Eight years after the defeat of ISIS, two historic churches in Mosul—the Syriac Orthodox Church of Mar Toma and the Chaldean Church of Al-Tahira—have reopened their doors. For the city’s Christian community, whose presence in Iraq dates back nearly two millennia, the sound of church bells once again echoing through the Old City is more than symbolic—it’s a quiet victory of endurance and faith.
When the so-called Islamic State seized Mosul in 2014, the city’s ancient neighborhoods were devastated. Christians, Yazidis, and other minorities fled en masse. Churches were desecrated, crosses torn down, and centuries-old artifacts destroyed. By the time Mosul was liberated in 2017, entire quarters lay in ruins. The once-thriving Christian population of more than 40,000 had dwindled to a few dozen families.
Against this backdrop, the reopening of Mar Toma and Al-Tahira is nothing short of remarkable. Dating back to the 7th and 18th centuries respectively, the two churches are among Mosul’s oldest Christian landmarks. Both had been severely vandalized—Mar Toma even repurposed as a prison by ISIS—and their restoration required patience, skill, and a shared sense of purpose.
According to Vatican News, Patriarch Louis Raphaël Sako, head of Iraq’s Chaldean Church, spoke at the ceremony: “These churches are our roots, our history. We need to keep them alive.” His words captured the mood of those gathered—clergy, local officials, and ordinary Moslawis, Christian and Muslim alike.
The restoration was led by ALIPH, an international fund for cultural heritage, alongside the French Catholic charity L’Oeuvre d’Orient. Their collaboration not only repaired stone and marble but helped rebuild trust and confidence in a city still healing from war.
Vatican News recalls how one of the restorers, Fadi, a 27-year-old Mosul native, spent three years training before working on the intricate Gate of the Twelve Apostles at Mar Toma. “It’s a sign of hope,” he told Vatican News. “It shows the Christians abroad that things are better now, that they can come home.”
That word—hope—resonates deeply here. For Iraq’s Christians, hope has long been a fragile thing, tested by exile, persecution, and loss. Yet the reopening of these two churches suggests a quiet renewal, not only of faith but of belonging.
Msgr. Hugues de Woillemont, Director General of L’Oeuvre d’Orient, called the day “a celebration for all of Mosul.” Soon, he told Vatican News, “worship will begin here again—and the church bells will ring out once more.”
Their sound, carried over the Tigris, will mingle with the city’s calls to prayer—a reminder that despite violence and division, coexistence is possible. As the Catechism of the Catholic Church teaches, “Hope is the sure and steadfast anchor of the soul.” (CCC 1820)
In Mosul’s Old City, that anchor has held fast. And now, with each tolling bell, the city’s long-silenced faith speaks again.
