Flashes of Light from the Bottom of Darkness
Lessons from the Lebanon War
Professor Dr. Michel Abs
Secretary General of the Middle East Council of Churches (MECC)
Lebanon experienced, for a considerable period, a bitter ordeal that led to thousands of casualties, the displacement of a quarter of the Lebanese population, the destruction of more than fifty thousand homes, and an unknown number of businesses. Additionally, some southern villages were erased from the national map, albeit temporarily.
In the midst of this crisis, the Lebanese once again proved that they are a people who love life and deserve it. Their solidarity and social and national unity are stronger than all the violent storms that have battered the nation.
The quarter of the Lebanese population who were displaced—overwhelmingly from a particular religious community — found warm hearts embracing them in the areas to which they fled.
The reception the displaced received, and the care and attention bestowed upon them by the host communities, were exemplary and exceeded all expectations. This was evident during the displaced people's stay in their places of refuge, as expressed by the returnees upon their return to their neighborhoods and villages.
Indeed, we can say more than that. This displacement and embrace, and the approximately two-month stay in host areas, fostered friendships through good treatment. This is also what the displaced expressed upon their return, laying the foundation for tomorrow's Lebanon, where its people interact with one another within the crucible of the nation.
During this displacement, the true image of the Lebanese people, their values, and the eternal bond that ties them to one another became clearly evident — a bond that dates back thousands of years and which no force on earth can break.
This is the first flash. As for the second, it is represented by the swift return of the displaced, even to their homes leveled to the ground.
At four o'clock in the morning—the time the ceasefire came into effect—thousands of displaced families had packed their belongings and set out, heading toward their neighborhoods or villages.
These families did not think about their homes leveled to the ground, the villages most of which had been bulldozed, the destroyed infrastructure, or any obstacle that might prevent their return to their lairs, to their homes, to their dignity. They were prepared to spread out on the soil of their homeland and be covered by its sky.
The displaced longed for their villages, for the areas where they were born and raised, which hold their memories. So they packed their belongings and set out, guided and protected by a merciful Lord, for He is their refuge and support.
The sight of thousands of cars filling Lebanon's roads—from its far north, east, and west, heading toward its south, the Bekaa Valley, and the suburbs of its capital—tells stories that volumes cannot encompass; stories of loyalty to the homeland, attachment to the land, passion for the daily life they missed, and tales of pride and dignity. The message is that we will not be refugees in our own country, and our forced displacement is nothing but a transient incident in our modern history. Despite the aggression and danger, here I am returning to my home, whether it is intact, in need of repair, or demolished. My presence in this place suffices as spiritual nourishment, reinforced by hope that comes from faith in a Creator who does not abandon His servants. These people embodied the act of resurrection in its most splendid meanings, particularly evident when they speak about those among them who have departed this world.
From the bottom of Lebanon's darkness, from the heart of the fierce war it endured, the Lebanese are still capable of sending messages of light and hope to the entire world.
In doing so, they have become a model to be emulated.