A dream came true for me in the summer of 1996: I was able to spend two months in the land of Lebanon. My purpose for going was two-fold: first, to immerse myself in the Middle Eastern culture; and second, to take a break from he academic routine of doctoral studies. It was a time or real growth in my knowledge of Christian life outside of the West and, believe it or not, a time of rest and refreshment. As an outsider observing another people I\and its traditions, I was able to get a critical perspective on my own Roman Catholic faith and Western mentality.
In many ways I felt like Marco Polo discovering a delightful new world of treasure and spices. What I found in Lebanon was a culture that has preserved many treasures that the West has often ignored or discarded. Sometimes, incredibly, Lebanese are not even aware of what they have until an outsider tells them! My travels throughout the country — north, south, the Beqaa, the chouf — testified to the same observations about what sets Lebanon apart from America and Europe.
"Old Lebanese House" (c) 1985 by Flavia Codsi
The First Treasure: Hospitality
Hospitality is at the top of all priorities. I can come at any hour and
to any home, perhaps any office or work place, and expect a welcome. One
night I dropped in on a friend, Joseph. Not I alone, but five others as
well, It was close to 10 p.m. on a weekday. Joseph had just moved into
this new apartment a scant two days earlier, so there were piles everywhere.
He was in the midst of finances. His wife Nicole was laying down in the
next room, eight months pregnant, and exhausted from her two daytime jobs.
Joseph is an engineer, and he told me that there he had numerous job deadlines
approaching. Yet as soon as we appeared, he broke into a big smile, shook
our hands, welcomed us, and acted like he had nothing else to do but socialize
with us. Out came the beer, the bottle of Scotch, and the Pepsis. The drinks
were quickly followed by nuts and chips and the special snack preferred
by Lebanese, green almonds. After about two hours of fellowship, Joseph
brought out his guitar, and we all sang songs. At midnight he turned to
me and said, "Do you want to go out for ice cream?" Lebanese
hospitality is simply irrepressible!
Another time I spend a weekend in the southern village of Magdouche. The family dinner after Sunday liturgy is my final time with Hasim and his cousins Samir and Hassan. Father Nazih, their uncle visiting from Israel where he is a school principal, and all the siblings and their spouses and children gather at along make-shift table. All the women are bustling around in the last minute "banquet" preparations, and the men hang around the table drinking arak and chattering in Arabic mostly, but often for my benefit in French and English.
Serving the food begins with me, so it dawns on me that I am the guest of honor for this feast. Hasim's mother watches eagle-eye over my plate to make sure it is never empty, and Hasim's women relatives suggests all sorts of different foods to try on the table.
Alas! It must come to an end. As soon as the fruit comes out marking dessert, I make motions to leave. Every adult stands to bid me farewell, either with a handshake or a Trinitarian Lebanese kiss. Parting is such sweet sorrow! I must confess that it was always easier for me in Lebanon to kiss the women and shake hands with the men, but in Mahdouche I could have kissed everyone. Had I the social liberty, I would have kissed their hands and patter their backs, too. They had given a cup of cold water to a thirsty soul, one of Christ's little ones.
Even in business and work is not excuse for not welcoming a stranger. In Achrafie, a district of Beirut, I went to visit my engineer friend, Joseph. When his colleagues recognize that I am a friend of Joseph and a foreigner, all work stops, and everyone greets me.
I am embarrassed to interrupt everyone's work. My friend is not here. But Elie Chidiac, the president, is in and wants to see me. I am directed to his office, and Mr. Chidiac stops his work, sits me down at his desk, and begins to speak with me as if he had been waiting for me all day. He asks about my research, my travels, my well-being. He orders coffee for me and sips his own coffee slowly as if to tell me to relax and make myself at home. Meanwhile all around us the phone is ringing, and the normal office bustle is picking up again. Twenty minutes later Elie instructs his secretary to phone my friend on his portable phone. My time with Elie shows the difference between Western functionality and Eastern sociability.
The Second Treasure: Family
I had the good fortune one afternoon to visit the home of an eye doctor. Our lunch was no mere "bite to eat", but a lavish banquet. So now, I thought, I go home. Wrong. Dr. Charbel simply assumed I would spend the rest of the afternoon, until dinner, with the family. One hour was spent playing basketball with the boys and neighborhood children. Another hour was spent in siesta...Not too much later came supper, which was much too soon after lunch for me to eat anything. Even then, supper did not end my day with the family. Instead, there were family prayers around the parents' bed and nighttime kisses from all six children.
You know what? When I heard the children individually pray in English, thanking God for "Ammou (uncle) Mark's visit", and after their kisses and entreaties for me to spend the night with them, I would have spent another week! There is enough love circulating here that it includes the whole family from the 15-year-old to the 2-year-old to a complete stranger who is now as close as a long lost uncle.
The Third Treasure: Community
Sorrows and joys are never hoarded up by the individual, but freely shared and expressed. The best illustration of this is found in my friend, Father George, the twenty-something pastor of a church in Bikfaiya, the mountain resort town. "Abouna-Greige", as I call him, indulges in smiles, the lights of his eyes magnified by shine of his prematurely balding head. We met for the last time at a wedding held in the Greek Orthodox church, and he again exercises his gregarious mirth: "I was asked by a friend to give a blessing to her car. I told her I would pray for her driving, not for her car. Since that time, she has had three accidents", he jokes. "Finally I prayed the Greek Catholic prayer for cars. Know what? She has been fine ever since!"
Father George is all the more memorable for me when I consider his trials. His mother is dying of cancer. He has inherited a languishing parish, struggling with conflicts and jealousies. Yet he is always leading the music instructions. Always smiling. Occasionally cracking a joke. "Abouna Greige", I say, "would you give me a blessing?" Having received his special "traveler's blessing", Greek Catholic and Arabic to boot, I depart.
Conclusions
These are some of the treasure of Lebanon, even more delightful and abundant than its proverbial fruit (Ps 72:16). The picture I represented intentionally includes a variety of Christians. I do not think it is wise to see Lebanon dispersed into islands of Christianity, all mutually separated and alone. Maronites, Melkites, Greek Orthodox, Syrian Orthodox, and Armenian Catholics and Orthodox — even the small, but Protestant community — share the treasures I note above, and all are important for national unity and consensus.
While in Lebanon, I attended prayer meetings which brought together all these aforementioned groups in an atmosphere of mutual acceptance and even joy. The Christians in Lebanon have begun to recognize that they can no longer be isolated and competitive. Many are already exploring neighboring communities of Christians and uniting with them for the spiritual well- being of Lebanon.
In a climate of uncertainty about the economy and the constant threat of war, Lebanese are recognizing that military and political solutions are nothing in comparison with the security and stability of God's eternal kingdom.
Let me close with an entry from my diary which came near the end of my stay in Lebanon. I had been invited to participate in a youth mission at a local Maronite church, and many of the people who came were excited that their faith was alive and very close. We were on our way back to Beirut:
21 July, Aintoura. The night settles early as the fog and mist descend on the mountains. Though the damp coolness hugs the heights, the valley below, which nurtures Beirut, is still choked with its pollution and heat. As true darkness descends, the fog lets up, and millions of stars peer down mirthfully as if to say, "Lebanon, you cannot hide!" A few moments in the cool and clean air, and now I must descend. Occasionally we all need to see the stars.
(c) 1997 Mark F. Whitters