A Return to Our Spiritual Heritage and Destiny…

It feels good to be a descendant of the courageous Rab Khaila Zaia Gewargis (George) who defended Habbaniyah and a large Christian enclave when it was attacked by over 60,000 Iraqi soldiers and Arab tribal fighters.

Having a Grandpa like him must be close to what it feels like to be the grandson of Geronimo! Even my 85 year-old dad remembers sitting inside a bunker as a child while the place was being shelled by the attackers. The frightening sounds were serious but he was young enough to still believe that his dad was better than superman.

Fortunately Zaia Gewargis did not let him down. Dad still remembers the joy and pride he felt when his dad led 1,500 Assyrian levies out in a victorious charge that chased the large army of aggressors all the way back to Bagdad.

He remembers fondly how his dad, earned and held the leadership title “Rab Khaila” and always helped his people when they were in need. It didn’t matter whether it was food, money, or something bigger. My Grandpa was a larger than life hero for our Assyrian people and it always felt special to be the son and grandson of the Rab Khaila. I hope to share more memories of Grandpa Zaia Gewargis in later writings.

But for now I want to shift back to more recent times. Last month, when I went with my daughter and her son (Zaia’s first great, great grandson) to visit his grave, I experienced a number of deep feelings.

I will try to explain them by first noting that ethnic identity is a less common thing these days. Saint Patrick’s Day only scrapes the surface of what a group identity can mean in a strongly ethnic person’s life. It can even become a totally preoccupying experience from the time we get up, to what we eat, to what we say, and even what we think. It can be everything until we go back to bed and enter our dreams. The “us” can easily eclipse the “me.”

But new attractions now surround and penetrate the younger generations. So that what it means to be Assyrian is being challenged by the inevitable influence of more dominant cultures. We see our young people finding role models and styles from the outside world and this may be threatening. Some of the things that the media and entertainment factories try to sell the public are toxic for any culture.

Many of the older ones worry about this. But at the same time we can choose to be thankful and celebrate not only that we are still here but also the good things that are all around us!

Assyrians have survived the millennia by being adaptive. After all, we adapted to the faith and God of an outsider named Jonah thousands of years ago, and it paid-off for us!

Still later, we responded to the outsider’s story of the first coming of Isho MShikha (Jesus the Messiah) through the ministry of the Apostle Thomas. He overcame his doubts and so did we. This became part of our identity as well, and though we have paid dearly for it with our own blood, many of us remain faithful to our spiritual journeys and are blessed by the Word of God.

I have taken from this adaptive and spiritual legacy far and it has helped me. I have had the honor of being welcomed and adopted by many tribes. It has been my privilege to receive new names from the Cheyenne, Navajo, Apache, and Pima. But now I realize I have given very little back to my own people.

So returning to my Grandpa’s grave  brought me a sense of my own indebtedness to the Assyrian heritage. It was something that he reminded me of as a child and though I feel I have failed at this, I’m grateful that it is not too late for me to give more…not just to my people but to all my human and spiritual family on this troubled planet!

The pilgrimage to his grave also challenged me to continue to grow spiritually even as my Grandpa Zaia did before and after he came to the States. Though he grew weaker with illness he was, at the same time, renewing himself spiritually. [I intend to share a posting that is dedicated to his spiritual journey at a later time.]

I remember how he, in his weakened condition, gave great gifts that still move me. Outwardly someone might have said that he was just an aging man, but inwardly he had a greater wealth of understanding and knowledge than our family could imagine…I regret not trying to learn more from him. Yet he taught me what was most important.

I will never forget the last words I ever heard my Grandpa Zaia say… It happened on the day when my dad asked him if he was ready to see Jesus. He was in the late stages of emphysema and fighting for every breath, but his voice rang out loud and clear “I am always ready!”

It was a good way to die, but it is also a very good way to live!

“He that has an ear, let him hear what the Spirit says to the churches. To him that overcomes will I give to eat of the hidden manna. And will give him a white stone, and in the stone a new name written, which no man knows save he that receives it.” Revelation 2: 17

P.S. Even if you don’t know anyone in your ancestry to feel good about. Remember…you are a descendant of your Heavenly Father! (Matthew 23: 9)