Same But Different

69. Same But Different (4 August 2026)

A memorial walkway, with one olive tree for
each one who died, and their name engraved 
on a plaque (4 Aug. 2026 - Port of Beirut)

For the past six years the same scene on the coastal highway of Beirut plays like a rerun. Crowds gather on the “autostrade”, vehicle traffic is diverted from the protion astride the Port of Beirut, speeches are made and tears are shed for the hundreds killed or maimed in the 2020 disaster, for which not a single person has been held accountable. It’s always the same: crisis, death, tragedy, and no accountability.

            Maria, Sevag and I were visiting friends that day six years ago, enjoying some properly-masked, outdoor, Covid-era socialization, when in an instant the world changed. It was a day very different than the five anniversaries since: part summer beauty, part horror movie. And subsequent August fourths have been different, yet mired in the numbing sameness of impunity that blankets not just Lebanon, but all the countries of the region. How easy and how natural it is to conclude that nothing will ever change, particularly in the Middle East?

We were wondering, "What will open next to 
the Starbucks coffeeshop?" We returned to 
find that a "Latte Art" coffeeshop opened.
(18 July 2026 - Mar Mikhael-Beirut)

            After a 130-day stay in Armenia we returned home to Lebanon over two weeks ago. The reason I know that number is because each night my computer reminded me how long it had been since its last backup. So, arriving home and reconnecting the backup drive was particularly satisfying, and not the usual same-old same-old.

            Reconnecting with daily life in Beirut brought a strange sensation of being the same as any other day, like we had never left; yet something was different. Nothing seemed out of place, and we had no sense of disconnection. Everything appeared the same, save that it was cold then and stiflingly hot and humid now. Things we were following in the news since March, such as displaced families along the seaside and tent cities on open lots, were nowhere to be seen. Before our return they had been moved to other locations set up by the government, it seems. The construction of huge, meaningless structures has continued. Weddings, graduations and social activities went on without hiatus. The dollarization of the economy continued, as has emigration from Lebanon to the ostensibly “secure” West. Everything was just as it has always been. Or perhaps not.

The latest archaeological dig, right behind us;
and another dig to the left of the tall white
building. (21 July 2026 - Geitawi-Beirut)

            On the street directly behind our residence (and the church headquarters) two lots have been temporarily spared from having new apartment buildings erected on them, because Roman-era structures were found just under the surface of the soil. Archaeologists have expressed surprise at these findings, as they had no evidence that the city limits of Berytus (as it was called 2,000 years ago) extended this far east. Additionally, in these past months a Roman necropolis (cemetery) was unearthed nearby. I am sure that there is much more that could be found if there is a willingness – and funding – to do so. And the accepted history of the city will change!

One last coffee before our departure!
Smile! (15 July 2026 - Yerevan)

            One can be numbed by sameness, or near-sameness, and miss seeing the changes and developments that occur all the time. I try to take note of variations, whether in music or speech or ideas, differences that help me to maintain interest in things that seem deathly stable. Even when dealing with people who “will never change”, there, too, I can see changes, though it might be for the worse.

            “So, how was Armenia?” – I am excitedly asked by people who are tired of the daily challenges of life in Lebanon, expecting me to praise every detail of Armenia (by which they mean the Yerevan that they know from their 10-day vacations there) and do the usual, point-by-point comparisons, putting Lebanon down. When I try to point out both pros and cons, striving to present a more nuanced picture, they are often not interested, certain that the “Armenia-good/Lebanon-bad” formula is the unchanging standard. Our extended stay there enriched our appreciation both for what Armenia has, as well as what it doesn’t have. We understood more deeply that Armenia is more than a political entity; what is “Armenia” and “of Armenia” is also present in people and places outside those borders, not the least of which include Lebanon and Syria.

LebCat 69: "Oh, hello. Since you weren't
using your balcony for the past 4-1/2 months,
I kept all the strangers away, OK?" 
(26 July 2026 - Geitawi-Beirut)

            “So, what’s it like in Lebanon?” – I am also asked by those who assume it is better than life in Armenia. Their question is often tinged with regrets over the war, which may be thwarting their hopes for leaving Armenia. Others will ask how safe it is to be living in a non-Christian country and are surprised when I reveal that Arabs can also be Christian. My telling them, “It’s the same in many ways, but also different” does not convince them to appreciate the layers of understanding demanded by such questions, sure as they are that my answers will be the same as the conclusions they’ve already drawn.

            Definitely, it can be disconcerting to continually have to deal with what is familiar but not exactly what you expected. My guess is that the “same but different” principle not only keeps learning about things fresh and active, but it keeps human relationships that way, too!   [LNB]

Letters from Exile

 68. Letters from Exile (24 April 2026)

Year upon year this awareness is inculcated
in the hearts of the next generation
(24 April 2026 - Yerevan)

It has been 52 days since our “exit” from Beirut at the outbreak of the latest war on Lebanon, at the behest of our mission board. We have settled into a somewhat regular existence here in Yerevan, Armenia, contributing what we can online to the churches and institutions we were called to serve, while also offering occasional support in person to the Armenian Evangelical church union here. There are quite a few around us, clergy and others, whom we know from time they have spent in Beirut. There are also those who have sought refuge here in Armenia, sort-of “exiles” from their homelands.

Though in the distance, Ararat is an integral 
part of the Genocide Memorial
(24 April 2026 - Yerevan)

            “Homeland” is a contested concept for Armenians. The expectation of many non-Armenians is that Armenians the world over, without exception, consider today’s Republic of Armenia as their “homeland”. True, it is the only political entity that can be found on a modern map that provides that particular identity. Yet it also can be seen in the equivalency held by many Armenians as well, insisting that Armenians everywhere must think and feel that Armenia is their only homeland. However, many others, and possibly a majority of Armenians, carry a dual loyalty. They hold today’s Armenia in a special place in their self-understanding, while also remaining deeply rooted in their Diaspora homelands. Additionally, they often bear yet a third, precious “homeland” in their hearts, one that is rooted in the soil of Western Armenia. So, an Armenian who was born and raised in the Middle East can be deeply connected to the Republic of Armenia, visiting it often and caring about its present and future; and said person may also feel a strange magnetic pull when visiting various sites in today’s Turkey and seeing the people and places from which their parents, grandparents and even great-grandparents were driven. They are – that is, we are – ever children of exile, the descendants of those whose roots were pulled from their native soil, whose roots have been repeatedly replanted: belonging to more than one homeland, yet not fully belonging to any of them.

The ECA/AMAA delegation presenting their 
floral wreaths (24 April 2026 - Yerevan)

            Today, Armenian Martyrs’ Day, as we recall for the 111^th time national displacement and loss, and inhabit the collective trauma that is yet a further, possibly universal, “homeland” for Armenians, I cannot help but experience regret. I regret all of the fragile root tendrils my elders carried, tendrils that I could have cared for in my childhood and adolescence, but did not, or was not encouraged to. Because collective amnesia (not just by the perpetrators, but also by those who suffered) is sometimes the only way to deal with a history too ugly to recall. Still, those tender roots that I did cultivate over the years have nevertheless sustained me and helped me to bear days like today, in such a situation in which we find ourselves. One thing that this extended stay in Armenia has shown me (the longest stretch we have ever had in Armenia), is that with God’s help my heart can stretch such that I can call this place “homeland”, while also calling Lebanon “home,” and the United States, too. Each has its own flavor and its own pull. Each has its own frustrations and disappointments. I do not have to close my heart towards two of them in order to embrace the third. This is not a revelation, of course; it is what it means to be a “third-culture” kid. (Look it up.)

Assyrian-Armenians preparing to ascend to 
the Genocide memorial; a shared struggle 
(24 April 2026 - Yerevan)

            Today I joined my Armenian Evangelical colleagues and friends, and mixed together with many Armenians, Armenian-Assyrians, Armenian-Yezdis, along with a smattering of Europeans and Americans (aside from me, that is), to make the long climb to the Genocide Memorial, the “Fortress of Swallows”, and remember, and reconnect, and rededicate ourselves to our rightful place among the living, and refuse to be a relic or an oddity in this world. I pray my descendants, whether by blood or by choice, will honor their ancestors by carrying forward a legacy of wisdom, sacrifice, service, creativity and faith. Easier said than done.

A symbol of what is, can, and should be 
Lebanon: Lent and Ramadan fasting 
on the same days this year 
(21 Feb. 2026 - Port of Beirut)

            Last week we ran into friends from Artsakh, friends we hadn’t seen since before the Armenian population was blockaded in 2023 and then “allowed” by Azerbaijan to abandon their centuries-old homeland. Seeing them and hearing about their children and grandchildren was heartwarming and hopeful, and they seemed to be adjusting, bit by bit, to their new homeland, Armenia. We weren’t completely lost as we conversed, since they spoke to us in Yerevan Armenian rather than their Artsakh dialect. That is, until a friend of theirs from Stepanakert approached, and they immediately switched to the language of their homeland!

LebCat(s) 68 - The butcher's window; 
better than watching CatTV 
(27 Feb. 2026 - Mar Mikhael, Beirut)

            This friend said to me, “I am sad for our lost homeland, but you know what makes me sadder? Seeing the way things are today in Armenia.” I asked him to say a little more, and he obliquely hinted at the divisions that are making Armenians intolerant of one another, dividing into factions and thinking the worst of others. Being that there are parliamentary elections in 44 days, this atmosphere will likely only intensify and will be unlikely to recede following that day.

            As our exile from Lebanon grows longer, we are also concerned about that which is dividing the people in our Lebanese homeland, and the increasing intolerance we are catching wind of. Certainly, nobody wants the country’s misery to continue, misery that has only grown in the thirty-five or so years since the end of the Civil War. But not tolerating unrest and war cannot be at the cost of the intolerance of others, people who also call Lebanon their homeland.

            And as God teaches in such times of exile, we are learning to seek the peace of the cities of our repeated displacements (Jerem. 29.7) and to hold each place in our hearts as a beloved homeland.   [LNB]

But Will It Make a Difference?

67. But Will It Make a Difference? (24 February 2026)

Billboards everywhere, anticipation 
abounding for Christian and Muslim alike 
(2 Dec. 2025 - Autostrade Bourj Hammoud)

For several weeks in November an unusual air of excitement wafted through the air as the country realized that the rumors of Pope Leo XIV visiting Lebanon were true. The more optimistic among the population imagined that this visit would herald a complete cease-fire from the near daily Israeli bombings. Those more realistic surmised that the papal visit would merely bring a respite from drone and warplane attacks for the duration of his time in Lebanon. Nonetheless, there was a pervasive sense that, for a change, something positive would happen in Lebanon. It buoyed the spirits of much of the country, not unlike that of children awaiting the arrival of Papa Noël.

Armenian school students lining the Pope's 
path to the Beirut Port Blast site (2 Dec. 
2025 - Autostrade Bourj Hammoud)

            It seems that Lebanon – that is, the people of Lebanon, merely by virtue of residing in this land, are compelled to pass their days in the no-man’s land between anticipation and reconstruction. It might be anticipation of the outbreak of war, civil unrest, or terrorist attacks; or perhaps anticipating possible steps toward reform, accountability for criminal acts, or enforcement of equal treatment under the law. Some might envision environmental cleanup, or affordable food, housing and health care, or even the country putting the common good before self-interest.

Artsakh women are making a 
difference with their artisanship
(30 Dec. 2025 - Gemmayzeh)

            And on the opposite border of this no-man’s land is reconstruction. This is something that Lebanese are constantly doing, or planning to do: spending emotional, mental and financial energies gathering the pieces of their lives torn apart by regional or international conflicts, internecine local struggles, or pervasively poor governance, reinforced with each election cycle. And when they attempt to rebuild their homes, villages and orchards, predictably our “neighbor’s” war machine grinds into action and destroys bulldozers and building equipment, preventing the Lebanese from recovery. At the same time, this “neighbor” is haunted by real or imagined threats, while they rebuild their homes, illegal settlements, watchtowers and walls, largely unmolested, justifying their racist actions as “self-defense”.

            The Holy Father’s visit itself, from Nov. 30 to Dec. 2, 2025, came together smoothly, appearing to the casual observer to have been the result of months of planning. In reality, it came together in a matter of weeks, and it included meetings with Lebanon’s officialdom, a pilgrimage to the St. Charbel shrine, an interfaith gathering in the city center, a massive youth rally at the Maronite Patriarchate, a visit to a mental care facility, a prayer at the scene of the 2020 Beirut Port explosion, and an open-air mass for thousands at the Beirut seaside, in addition to private meetings. Pope Leo’s message was consistent in each instance: to highlight the people’s longing for peace with justice, calling people and leaders alike to play a positive role in making that peace a reality. It expressed the theme of his visit, namely, Jesus’ words “Blessed are the peacemakers” (Matt. 5.9). The Pope repeatedly, even scoldingly, stressed this to local and regional leaders: “Listen to the cry of your peoples, who are calling for peace!”

Making a difference in my nourishment  
with my favorite grilled liver sandwich!
(31 Dec. 2025 - Nor Hadjin)

            So, will leaders take up the challenge? Will they cooperate with each other for the sake of the people, and develop an ethos of service and trust? Will young Lebanese – Arab and Armenian, Christian and Muslim, villager and city-dweller, take the Pope’s challenge to them to heart and choose the hard path of staying in Lebanon, and be “artisans of peace”, active in changing the present culture of strife and selfishness to a culture of caring and constructive engagement? The country, along with the region, waits in anticipation of the outcome of the reflection to which the Pope called his audiences; translating thought into action.

Making a truly Beiruti Christmas  
from old tires, rather than 
burning them... (16 Jan. 2026 - 
Mar Mikhael)

            Pope Leo considered his visit to Turkey and Lebanon as efforts toward “religious diplomacy”, using his physical presence to express the moral authority of the Vatican, such as it is, in the pursuit of justice, mercy, and mutual acceptance for the good of all. In a world that is intoxicated with the pursuit of self-enrichment while malevolently nurturing a culture of destruction and oppression, it is up to the individual to become convinced of this call to be a peacemaker. It may not make a difference immediately, but it will grow in strength and influence as those individuals become a tribe and focus their influence to compel leaders to change.

            When the people pray to God for deliverance from their sojourn of misery in this no-man’s land, they, knowingly or not, are appealing to God to change each human heart. As Ebenezer Elliott’s poem, “When Wilt Thou Save the People?” so plainly expressed, “From vice, oppression, and despair, God save the people!”

LebCat 67 - Keeping watch over 
comings and goings at the 
American University of Beirut 
Medical Center! 
(22 Jan. 2026 - Beirut)

            Cynically, within an hour of Pope Leo’s departure for Rome, the “neighbor’s” drone overflights and bombing resumed. Peace would not come that day, or that month, or even that year. So, we await with faith the transformation of this world, and we heed the Lord Jesus’ call to live as agents of peace, nurturing hope for the renewed earth that God has promised to the blessed peacemakers.   [LNB]

(apologies for the 2-1/2 month delay in posting)

Listening for Joy

66. Listening for Joy (31 August 2025)

Trust the Lebanese to find humor in the 
threat of bombing. (5 July 2025 - Antelias)

It almost never fails. From a nearby balcony on Sunday afternoons I can hear the sounds of children laughing, playing, splashing, arguing, making up, and the occasional sound of adult intervention when needed. I’ve never seen these children, but I know that they are an integral part of the soundscape around our Geitawi apartment on Sundays. It seems that this family does not go up to the cool mountains, like so many Beirutis do, but content themselves with their apartment (I don’t even know which building they are in!) and their games on the balcony. I can tell that one of them is a boy, because since I’ve started innocently eavesdropping a couple of years ago, one of the voices has started to get deeper and gruffer. The joy of their play brings me joy, as well as a bit of longing to be able to witness firsthand their innocent and fierce childhood interaction.

Adding some color to the usual drab 
concrete - not a bad idea. 
(2 July 2025 - Geitawi, Beirut) 

            How is it that they are able to be so carefree, when Lebanon, the region, and beyond is in such turmoil? Isn’t it because they are children, and they have not yet been burdened with the cares and woes of adolescence, youth and maturity? Nearby are their protectors, the elders of the family, and there is no need to think beyond the moment. It is as it should be.

            Since returning from the U.S. this summer, each night my mind has been occupied with the antithesis of these children’s world: the security situation in the country, the threats from Lebanon’s erstwhile “neighbors”, with their warplanes and their self-justifications. Images of children and adults being deliberately starved and bombed for no particular objective other than to create misery and usurp their homeland. Additionally, my mind is crowded with reports of the actions of the elected leaders of “our homeland” (as we Armenians like to call the land which has never been “home”), ceding the past, future and present of Armenia to those who have repeatedly betrayed us; relying on smiles, promises and handshakes; increasingly suppressing dissent from current governmental policies and proclamations. Add to this the careless rush of so many individuals and people groups toward a more mechanized, inhuman and technology-ruled future…

Works perfectly, as long as there is no 
emergency. (18 June 2025 - AUH, Beirut)

            The cacophony that occupied my jet-lagged mind in those weeks contained no joy. Though my jet-lag has mostly passed, but the inner cacophony continues, since the present, tragic condition of this world shows little evidence of substantial improvement or hope. Enduring nightmarish nights, I eventually realized I must seek joy elsewhere, after the morning’s light, when I could intentionally focus on life and hope. And intentionally do the same during my evening prayers, making the nights more tolerable. To focus on the joy that I can discern.

            Like a child beginning to walk learns by walking and experimenting with the best way to keep his balance, I am finding a way out of the funk of each day by squinting expectantly in this direction or that. Something is bound to suggest to me that, yes, there is joy to be found.

Mirrors and mosaics at the refurbished 
"Jim's Steaks" (5 Aug 2025 - Philadelphia)

            To start with, I am learning to watch and listen for joy amid the noise, and not wait for things to improve in order to shift my focus. Here is some of what I found.

            Recently at a school program I had a friend’s three-year-old on my lap as we waited for the program to start. I was enjoying interacting with her, perhaps a bit too much. Soon I realized that I was undermining the careful guidance her parents had instilled in her. I also realized that I was relishing the moment too much to help her behave… or to behave myself! But it was a potent injection of joy!

Somebody has some wild ideas for a new 
sidewalk design. (19 Aug. 2025 - Geitawi)

                              When visiting elders at the Armenian Sanatorium, a few of us pastors went into the room of a bedridden woman, and heard her singing, unprompted, the very same song of assurance that we had just been singing outside. It was a message from God that he was present in her room before we showed up, reminding us of his care. Another influx of joy and peace!

            Driving back from exercising one night I noticed red and blue flashing lights. In my (North American) experience that could mean only one thing: an emergency vehicle, perhaps a police car, or a fire engine, or an ambulance. I should be pulling over and letting it pass as quickly as possible, right? However, this is Lebanon, and as I approached the flashing lights, I realized that the “emergency lights” were something else. A taxi, with its shiny chrome accessories and colorful garlands around the windows, either picking up or dropping off a customer. It could have also been a water delivery truck, or even a coffee van, both of which make use of those red and blue strobes. I used to be bothered by this “misuse” of emergency lights. Now I just smile and shake my head. Smiling is not a substitute for joy, but it helps calm things down inside.

LebCat 66 - Keeping a watchful eye over 
shoppers on Arax Street. 
(22 Aug. 2025 - Bourj Hammoud)

        On a recent night when I was taking the trash to the dumpster across the street I was taken aback by the illumination on our building’s usual pitch-black section of the street. I looked up, and on the utility pole was a brand-new, solar-powered street light! Whirling around to the other end of our building I saw a second street light, shining in the darkness! For some reason, the municipality finally replaced those two lights, which had been burned out and covered with overgrown trees for at least as long as we’ve been here in Lebanon. Fortunately, I wasn’t so disoriented that I forgot to dump the trash.

            The other week I was alone on the balcony mid-day, with the sound of traffic, and horns, and trash trucks, with the hammering and yelling from a nearby construction site, and the incessant rumbling of private generators all around me, when I heard… the laughter and chatter of children’s voices. Could it be? It wasn’t a Sunday, but like a bird chirping in the middle of a rainstorm, there it was! A moment of joy, a vicarious participation in the carefree play of those neighbor children.

            So perhaps those glimpses of joy are always there, and what I need to do is to calm down and pay attention so as to hear or see these points of joy, and then to be refreshed and encouraged to carry on. And to realize that when I continue my work in a positive and loving frame of mind, I can provide others with a glimpse of joy to see and be encouraged by.

            I think I’ll make this a habit.   [LNB]

Welcome Home

65. Welcome Home (14 April 2025)

"MLGA" - doesn't roll off the tongue very
nicely. I wonder how it would look on a cap?
(14 Apr. 2025 - Bourj Hammoud)

It has been almost four weeks since our return to Beirut from our “home assignment”, and we are relieved to be back. Not because everything is rosy or easy, but because we have a sense that we are where we are supposed to be, where we are called to be. Yes, the electricity and water supply is still unstable. Yes, the Internet is sometimes there, sometimes not, but always slow. Yes, the roads are full of people who care even less than before about how they drive. Yes, they still think that their car horns will magically cause the traffic in front of them to disappear. Yes, buildings continue to ascend to serve those who do not feel the pain of ordinary Lebanese. Yes, the economy is still in tatters, banks are continuing to abuse depositors, and we have to carry around dollars for larger purchases (such as groceries at the supermarket). Yes, the disparity between rich and poor is stark, and people mostly don’t notice the poor around them. Yes, drones still ply the skies overhead on behalf of “The Chosen”, to take note of and eliminate “The Rejected” and crush and kill “The Unlucky”. And, yes, the attacks by our war-mongering southern “neighbor” continues to be cheered on by the Machiavellian foreign policy of our home country. After we shared the news of the first attack on Beirut since our return, our son Sevag wrote to us: “Welcome home.” Sincere and ironic at the same time.

The end of another old building,
the beginning of another high-rise.
(25 Mar. 2025 - Ras Beirut)

            Sunday, April 13, marked a half-century since the Lebanese Civil War. It was a war, for sure, but the “civil” moniker is a debatable point. Wars are never polite, but more than that, it was not merely the outcome of local, societal tensions, but rather a product of regional conflicts, fueled by powers outside the region. In recent days we watched and read some remembrances and news commentaries, with lots of archival footage reminding us of that era in Lebanon. We lived through just a few – nine months’ worth – of the Civil War, when I was a theology student at NEST and Maria was a nurse at the American University Hospital. Perhaps it was at that time when Beirut started to occupy the quality of “home” in my thoughts and feelings. It was then that I had connected to something deeper than the misery and uncertainty of the war, something which some of my friends, now emigrated to the West, found puzzling. They would express their wonder: “You love this place more than us!”

The joy of children's "Hosannas"!
(13 Apr. 2025 - Qantari, Beirut

            But “home” is more than geography. It is geography plus people plus meaning. That is something we have found here, in this battered scrap of the remnant of Western Armenia. We regularly hear the comment, “Lebanon is such a beautiful country, but the people are trash! That’s the problem with this country.” Upon hearing this, a friend of ours countered, “But the people are beautiful, too! We have such dear ones around us, like you, to share a cup of coffee with!” Yesterday, during Palm Sunday services, I reminded myself that the presence of the children singing God’s praises, right before us, is more valuable than the memories of past Palm Sundays when there were so many more children, or when times were “better”.

Beirut ProTip: You can always find a place to
park if you look for the "No Parking" signs.
(11 Apr. 2025 - Hamra, Beirut)

            Living with contrasts and contradictions; that’s what it’s like to live in Lebanon. Some of the most beautiful springtime flowers in Beirut are the variegated orange blooms that come up amidst bright green leaves [Nasturtiums, for you gardeners] – and they are often seen proliferating… around garbage dumpsters. Or, to keep people from parking on sidewalks and to open up a place to walk instead of the streets, bollards are installed everywhere, to the point where you can’t walk on the sidewalks because the bollards take up all the space. Or, on Bliss Street, at the crosswalk across from the Main Gate of the American University, concrete blocks were placed in the street to keep people from double and triple parking and to improve the traffic flow. The result is that people double and triple park next to the obstacles, and so traffic on Bliss Street crawls more slowly in the narrow path remaining. And then there are the rubble-filled lots, or the bullet-ridden buildings that have been abandoned since the Civil War, that, thanks to nature, have given a bit of extra greenery to the crowded streets, while also serving as public toilets for taxi drivers. None of this is new to me, but it showed itself afresh as I reinstituted my daily walks, something I had scant opportunity to do while in the U.S.

 

Is Beirut still screaming? Shouldn't it be
louder? (28 Mar. 2025 - Gemmayzeh, Beirut)

           Last week while driving to the dojo where I work out I found myself stuck in a traffic jam, different than the usual evening rush hour. Motorbikes were weaving in and out of the rows of cars, some of them on delivery routes, but others of them with flags and Palestinian scarves. As I inched forward, I realized that I was headed into a demonstration. The wide sidewalk at Ain el Mraisseh was crowded with people, likely both Lebanese and Palestinians, protesting the war on Gaza. It seemed that those driving by were more in number than those on the sidewalk, though I didn’t stop and count. But as with all crises, including all the abuses perpetrated upon the Lebanese by their leaders, along with the rampant corruption infecting all spheres of life, things that may prove too entrenched to eradicate any time soon, those who just want to get on with their business (like me) will remain in the majority. Instead of resisting and raising our voices, we will merely complain and move on. But if it’s your home that’s at risk, shouldn’t you try to do more?

LebCat 65: Waiting for that one phone call,
that big break that will turn everything
around! (12 Apr. 2025 - Geitawi, Beirut)

            And so, my thoughts inevitably go to Armenia, both the part that the international community sort-of recognizes as well as the parts that are either ignored or considered inconvenient (even by some in Armenia’s officialdom). Calling Armenia “home” or “homeland” should lead us to do more than simply to hold a remembrance event on April 24. It must unite – in our thoughts, feelings and especially our actions – land, people and meaning, in the pursuit of what is just, not what is convenient. To that end, for the sake of “our homeland,” what am I doing? And what are you doing?   [LNB]

Trouble in the Air

63. Trouble in the Air (7 October 2024)

A sooty autumn sky dawns over Beirut
(seen from Geitawi - 7 Oct. 2024)

A song from the Negro Spiritual repertoire, sung by one of my favorite gospel ensembles, the “Wings Over Jordan Choir”, has been repeating and repeating in my ear:

Over my head I see trouble in the air.

Over my head I see trouble in the air.

Over my head I see trouble in the air.

There must be a God somewhere.

The song, “Over My Head”, is just one Spiritual from an entire genre that is a rich treasury of cries for freedom from oppression. Yet we see how people and nations effortlessly switch from being the “oppressed” to being the “oppressors” these days, having learned nothing – or having forgotten much – of how and why one must avoid falling into this trap.

Ceremony repatriating - from Rome - the
remains of Cardinal Aghajanian (1895-1971)
(Martyrs' Square - 12 Sept. 2024)

            Here in Lebanon there is constantly trouble in the air. The incessant droning sounds of killing machines (courtesy of the United States) have set the entire country on edge, and not just the “offending party” that our southern neighbors find so objectionable. Similarly, the jets cynically breaking the sound barrier over Lebanon’s north, south, east and west (again, courtesy of the United States) is a blatant declaration to the terrorized Lebanese of all political persuasions that, with apologies to The Outer Limits, “We control the horizontal. We control the vertical.”

            On clear nights I walk out onto the balcony and look up to see dim points of light in the sky over Beirut. Are they stars overhead, or something more sinister? Reconnaissance drones, with eyes probing every square centimeter of the city, are monitoring moves and tracking targets. Mostly invisible in the bright daylight in this area of the city, I keep them in mind when I venture out of the apartment, and tell myself that I, too, am a mere assortment of data for a regime not interested in dwelling in peace and safety, but one bent on annihilating its adversaries, causing more than a little collateral damage (a.k.a. deaths and destruction) along the way.

As the trash piles up daily, one wonders,
"They collect it and dump it... where?"
(Khalil Badawi - 29 Sept. 2024)

            After another night of relentless bombing campaigns (bombs courtesy of the United States, also providing U.S. manufacturers with much-desired performance data), this morning I went out to the balcony to witness a thick blanket of soot covering the city, mixing with the cloud cover of early autumn. Reminiscent of the burning tires of the so-called “Cedar Revolution” of 2019, this morning’s acrid air was a reminder that only a short distance away neighborhoods were smoldering, and high-rise buildings were being reduced to rubble.

The late, lamented "Way In Book Shop",
now selling toilet paper and cleansers
(Hamra - 8 Sept. 2024)

            Everyone is familiar with the adversaries in the conflict of the past year, painted in the press almost exclusively as peace-loving citizens facing evil terrorists. The decades and decades of dispossession fueling the desperate brutality or calculated onslaughts of these groups are set aside in favor of harping on one date, October 7th, as if the world as we know it came into being on that day last year. As a person of faith, a Christian believer, I know that context is everything. But this deep awareness of context is missing from most reporting and commentary, as well as being completely absent from official declarations by the governments conducting their onslaught. It is a willful omission, certainly, because it would necessitate sympathy for those being oppressed, something that would empower the “peaceniks” and necessitate thinking diplomatically, and not exclusively militarily.

            As a Christian, my thoughts also go to the “just war” concept, which is frequently bandied about to justify the excessive military campaign the United States refuses to rein in. What has transpired this past year does not fit very well into the “just war” theory; at the same time these campaigns quite correctly fit the definition of “genocide”. Of course, casuists everywhere continue to enthusiastically argue in favor of the first and against the second, prolonging the torture of Palestinians as well as Lebanese, in order that “we achieve our goals”, as is being repeated ad nauseam. They are committed to destroying the enemies that they had a part in creating in the first place.

Refugee children taking a break from their
sales of tissues at intersections
(Mar Mikhael - 14 Sept. 2024)

            And who are the majority of these “enemies”, numbering well over 40,000? Unlike the 1,200 or so who were murdered a year ago, they are the nameless and detail-less men, women and children who cannot run fast enough from the “evacuation orders” before the fighter-bombers demonstrate their heartless power: rescuers trying to reach the dead and injured; a mother and her three daughters killed yesterday when their house was targeted; a man desperate to tend to his olive groves poisoned by white phosphorus bombings; a two-year-old whose legs were amputated, watching his friends run and play and asking his mother, “Will my legs grow back?” Practically speaking, these are the targets, for the most part.

            In the Old Testament, when God set a new standard for his people in dealing with offenses, he declared “eye for eye, tooth for tooth” (Exod. 21.24) to put an end to the disproportionate response to injuries so prevalent in the society of that day. He also instructed his people to designate cities of refuge, so that those seeking vengeance for injuries would not take it upon themselves to be judge, jury and executioner. Now, it seems there has been a huge step backward from this divinely-ordained standard; and rather than worshiping and obeying Yahweh, the Lord of all, obeisance is being done to Mars, the mythological god of war. This is without even addressing the standard set by Jesus Christ, who acknowledged the Old Testament rule yet developed it into one in which reconciliation is possible (Matt. 5.38-48).

LebCat 63: A wall just wide
enough for a kitten
(Mar Mikhael - 9 Sept. 2024)

            We are spending these days mostly at home, with necessary ventures to buy groceries, and having conversations with friends about the events of each day, or the preceding one, or the coming one. We listen to the fears of young and old, some declaring their loyalty to this besieged and beleaguered country, and others cursing their fate at being here at such a time. Enduring the sounds of earth-shaking bombing not far from home, a friend told me with tears how her seven-year-old son pleaded with her, “Mama, can we emigrate?” It is a struggle for many to keep clinging to faith, to hope and to love, focusing on the Author of those precious gifts.

            The final stanza of that Spiritual illuminates this struggle:

Over my head I see glory in the air.

Over my head I see glory in the air.

Over my head I see glory in the air.

There must be a God somewhere.

…And the prayer given us by the Lord Jesus: “Deliver us from evil (or the Evil One), for yours is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory.”  May it be so, dear God, and soon.  [LNB]