By Mohammad Hammoud
When Pope Leo XIV stepped off the plane in Beirut on November 30, 2025, the defiance of his choice of destination was unmistakable. According to Reuters, the visit marked his first trip abroad since his election in May, after the death of Pope Francis — a moment when most new popes choose safe, symbolic capitals. Instead, Leo charted a path through Turkey for the 1700th anniversary of the First Council of Nicaea [325 AD] and then directly into Lebanon, a country battered by war, financial ruin, and political paralysis.
The decision landed like a verdict. By bypassing the usual diplomatic showcases, the new pontiff signaled that he intended to confront volatility rather than orbit it. Lebanon was not scenery; it was the front line of a shrinking Christian presence in the region. His arrival made clear that the Vatican believes that presence — fragile, embattled, and increasingly uncertain — is worth defending.
Lebanon's Fragile Mosaic and the Maronite Anchor
Lebanon remains the only Arab country where a Christian occupies the presidency within a confessional power-sharing system: a Maronite president, a Sunni prime minister, and a Shia parliamentary speaker. Created by the 1943 National Pact, this formula was designed to guarantee Christians real political space rather than symbolic inclusion. But that space is under severe strain as the Christian share of the population plunges due to emigration and economic collapse.
From Antioch to Mount Lebanon
The Maronite story begins with Saint Maron, a Syrian hermit and priest of the 4th and early 5th centuries near Antioch. His followers, shaped by a Syriac monastic tradition, gradually moved into the mountains of Mount Lebanon. The migration started around 450 AD but surged in the 7th and 8th centuries as the community fled Byzantine-Arab conflicts and pressures from rival Christian groups.
A Church That Governed Itself and Endured
By 687 AD, the Maronites elected their first Patriarch, St. John Maron, forming a self-governing church that became Lebanon's largest Christian denomination. The Maronite Church remains the only Eastern Catholic Church named after its founder. Even as it preserved its Syriac liturgy and mountain-honed identity, it entered full communion with Rome in the 12th century — a relationship that survived Crusades, Ottoman rule, civil wars, and the making of modern Lebanon.
Why This Papal Visit Cuts Deep?
For many Lebanese Christians, the Pope's presence is more than diplomacy. It acknowledges a community that has endured isolation, war, displacement, and demographic collapse — and reminds them that their future in the heartland of the Maronite identity is far from secure. His visit offers rare reassurance in a region where ancient Christian communities continue to shrink, signaling that their story still matters.
A Church Reconciling with History — Catholics, Jews, and "Israel"
The Catholic Church's relationship with Jews has been fraught. For centuries, Christian Europe held Jews collectively responsible for the crucifixion, fueling persecution, ghettos, and expulsions. The Second Vatican Council's 1965 declaration Nostra Aetate repudiated that doctrine, affirming respect for Judaism as a living faith.
Decades later, the Vatican recognized “Israel”. The Guardian reported that diplomatic relations were established in 1993 after difficult deliberations over Christian minorities and the status of Occupied Al-Quds. Popes since have acknowledged Jewish suffering, including the Holocaust, while criticizing occupation policies and settlement expansion.
A Moral Challenge, Not a Blessing
In Beirut's churches, ruins, and wounded streets, the Pope offers witness rather than miracles. Facing foreign envoys, local power brokers, and citizens worn thin by collapse, he insists on a simple line: dignity must be honored, plurality protected, and responsibility faced.
Lebanon's future will depend not on papal words but on decisions made once the crowds disperse. If political leaders continue trading accountability for survival, and global powers continue treating Lebanon as a bargaining chip, no blessing will hold the country together.
And yet, the image of Pope Leo XIV stepping onto broken asphalt stays with people — not because it solves anything, but because it exposes what too many have ignored.
The visit leaves no miracle behind, only a question Lebanon's rulers and their foreign partners can no longer avoid: If this country matters enough for a pontiff to risk coming, why does it matter so little to the world powers that they allow "Israel" to bomb it whenever it chooses?
No comments:
Post a Comment