During a moment of fragile ceasefire, some displaced people dared to return to their villages, driven by the desire to see with their own eyes what remained of their homes. What they found, however, was a landscape of desolation: entire communities reduced to dust, unrecognizable streets, memories buried under piles of rubble. For many, the very idea of "home" has become a distant mirage, a dream vanished in the smoke of conflict. They took photographs, images they now carry with them like open wounds, showing them to those who, with generosity, are hosting them in this season of uncertainty.
"Yesterday I met them, and they had these scenes of destruction imprinted in their eyes and on their phone screens," recounts Marianne Najm, a member of the Focolare community in Lebanon, from her Beirut. "I saw a deep sadness, accompanied by fear for an uncertain future and a widespread sense of insecurity. But, I must say, I did not see total despair, nor incessant weeping. In some way, this is already a sign of hope, perhaps of a trusting abandonment to Providence, to that faith which prevents the soul from collapsing completely."
A Refuge in the Heart of the Storm: St. Anne's Seminary
Together with families, young people, and children of the Movement, Marianne supports those running a reception center north of the capital. Thanks to the Greek-Catholic Church, at St. Anne's Seminary in Rabweh, about 125 people find shelter, around thirty families, all from the city of Tyre. In this space, life attempts with difficulty to reorganize itself.
Volunteers from various associations go there almost daily to assist the responsible priest and support the families in their daily needs. Young people organize playtime with the children, creating a precious space not only for fun but for encounter, dialogue, and the building of authentic human relationships. Amidst the precariousness, bonds are born that become mutual support.
"Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted."
Matthew 5:4 (NIV)
"There is an enormous weariness," confides Marianne. "They feel it, and we feel it too. This is not a situation that has concluded, nor does it seem destined to do so soon. What we are experiencing is very intense; it absorbs all our energy. We are all extremely tested." This weariness is not only physical but especially of the soul, a weight that burdens the shoulders of those trying to keep a flicker of normality alive.
Beirut: Apparent Normality and Hidden Wounds
Meanwhile, how does one live in Beirut? In the area where Marianne resides, the situation seems almost normal. People go to school, go to work. Of course, it's not possible to do everything one would wish, movements are limited, but life seems to flow in a fairly ordinary way. On the surface, routine attempts to mask the crisis.
In reality, however, many difficulties persist. Uncertainty is a constant companion, and a ceasefire always in the balance does not allow for planning with serenity. Fear of tomorrow creeps into thoughts, into suspended conversations, into worried glances. The question that arises spontaneously is: how does one face all this? How does one resist without losing hope?
The answer, for many, lies precisely in that faith Marianne spoke of. Not an escape from reality, but an inner strength that allows one to look at the rubble without being crushed by it. It is the awareness of not being alone, sustained by community and by the certainty that, as the Psalmist reminds us, God is "our refuge and strength" (Psalm 46:1 NIV).
The Strength of the Christian Community
In this context, the ecumenical response of the Churches in Lebanon is an important beacon. The initiative of collaboration between different Christian traditions shows that, beyond differences, there is a common commitment to compassion and helping one's neighbor. In a country marked by divisions, this testimony of unity in charity is a ray of light in the darkness.
Marianne and her companions are part of this collective effort. Their work is not limited to providing food and shelter but seeks to restore human dignity, offer spiritual comfort, and remind each person that their life has value before God. In activities with children, in conversations with adults, in moments of shared prayer, a network of support is woven that sustains the spirit.
Hope, then, is not a naive illusion. It is a theological virtue nourished by faith and expressed in concrete love. In Lebanon, this hope has the face of those who, like Marianne, choose to stay, accompany, and serve, believing that even in the valley of the shadow of death, the light of Christ shines through the solidarity of His followers.
Comments