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A Divine Calling in the World's Most Dangerous Parish
In the heart of Baghdad, where bombs explode and gunfire echoes through ancient streets, an unlikely priest leads what might be the world's most dangerous congregation. Andrew White, known as the "Vicar of Baghdad," never imagined his medical career would transform into a mission of peace in war-torn Iraq. His memoir "Faith Under Fire" has become a spiritual beacon for Christians worldwide, endorsed by figures from Archbishop Desmond Tutu to former Prime Minister Tony Blair. The book offers a raw, unflinching look at what it means to maintain faith when surrounded by violence, persecution, and daily threats of death. White's story challenges conventional Western Christianity with its comfortable pews and theological debates, replacing it with a faith forged in the crucible of genuine suffering-where believing in Jesus can literally cost your life.
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From Operating Room to Ancient Babylon
My journey to Baghdad began in an operating theater at St Thomas' Hospital in London. As a medical professional studying surgery and anesthetics, I had established a promising career in medicine. Then came the night shift that changed everything-a divine interruption that redirected my entire life. During those quiet hospital hours, I felt God calling me to ministry with an overwhelming presence I couldn't deny, despite my initial resistance.
While preparing for ordination at Cambridge, I fulfilled my final medical ambition-running the Crash Team at St Thomas' Hospital. This transition from medicine to ministry became more complicated when I developed serious neurological symptoms during my second year at Cambridge. Eventually diagnosed with myalgic encephalitis (ME), I completed my studies partly in a wheelchair, focusing on Judaism under Professor Nicholas de Lange in Jerusalem.
A pivotal moment arrived when conflict erupted between Cambridge University's Christian Union and Jewish students. As someone connected to both communities, I was asked to mediate. Though the immediate issue wasn't resolved, it led to forming Cambridge University Jews and Christians (CUJAC), launching my unexpected career in reconciliation work. This expanded through the Council of Christians and Jews and eventually the International Council of Christians and Jews, where I became President of its Young Leadership Section for five years.
My reconciliation work brought me into contact with influential mentors including Sir Sigmund Sternberg, Dr. Elisabeth Maxwell, and Lord Donald Coggan, the former Archbishop of Canterbury. Lord Coggan gave me the motto that would define my life's approach: "Don't take care, take risks." During my time in Jerusalem, a Pentecostal leader named Ruth Heflin prophesied that my calling was to work for peace in the Middle East-words that would prove remarkably prescient.
After ordination, I served as a curate at St Mark's, Battersea Rise while continuing interfaith work and even working part-time in anesthetics. During this period, I met Caroline, a City lawyer who became my wife just ten months later. After my curacy, I became vicar at the Church of the Ascension in Balham Hill, where our congregation flourished with both traditional and charismatic services. Our son Josiah was born in 1996, and I became increasingly involved in local politics, eventually being elected to Wandsworth Council with responsibility for social services.
Then came the unexpected call to become Director of International Ministry for Coventry Cathedral-famous for its reconciliation work after being bombed in World War II. Despite my reluctance to leave London, I felt God's clear direction and accepted the position. Shortly after moving to Coventry, two life-changing events occurred on the same day: I was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis, and my second son Jacob was born-a day of both tragedy and splendor that foreshadowed the extremes that would characterize my life moving forward.
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Entering the Fire of Iraq
While Israel/Palestine had been my initial focus in reconciliation work, I felt increasingly drawn to Iraq, where sanctions and military actions were causing tremendous suffering. Despite numerous rejections, I finally received an unexpected invitation from Deputy Prime Minister Tariq Aziz to visit Baghdad. That first fourteen-hour journey from Jordan revealed the harsh realities of life under sanctions-cars with broken windscreens that couldn't be replaced due to import restrictions, children dying from preventable diseases.
Initially naive about the propaganda I encountered, I gradually recognized the evil nature of Saddam's regime while being constantly monitored by Iraqi Intelligence. These early visits proved crucial for building relationships with key religious leaders like Ayatollah Hussein al-Sadr and Sheikh Dr. Abdel Latif Humayem-connections that would later prove invaluable after the 2003 invasion.
By 2002, my focus had become clearer as I sought God's guidance to relieve suffering in Iraq. The International Centre for Reconciliation became involved in humanitarian projects, including establishing Iraq's first bone marrow transplant center. After much prayer, I reached the difficult conclusion that Saddam needed to be removed from power-a controversial stance for a peace center director.
Though I repeatedly urged British and American governments to engage with religious and tribal leaders post-war, this advice went unheeded until 2007 when General Petraeus asked me to form the "High Council of Religious Leaders in Iraq," which helped reduce violence significantly. Looking back, I can see how God prepared me for this work-from my darker skin that helps me blend in Iraq, to my dual training in medicine and ministry, to my Anglican background that bridges Western and Eastern Christian traditions. Even my multiple sclerosis served God's purpose by redirecting my career path away from church hierarchy toward this vital mission.
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The Essence of Faith in the Crucible
At St. George's Church in Baghdad, we begin every service with "Allah hu ma'na wa Ruh al-Qudus ma'na aithan"-"God is here, and His Holy Spirit is here." This simple phrase encapsulates faith under fire: we need not fear because God is present with us always. True faith means viewing life not from human perspective but from God's, allowing Him to work through us to accomplish what seems impossible.
This supernatural living-hearing God and obeying Him even when it defies logic-transforms our understanding of reality. Being thrust into fire accelerates this process; in Baghdad, we have no option but to live by total dependence on a supernatural God who constantly intervenes. I've witnessed more miraculous divine power in Iraq than anywhere else-from healings to babies raised from the dead to provision when we have nothing.
Living among a Muslim majority, our belief in one God is essential. We constantly explain that despite our Trinitarian understanding, we worship one God-a mystery we embrace even without complete comprehension. Equally vital is our belief in God as Creator of everything seen and unseen. In Iraq, believed to be the site of Eden itself, we live with this profound awareness of divine creation.
Most crucially, the Incarnation forms the center of my faith under fire-God is not distant but came to live among us as one of us. In Jesus, God became our brother who intimately knows human suffering. He is not disconnected from our pain; in Christ we have a God who has been in the line of fire. The cross symbolizes our faith in Baghdad-not a comfortable image but a reminder of cruel death. Yet Christ's resurrection means death cannot hold us either.
Hope is equally foundational to our faith under fire. Biblical hope isn't vague but solid and dependable-essential when facing a gun to your head. In Baghdad's harsh reality, hope means shifting our focus from problems to Jesus. Our God exists in past, present, and future, meaning His transformative presence is always with us. Looking at Baghdad's bombed buildings and barricades, I choose to see God's presence rather than despair.
Love completes this trinity of virtues sustaining us in Iraq. At St. George's, we end every service declaring "Al-Hubb, al-Hubb, al-Hubb"-"We must love, love, love." I reject the notion that we can love without liking someone; God's love always reveals something valuable in every person. I've witnessed love transform the seemingly unlovable, including Sheikh Talal Sidr, a former Hamas leader who became a peace advocate after experiencing our love. Surrounded by hatred-fueled atrocities, love becomes even more crucial, casting out all fear through its perfection.
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When Jesus Is All You Have Left
In the face of unimaginable loss, we discover that Jesus is all we need when He is all we have left. Though surrounded by people who have lost everything in Baghdad's violence, our church remains an Easter people with "Alleluia" as our song. The cross-our symbol-represents both suffering and resurrection, pain and hope. We experience both "Good Friday moments" and "Easter Sunday moments" often within the same day, as devastation is followed by glory, darkness obliterated by light.
Faith doesn't eliminate suffering but enables us to cope with tragedy. We experience immense pain mixed with joy, serving people who have no choice but to live in the fire. Our congregation has enormous needs-medical help, food, accommodation-which we meet through our clinic, weekly groceries, and rent assistance. I must raise $175,000 monthly, sustained by generous supporters like ten-year-old Joanna who donated her dog-fund money. These glimpses of love demonstrated visibly encourage us amid hardship.
Despite being under constant fire, St. George's is the happiest church I've ever served. We find hope in Scripture's promises about Iraq (Mesopotamia), mentioned throughout the Bible. Isaiah 19 describes Assyria as God's "handiwork," giving us tremendous hope. Those remaining in our congregation stay because they believe they're part of God's story in Iraq. We understand suffering through the lens of "partially inaugurated eschatology"-God's kingdom exists alongside the kingdom of darkness until Christ returns. In tragedy, when Jesus is all we have left, we discover He is all we need.
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The Persecution Reality
I've faced numerous attacks in Iraq, some opportunistic because I'm a Westerner, others deliberately targeted. Unlike my time in Israel/Palestine where attacks were politically motivated, here I'm with God's people under fire for their faith from spiritual sources. My congregation lacks the security protection I have, yet they're all at risk as known followers of Jesus. Even during bombings, like the car bomb that hit the Iranian Embassy killing over forty people on Easter Sunday, our congregation still flocked to service.
The suffering in Iraq is universal-everyone has enemies and faces persecution-but Christians face particularly severe threats. Last year alone, ninety-three members of my congregation were killed, and eleven of thirteen adult converts I baptized were dead within a week. Persecution centers on three Ps: perception, proclamation, and practice.
Perception involves how religious groups identify each other, with both Muslims and Christians claiming they can immediately recognize adherents of the other faith. My Muslim and Christian friends in Baghdad insist they can distinguish between faiths, describing in detail how the "other" looks. While I cannot tell the difference between most Iraqi Christians and Muslims, these perceptions feel very real to them and are shared by radicals intent on persecution.
Proclamation refers to Christians' need to share their faith, wearing crosses visibly despite risks. Christians in Iraq feel their faith must not be kept private. While careful not to be overtly evangelistic, they proclaim their faith and wear crosses visibly. Kidnapped Christians report being pressured to recite Islamic conversion words-most refuse, considering faith their life's most important aspect. Those few who converted under threat of death later sought forgiveness, becoming even stricter in their faith afterward.
Practice means Iraqi Christians actively participate in their faith-there's no concept of being "nominal" Christians as in the West. They attend church weekly and observe holy days, making their identity known in their communities despite the dangers. Christians in Iraq always practice their faith actively-there's no concept of being "nominal" as in the West. They attend church weekly on Fridays and Sundays, take days off for holy days, and live differently from the Muslim majority.
The violence against Christians in Iraq is disturbing because it's carried out in God's name. While my Muslim friends would never consider violence in God's name, some Muslims persecute Christians as "infidels" for not recognizing Mohammed as God's greatest prophet. Christians are also accused of Western connections, with many terrorists viewing everything Western as Christian and wrong. When church staff are kidnapped, as happened with my lay pastor Majid who was ransomed for $40,000, we can only turn to spiritual protection.
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The Cost and Reward of Following the Call
Though I never underestimate ministry difficulties in the West, I acknowledge I wouldn't be good at UK ministry anymore. When BBC journalist Michael Buerk asked if I was a "war junkie," I had to reflect. While war doesn't frighten me personally, I worry constantly about my congregation who are frequently scared, lack freedom and security, and are targeted simply for loving Jesus.
My greatest personal loss is limited time with my family-I try to see my wife Caroline and my boys monthly, but my hectic travel schedule makes this difficult. I once dreamed they could join me in Iraq, but that day seems far off. Another burden is fundraising-I need around $175,000 monthly to support our church, clinic, and staff families. I've also lost my personal freedom, living constantly surrounded by security personnel who watch me every minute. I feel like a prisoner, unable even to walk outside the church compound without armed guards and armored vehicles.
Despite these losses, they cannot compare with my gains-the wonderful people who are like family, experiencing God's tangible presence amidst violence and terror. In Iraq, I've witnessed healing on a completely different level than in England. At St George's, when our medical clinic can't help patients, they're sent to the church for prayer-and healing nearly always occurs. Our Mothers' Union members even witnessed a dead baby restored to life after praying over the infant's cold body in the mortuary.
About three years ago, we began seeing angelic forms at St George's-large, translucent male figures with wings. We also regularly witness strange images that look like wheels within wheels, similar to what Ezekiel described in his biblical vision. We've actually photographed these phenomena, which appear like wheels or blobs so prolific they're difficult to capture.
Beyond healings and angelic presences, we experience an unusual abundance of the Spirit's fruit-love, joy and peace amidst tragedy. The joy of the Lord truly becomes our strength; though we grieve when our people are killed or injured, we soon return to joy. When I reopened St George's in 2003, I preached on Haggai 2:9: "In this place I will grant peace." Though my initial hopes for political peace were quickly dashed as violence escalated, I realized God had fulfilled His promise differently-creating extraordinary spiritual peace within our compound.
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Healing in the Land of Suffering
I have multiple sclerosis, diagnosed in 1998. For seven years I managed fairly well, with only one period too ill to work. In 2003, my condition deteriorated, and I tried beta interferon treatment at over $1,000 monthly. The first injection caused severe allergic reactions-my skin turned red and I swelled up. My neurologist confirmed I couldn't take the only known treatment, leaving me with a bleak prognosis.
Around this time, I conducted the funeral of a friend who'd been diagnosed with MS the same time as me but had died from it. People constantly wanted to pray for my healing, often making me feel my illness was due to lack of faith, which became painfully difficult. This experience shaped how I now pray with others-never portraying illness as someone's fault.
Unlike most MS patients, hot weather improves my condition, allowing me to continue Middle East work despite deteriorating health. By 2005, I was spending most UK time bedridden, though still maintaining speaking engagements. Eventually my doctor declared me too ill for Church of England work, so I transitioned to working solely through the Foundation for Relief and Reconciliation in the Middle East while continuing my ministry in Iraq.
My health continued to deteriorate until December 2008, when Dr. Abdel Majid Hammadi, a professor of hematology I had worked with for years, proposed treating me with my own stem cells. After extracting stem cells from my blood using a machine I had unknowingly helped acquire for the bone marrow transplant unit, Dr. Majid injected them into my spine. Though the lumbar puncture caused severe pain, within hours I felt dramatically better. I've since had nineteen treatments, each targeting different symptoms, and for the first time ever, I've been getting better instead of worse.
Ironically, it was only in violence-torn Baghdad that I found healing. Dr. Majid and his colleague Dr. Saad have treated over 1,000 patients with auto-stem-cell therapy, helping those with MS, cerebral palsy, muscular dystrophy, Parkinson's, and other previously "untreatable" conditions. They've expanded to Kurdistan and treat patients from across the Arab world. It seems fitting that this healing comes from the land where the Garden of Eden once stood. My illness brought me to Iraq, and in Iraq I found treatment that allows me to continue God's work here.
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The Supernatural Perspective
When circumstances in Baghdad turn dire, I'm challenged to remain in God's presence rather than spiraling into despair. From this supernatural perspective, I experience His presence in three specific ways: living in His glory, following the Holy Spirit's guidance, and utilizing His spiritual gifts for ministry.
I speak more about God's glory than His kingdom because they're inseparable-His glorious presence empowers our service and deepens our capacity to love others. The Hebrew concept of Shekinah glory describes God's tangible dwelling presence. Though I never expected to witness God's glory in Iraq, I've experienced it through countless healings and miracles. An expert on Ezekiel explained this phenomenon, showing me from Scripture that God's glory went to Babylon with Israel in exile and would return to Jerusalem from the east. This revelation makes perfect sense-His glory truly resides here in Iraq, manifesting more powerfully the more dire our circumstances become.
The Holy Spirit's presence provides constant guidance and comfort in our dangerous environment. While it takes practice to recognize God's voice, I've learned to attune myself to His promptings, especially during difficult meetings with dangerous individuals. When facing complex religious sectarian issues or sitting across from people involved in killing, the Spirit always gives me words-often ones I wouldn't logically choose myself.
The gifts of the Holy Spirit are essential tools for our ministry. While Romans 12 lists seven "gifts of faith" glorifying God the Father and Ephesians 4 describes "gifts of action" glorifying the Son, we especially rely on the nine charismatic gifts from 1 Corinthians 12 that glorify the Spirit. These supernatural abilities-wisdom, knowledge, faith, healing, miraculous powers, prophecy, discernment, tongues, and interpretation-manifest daily in our community.
My strongest gift is discernment-identifying whether something is of God or evil. When working for peace, we must engage with conflict instigators, making this gift vital. Once in Amman, I immediately sensed evil in a well-educated visitor from Syria. Despite his innocuous appearance, I felt strongly we shouldn't work together. When he cryptically said, "Those who cure you will kill you," I asked him to leave. Later, I discovered he was an al-Qa'ida leader in Iraq, and his hint preceded terrorist attempts by doctors in Britain.
Faith transcends mere belief-it's the mountain-moving power born from time in God's presence, trusting His nature and promises. Monthly, I need $175,000 for St George's to feed 4,000 people, pay rents, run our clinic, and handle medical emergencies. Without reserves, this demands constant faith! God always provides, though frustratingly at the last moment.
Healing forms the heart of our church's ministry-at levels I've never witnessed elsewhere. As a doctor, I demand serious evidence before declaring someone healed. Baghdad's healings are authentic and dramatic-not vague shoulder pains but serious conditions like chronic renal failure completely reversed. Why? In tragedy's midst, God becomes extraordinarily real-He's closest when difficulties intensify, swiftly intervening when His people face dire need.
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The Path Forward Through Fire
Although living one day at a time in Baghdad, I must still maintain vision as St George's leader. All believers need forward vision-our faith in Jesus constantly advances, never retreats. Looking forward personally means confronting how others see me-either as someone to destroy or as an undeserved hero. I am who I am solely by God's grace, doing what He's sent me to do.
Since 2003, I've addressed religious sectarianism and violence against minorities-even securing the first joint Sunni-Shia fatwa against violence. Now corruption demands equal attention. Iraq cannot progress without tackling this pervasive issue, which requires Holy Spirit guidance. Corruption infects every level of Iraqi society. After liberation in 2003, everyone expected instant wealth without work. The mentality isn't earning money but taking it-bribes seem almost legitimate, especially from foreigners.
Moving forward requires the Holy Spirit's direction. Though fundamental peace seems elusive, we must continue working toward it. My peacemaking experience has revealed four essential components: relationships, risk-taking, relief, and reconciliation. Without substantive relationships, peacemaking is impossible. In the Middle East, friendship-building takes months or years-far longer than in the West.
As my mentor Lord Coggan said, "Don't take care, take risks!" Frontline peacemaking demands risk-taking. When forming Iraq's High Council of Religious Leaders, we included four types: those with large religious followings, those with media exposure, politically connected individuals, and those directly involved in violence. This last group entailed the greatest risk, but peace requires engaging those responsible for violence.
Essential to peacemaking is providing relief to conflict victims suffering from injury, bereavement, unemployment or destitution. Those involved in conflict need to demonstrate they can make a difference. Even those causing harm have needs that, when met, can turn them toward peace. Once relationships, risk-taking and relief are established, reconciliation becomes possible-though never guaranteed.
Even at wonderful St George's, we face problems and must move forward. We plan ahead despite not knowing what the next hour brings-bombs, closed roads, or deaths may derail our plans for "security" reasons. Yet the Lord keeps us progressing. Recently, our lay pastor Faiz became the first Iraqi trained and ordained as an Anglican clergyman in his country. Our clinic, suggested by my friend Jonathan Webb, materialized in two months despite having no initial funds or building. Though evangelizing outside would mean certain death, people now come to us. Even after car bombs completely destroyed the clinic once, God's grace restored it better than before within two months.
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The Eternal Presence in the Fire
At St George's, we experience God's presence most tangibly through His people-ordinary individuals doing extraordinary things in extraordinary circumstances. While some members, like the psalmist in Psalm 126, rejoice in God's provision despite hardship, others identify with Psalm 137's lament: "By the rivers of Babylon we sat and wept." Despite living in an "alien land" where Christians have no freedom or safety, we must still choose to praise God.
While Iraqi tradition keeps men and women separated in church (sitting on opposite sides of the aisle), I disagree with this practice. The women seem closer to God, and I want men to learn from them. Though four-fifths of Iraq's Christians have fled due to persecution, thousands still attend St George's, seeing the church as God's house and our food and healthcare as divine provision. Unlike many Iraqis who blame God for their suffering, our congregation forms a positive community that recognizes God's presence in each other's eyes and hears His "gentle whisper."
At St George's, we experience God's real presence through Holy Communion in three dimensions according to Thomas Aquinas' teaching: commemorating Christ's past sacrifice, uniting the church as we communicate with Christ through the emblems, and prefiguring our future union with Christ in heaven. Even amidst rocket fire and sectarian violence, we know the Lord is with us-revealing Himself through miracles, speaking in gentle whispers, meeting us in the Eucharist, and binding us together as a community.
On October 31, 2010, nine al-Qa'ida terrorists invaded the nearby Syrian Catholic church, killing fifty-eight people in the worst massacre of Iraqi Christians in years. The following week, our congregation decreased by 500 to 3,500 as many fled to Syria. Despite this tragedy, I preached on Romans 8, reminding our people that though we suffer with Christ, we also see His glory. Despite French offers of asylum, most of our congregation resolved to stay, affirming that "the Lord is here and His Spirit is with us."
The words of Habakkuk resonate deeply with Iraqis, especially his cry of frustration: "How long, O Lord, must I call for help, but you do not listen?" Like the prophet, we experience intense frustration at the violence and injustice surrounding us. Yet we know God isn't silent or unaware. His answer to Habakkuk is His answer to us: "Look at the nations and watch-and be utterly amazed. For I am going to do something in your days that you would not believe."
Habakkuk learned, as we have, that despite having nothing, God is still everything. Despite our suffering we are joyful! I lead the happiest church I've ever known. I've been shot at, held at gunpoint, kidnapped, with bounties on my head, but the heat of the fire is intense here, and so is the joy of the Lord. "This is my story, this is my song, Praising my Saviour all the day long."
