Leo XIV’s trip this week to Turkey and Lebanon, his first abroad as pope, is viewed as a sign of hope in a region struggling with violence and division.
When Pope Leo XIV visits the Middle East this week, he comes to a conflict-weary region struggling to find peace even as the specter of war stalks it once again.
In his first international trip since assuming the papacy in May, the Chicago-born pope will travel Thursday to Turkey, where he will celebrate the 1,700th anniversary of the Council of Nicaea, where the Nicene Creed — a foundational declaration of Christian belief and unity — was written in AD 325.
But perhaps the real test of Leo’s international debut lies in Lebanon. His coming fulfills a promise to visit the country made by his boldly charismatic predecessor Pope Francis, who raised the papacy’s international profile with dozens visits abroad and a propensity for frankness in his commentary that endeared him to the faithful, especially in the Middle East.
But Christians — estimated to be about 30% of Lebanon’s population — are not the only ones looking forward to Leo’s arrival.
Many here hope his visit will be a portent for peace, bringing attention to this tiny Mediterranean nation as it contends with a Job-like succession of crises: First the economy, which crashed in 2019, tanking the banking system and the currency with it; then the port explosion in 2020; and the war between the Lebanese Shiite militant group Hezbollah and Israel, which flared in 2023 before intensifying late last year and left thousands dead and wide swaths of Lebanon’s south and east pulverized.
Despite a ceasefire brokered last November, Israel has launched near-daily attacks on its northern neighbor, justifying its strikes as a bid to stop Hezbollah from reconstituting itself, even as the United Nations tallied more than 10,000 air and ground violations in Lebanese territory and 127 civilians killed in the year since the ceasefire took effect.
Israel’s attacks have also paralyzed reconstruction efforts, meaning most residents of Lebanese border towns — whether dominated by Christians, Muslims or Druze — have been unable to piece back their prewar lives.
