Giuseppe La Mela is an Italian Jesuit in Formation who has participated at the EJIF meeting in Lebanon, in August. Here are some of his pregnant observations after the first half of his stay.

Tradition has it that when Jesus went to preach in Tyre and Sidon (cfr. Mark 7,24) his mother Mary went with him. Being a Jewish woman she could not enter pagan land and so she waited for her son on the top of a hill just outside of Sidon, taking shelter in a cave. I'm usually not very fond of these kind of shrines. My rational mind kicks in and tells me "Oh, come on, there's not the slightest evidence that something like that really happened, you're not really going to believe that, are you?". Many times I find these shrines kitsch. I tend to ignore them and just move on.

And yet, as soon as I found myself facing the statue of Our Lady of Awaiting, I felt a lump in my throat and tears welling up in my eyes, while my heart was filled with an unspeakable sense of tenderness.

I've been in Lebanon for 10 days for a gathering of young Jesuits in formation from all over Europe. I couldn't help but feel that this is a land where many people are living in waiting. We visited many refugee camps. We witnessed so much suffering, so much injustice. Many Syrians find themselves waiting, roughly one and a half million of them. They have been forced out of their country, most of them having lost their house, their husband or wife, their children. And they're here, waiting. Waiting for things to get better. Some of them are waiting for a food basket from some NGO, or for a small grant in order to set up a small shop in the camp and survive. They arrived in Lebanon, occupied some land, built a tent and then a camp. The owners of the land started asking for rent and, knowing that many NGOs would help the refugees cover their costs, they raised the price up to 600 US dollars a month. Many refugees get hired as day laborers in farms or construction but many times, despite their hard work, they don't get paid. The same happens with many Syrian women who work as cleaners. Some of them have lost all hope. During one of our visits we asked a Syrian lady if she had a dream or any hopes for the future. She replied: "No, I don't have any more dreams since my husband died. I just survive, for my kids. But I don't have any dreams anymore".

The Shatila camp, just outside Beirut, was set up in 1948 to house the Palestinian refugees flooding into Lebanon at that time. It covers approximately one square kilometer and today houses more than 50,000 refugees from Palestine and Syria. We walked through the narrow streets caked with mud, all the while trying to avoid the impressive tangle of electricity cables spreading throughout the camp hanging just a few millimeters from our heads. We met many women, visiting their houses and talking to them. They welcomed us, and told us a little bit about their life in the camp. "I'm applying for a small grant to open a hairdresser's salon"; "I lost my six sons and my husband in Syria"; "I want to open a small shop in order to provide for my children". Their eyes were veiled with sadness, yet within I could also discern determination and courage. I felt powerless in front of so much suffering and pain. I wanted to help them but didn't know how. I felt what I think was a mix of western guilt, good will and a genuine hunger and thirst for justice.

Then I met this sweet and beautiful 14 year old Palestinian girl. Quick witted and very fluent in English, she told me how much she enjoyed studying maths at a local school in Beirut, how much she loved playing football, and how Cristiano Ronaldo is obviously far better than Leo Messi. She writes poetry and dreams of publishing a book. Her father is currently living in Germany, but she and her mum can't go there yet because they don't have the required documents. She was full of energy and life, full of hope for the future in spite of her situation. She won't surrender. Perhaps that's what I felt standing in front of our Lady of Awaiting. I think that the statue perfectly captures this sense of longing and hope. Mary is seated on a rock, her right hand resting on her knee, the left on the rock. There is a tension going through her body and her eyes are searching the horizon restlessly. She looks like she's ready to jump up and run towards Jesus as soon as she catches a glimpse of him. And I felt such an immense peace standing beside her. The kind of peace that fills you up with hope and regenerates you. A peace that is not numb but restless, inspiring you to act. The kind of peace that comes when you know that her son's returning.

All the stories I've heard, all the faces I've seen, all the pain and all the hope of the people I've met will stay with me forever and will affect my life, my studies, my relationships, my prayer. Something has changed forever in my heart but, like Mary, I'm not sure about what's going to happen, what I'm going to do. And yet, should I ever feel lost, I can go back there for a little while, silently waiting with her and all the refugees I have met, searching the horizon.

Giuseppe La Mela SJ

Read also the overview article Young Jesuits meeting refugees in Lebanon (Moritz Kuhlmann - GER)
Face-to-face with the refugee crisis (Peter O'Sullivan - BRI) - 
I am one of the lucky ones (Arnold Mugliett - Malta, EUM)