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Hello, I am Laure Delacloche, and I wrote a long article about the growing popularity of St. Charbel for ONE magazine. Here in Lebanon, St. Charbel is a familiar figure. Sculptures of him can be seen on street corners, and images of him are found in cars and in many Christian households. I first looked into his life when Pope Leo visited St. Charbel Shrine in Annaya in December.
At that time, I had only heard about the monthly pilgrimage that takes place on the 22nd, which is a focus of our article. It was while preparing, reporting and writing this piece that I truly realized how popular St. Charbel is. Every time I mentioned that I was working on the article, people would share their own stories with me.
“He cured my brother who had poliomyelitis,” said one friend who grew up in northern Lebanon in the ’40s. Another friend told me: “When I bought my first car, it kept breaking down, and I ended up wasting a lot of money. So, when I bought another one, I took it directly to the shrine and anointed it with the blessed oil they give.”
This friend traced crosses with the blessed oil all over the car, stuck a picture of St. Charbel on the dashboard, and believe it or not, the remaining oil gathered into a shape that disturbingly resembled the silhouette of a monk or even St. Charbel himself.
This article about St. Charbel followed me all the way to my hometown in France. There, we’ve seen a growing number of Lebanese arriving since the economic crisis began in 2019, and to a lesser extent since the war started in 2023. When I told my neighbor that I was writing about St. Charbel, she said, “Oh. But the priest has just installed the statue of St. Charbel in the church, because he wants the different Christian communities to be represented. You should go and see it.”
By then, I had realized how popular St. Charbel was, but something still puzzled me. Of course, the miracles attributed to him help explain his popularity, and yet I struggle to understand why Lebanese people, and increasingly foreigners, feel such a strong connection to this monk, who lived a secluded life in the 19th century dedicated to prayer and manual labor, and who left no written works behind.
There is a striking contrast between his life and the lives many Lebanese lead today: warm and lively family gatherings, constant traffic and honking horns, and far too often the urgent need to ensure the loved ones are safe from external and extreme dangers.
To better understand what felt like a paradox, I spoke with Father Paul Matar, an instructor at the Patriarchal Maronite Seminary. He told me that the relationship the Lebanese have with St. Charbel actually reflects a profound need for meaning, for stability and transcendence in a country that is weakened by economic, political and social crisis.
Ms. Delacloche tells even more about the saint in her article, Lebanon’s Beloved Saint, in the March issue of ONE magazine.