From the north to the south of the country, the small team at Aid to the Church in Need is working hard to ensure that Christians have a home in the Land of the Cedars. Pastoral care and education are the charity’s two main priorities.
By Jean-Charles Putzolu – Beirut, Lebanon
Marielle, Charlotte and Fouad make up Aid to the Church in Need’s team in Lebanon. They travel across the country to meet bishops and study the projects being developed by the dioceses. The economic crisis that hit Lebanon hard in 2019 wiped out the savings of families and Church institutions alike. Yet each month, schools, parishes and dioceses manage — almost providentially — to pay their staff.
“The goal is to support families,” explains Father Raymond Abdo, who oversees several schools and a retreat center in Qobayet, near the Syrian border in the far north of Lebanon. The Carmelite priest, formerly provincial in Beirut, is able to keep the schools open thanks to the generosity of the faithful and the support of charitable organizations from Germany, Austria, Poland and France.
Father Raymond Abdo, OCD in Qobayet
Lebanon: A priority for ACN
ACN, headquartered in Frankfurt, collects donations from 140 countries and allocates them to projects around the world. Lebanon is among its priorities due to the precarious situation of Christian schools and the need to slow — since stopping it appears impossible — the exodus of Christians from the country. Many are driven away by collapsing living conditions, political instability, intercommunal tensions, and the conflict between Israel and Hezbollah in southern Lebanon and the Bekaa Valley.
In Douris, in the heart of the Bekaa, at least 186 explosions were recorded between September and November 2024. One shell struck a garage used as a Hezbollah weapons storage site, causing serious damage to surrounding homes. Abdo, a retired soldier and father of two young girls, was thrown across his house by the blast. The garage was right across the street. He found one of his daughters under the rubble, curled up, covered in dust, terrified and badly injured. She spent five days in intensive care. ACN covered the hospital costs. The child is physically healed, but the psychological trauma runs deep. The events of 25 September 2024 are “unforgettable,” says Abdo. His house had just been renovated; he must now rebuild again, going further into debt.
Across from the destroyed garage, Joseph, a retired police officer, was not physically harmed but his home was also damaged. Both men insist they did not know it was a weapons cache. They knew Hezbollah used the building, but were told no weapons were stored there. They only ever saw trucks driving in and out.
The Hezbollah garage bombed by the Israeli army, with Abdo’s house behind
In such exceptional situations, ACN — like other charities — makes the rare choice of providing emergency aid. The three local staff members review each case before submitting it to Frankfurt. In southern Lebanon, the foundation helps fund food parcels for Christian families affected by the conflict. Once Israeli operations end, it hopes to develop larger projects. Charitable organizations also plan to help rebuild damaged homes. Without housing and without schools for their children, Christians leave — which is why ACN also supports private Catholic schools.
Often working together with another major charity, L’Œuvre d’Orient, ACN provides bonuses for teachers to ensure they earn enough to support their families, and covers part of tuition fees for children from vulnerable families — whose numbers have multiplied since the crisis. L’Œuvre d’Orient, meanwhile, contributes to building maintenance and renovation. Together, these organizations form a network of support on the ground.
Father Raymond Abdo welcomes this cooperation. He has received help from several benefactors to renovate his schools. “Children often come from far away. Some take two school buses to get here, but their families want to send them to a Catholic school, because for them it guarantees a quality education.”
Giving reasons to grow in faith
In Menjez, a village in northern Lebanon, Filipino Franciscan Missionaries of the Sacred Heart run a school and dispensary. Each month they must pay the salaries of 35 employees — teachers and administrative staff. They themselves take no salary. “We don’t need money for ourselves,” says Sister Aurore. Donations go toward staff salaries and medicines for the dispensary
In El Houssan, Salesian Father Mario, aged 82 and originally from Sardinia, offers a wide range of activities for children: summer camps, games and catechesis. A public school stands on Salesian land. Around it, the community has planted trees, built a grotto dedicated to the Virgin Mary, and created a sports field. They welcome both Christians and Muslims. Everyone joins in the activities. The Salesians cultivate a “culture of encounter.” Peaceful coexistence, Father Mario insists, begins with school and the family.
Father Mario, a Salesian originally from Sardinia
Signs of renewal
Over the past two years, new postulants have joined the Maronite Sisters of the Holy Family, who also run a school. “We went ten years without novices,” the superior says with joy. Sister Marie-Antoinette Saadé, who closely followed Pope Leo XIV’s visit to Beirut, welcomes the novices to the convent at Aabrine. The training of the six young women, two of whom come from Australia, is possible thanks to ACN’s financial support. “Our elderly sisters are leaving us, and the number of novices does not make up for it,” she admits, but she sees in these new vocations a sign of renewal.
This renewal is also visible in the mountains of the Baalbek diocese. Twenty brothers and three priests have built the Beit Maroun monastery from scratch. Most are under 30 and have chosen a life far from that which appeared to await them after university. They put their professional skills at the service of the community. One is an architect who designed the chapel, monastic cells and church. The brothers — who become stonemasons, carpenters and builders — construct everything with their own hands. “What rises here does not belong to us,” says Brother Christophorus. Their monastery attracts thousands: 3,000 people attended their annual retreat two years ago, 5,000 last year. And given the rough condition of the rocky path leading there, it is clear that visitors are motivated by more than curiosity. The brothers live in the simplicity of St Maron and radiate contagious joy. Two come from Australia, and the Australian Church provides significant support for their project. ACN provides them with insurance coverage — useful, given the risks the “monk-workers” face on the construction site.
The monks of Beit Maroun
Dynamism, hope, and doubt
The Church in Lebanon is alive. Wounded, it strives to heal in the midst of countless difficulties, in a complex environment sometimes unfavorable to Christian presence, especially in the south and the Bekaa. As for the idea that Christians could once again become a majority in Lebanon, the road is long — and uncertain. Father Raymond Abdo sees attempts to “radically” Islamize the country. To illustrate this, Joseph and Abdo, whose homes were damaged in Douris, recount how Hezbollah fully financed the reconstruction of Muslim homes after the explosion, while Christian families received only a few hundred dollars. They are not pushed out directly, but Hezbollah certainly does not encourage them to stay.
Bishop Hanna Rahmé of Baalbek-Deir El-Ahmar nevertheless maintains dialogue with his Muslim “neighbors,” because “we have no choice but to live together.” Yet he admits that the current tension with Israel makes this difficult. During the conflict in late 2024, he sheltered Muslim families on diocesan land, but asked active Hezbollah militants to leave in order not to expose those families to Israeli strikes.
When we met Bishop Rahmé, Israeli surveillance drones were buzzing overhead. “They returned as soon as the Pope left Lebanon,” he said — and many Lebanese fear that hostilities could resume at any moment.
