By: Naji Ali Amez

From Byblos, cradle of the alphabet and heir to the secret of survival, I received with deep gratitude and sincere joy Dr. Samir Geagea’s Christmas greeting. I did not read it as a seasonal courtesy, but as a signal of light in a time when darkness abounds, and when words that truly resemble their speakers have become rare.

In this city, holidays are not reduced to dates on a calendar, nor to the lighting of a Christmas tree. They are understood as spaces of light through which we repair what has collapsed of bridges, and breathe life into the spirit of the nation before its body. Here we learned that human dignity is the beginning, that respect is the path, and that the resurrection of humanity is the deepest meaning of our existence in this homeland—one its founders intended as a message, not a barricade.

I thank Dr. Geagea for this initiative, which goes beyond etiquette to the essence of genuine national partnership—the very substance of Lebanon. And we, the sons and daughters of this land rooted in history, will continue to dedicate our pens and our voices to building bridges, not demolishing them, and to demanding shared life until our last breath. For Lebanon, with all its sects, is not a geographical coincidence, but a civilizational and historical necessity that radiates to the world, for which we see no alternative.

Wishing Dr. Samir Geagea, his family, and the Lebanese Forces a blessed year, in the hope that peace may blossom in hearts before it is paved into roads.

My thanks also extend to the fathers and men of the Church who enveloped me with their sincere affection—those who see in the birth of the Savior of humanity a truth of peace and hope, not confined to one faith over another, but a message that transcends sects and settles in the conscience of all humanity.
Likewise, to politicians, intellectuals, and friends who expressed—through an outpouring of love—their appreciation for what I write.

These moments make me pause to recall the thought and insight of the Triangle of Mercy, Abbot Antoine Douai. He used to say to me with the confidence of one who knows: “Write about coexistence, Naji, and do not stop, no matter how they try to erase you.”

And I would reply with the anxiety of the contemporary writer: “Father, times have changed… media has become giant institutions, and social media is no longer measured by the depth, philosophy, or creativity of an idea, but by the number of likes. Everything has changed.”

He would smile and say: “You may be right. But what I know is that in darkness, people look for the light of a candle. You don’t have to be a projector… it’s enough to be a candle at the right time, and people will see you.”

Today, on Christmas Eve, I choose to be that Byblos candle—bearing witness to truth and beauty in a homeland that grows weary, yet does not die.

In closing, from the heart, I extend my sincerest greetings especially to my Christian brothers and sisters, and to all Lebanese in general, hoping that the new Lebanon may be born first as God intended it, and second as we intended it when we chanted together: All of us for the nation. A Lebanon where churches and mosques meet as witnesses to an undivided love, and to a God who resembles only Himself, because He loves all who dwell on this land, just as they have loved one another… as Lebanese.

In most countries of the world, a person is born into the religion and sect of their parents. In Lebanon, however, we are born—before anything else—into a faith called Lebanon.

A blessed Christmas, and a year that carries a measure of salvation.

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