I remember my father on Christmas night: he stayed up till morning to guide us on the right path,
explaining what it meant that the One who redeemed mankind was born, and that our sins were wiped away by the crucifixion of our Redeemer;
he explained the coming of the Holy Spirit and what it means, and he spoke to us constantly about the Ten Commandments:
“Honour your parents, my son, keep Sundays holy, and beware of adultery, my son: God will judge us.”
We lived content with little, in godliness – if only those days would come back! The family gathered on the evening of the feast was enough for us,
and we had promised to put on new clothes in the morning and run together to show our grandmother.
We lived joy in the seasons of feasts, wishing our relatives a happy feast, we and our parents together.
And today, where is that happiness? Half the children are far away. Lord, we repent before you: give us back our hopes.
The poet Neemeh Saghbini
(A poem in Lebanese dialect, translated here for its meaning.)
