population and of the repercussions in the Islamic world," he said.

Our sisters and brothers in Iraq, the leaders of the Christian churches, aid agency representatives, and journalists working in the region, all articulated these same concerns during our meetings with them. U.S. bombs, the humanitarian crisis that will be created by an aggression, and the consequent destabilization of the region put all innocent Iraqi's at great risk, but especially minority populations, including Christians.

These are the circumstances that create the context in which our sisters and brothers preach the gospel. Their lives are at risk every day. Under these circumstances, our love, care, and concern matter deeply to our Iraqi family. Our efforts here in the States to speak out for the people of Iraq, to preach, to pray and fast, to stand on cold street corners with our wilting signs and frozen feet, to write to our elected officials, to engage in acts of civil disobedience - these are gifts of hope and love beyond telling.

When I went to Iraq I took with me all of your great and small acts of love for the people of Iraq. I told you I would do that, but I only understood what it really meant for me to say so when Sr. Marie Therése ran from the house to greet me, and when she smiled and said "Now it is Christmas." Then I realized that I got to be the Magi. I went, and I come back, bearing gifts. Like those the Magi carried, the gifts I brought to Iraq - our continued promise of support - and the ones I carry to you now - the witness of our Iraqi sisters' and brothers' lives - are signs of Incarnation. They are expensive gifts. They cost us our lives. In one way or another, they cost all of us our lives.

Peace to you,
Beth Murphy, OP