A Burden of Superiority. A Personal and Historical Reflection on the Cultural Challenges Facing the Maronite Church

By Charbel Eltarraf

1. Introduction: A Faith I Love, A Culture I Struggle With

I was baptised in the Maronite Church, but I didn’t grow up immersed in it. I attended Maronite Mass for funerals, baptisms, and weddings... always struck by the beauty of the incense, the chants, the sacred rhythms. But my deeper formation happened in the Latin rite of the Roman Catholic Church.

That wasn’t the plan. My parents tried to enrol my brother and me at St Charbel’s College in Punchbowl, one of the heartlands of the Maronite community in Sydney. We were locals. We were Maronites. But we were quietly rejected. No formal reason was ever given. But it was understood... our family didn’t have money. The priests knew this. Accepting us might mean unpaid school fees. And so, despite our heritage, we were turned away.

Two Roman Catholic schools, St John Vianney, Greenacre and St Felix De Valois, Bankstown, opened their doors. They knew our situation and still welcomed us. Over the years, they quietly forgave thousands of dollars in fees. They showed us what grace really looks like. As a result, our family naturally gravitated toward the Roman Church, not just liturgically, but spiritually and socially.

The Maronite Church remained something I appreciated from a distance. But there was always something in the atmosphere I couldn’t quite name. A sense that I didn’t belong unless I had a certain last name, a certain level of status, a certain familiarity with the social codes. It was polite. It was devout. But it was exclusive. And even as a child, I felt it.

This reflection is not a rejection. It is an attempt to understand the unspoken dynamics that shape the Maronite Church and community, especially in the diaspora. I love the faith. But we need to speak honestly about the cultural habits that have developed around it. Habits that restrict the Church’s universality and stunt its spiritual depth.

2. The Forgotten Origin: From Syrian Mysticism to Lebanese Tribalism

The Maronite Church did not begin in Lebanon. It originated in Syria, through the followers of St Maroun, a 4th-century monk known for his asceticism and deep spirituality. His disciples formed a spiritual movement rooted in prayer, silence, and theological clarity... a far cry from the cultural tribalism that characterises many Maronite communities today.

It was only later, during periods of religious and political instability, that Maronites fled into the mountains of Mount Lebanon. There, isolation and survival reshaped the community. What began as a universal spiritual tradition rooted in Antiochene Christianity gradually took on an ethnic and geographic identity. Over time, being Maronite became synonymous with being Lebanese.

Today, that transformation is nearly complete. Almost all Maronite churches are inherently Lebanese in culture, identity, and leadership. Many churches are named in direct connection with Lebanon. Sermons, events, and community priorities often blur the line between cultural celebration and religious worship. The result is a Church that, in practice, sometimes feels more like a guardian of Lebanese identity than a vessel for Christ.

This raises a difficult but necessary question...

Have we replaced the pursuit of Christ with the preservation of culture?

Are we worshipping God?, or are we worshipping the way our people have always worshipped God?

3. The Roots of Isolation: War, Trauma, and Cultural Fortification

To understand Maronite pride and protectiveness, we must understand its trauma.

Under Ottoman rule, Maronites were tolerated but often marginalised. Confined to mountainous regions, they built tight-knit communities not out of preference, but out of necessity. Family loyalty and religious fidelity became the foundations of survival.

Then came the Lebanese Civil War (1975–1990), a brutal sectarian conflict. For Maronites, it was another existential battle. My father, only 17 at the time, laid down his studies and took up arms to defend his village from Muslim militia invasion. His story is not unique. Thousands of young Maronite men were forced to become protectors overnight.

When a community experiences repeated threats, its identity hardens. Faith becomes something to defend... culturally, socially, and emotionally. Belonging becomes paramount. And anything that questions or complicates that identity is seen as betrayal.

4. The French Mandate and the Cultivation of Cultural Supremacy

In the early 20th century, following the collapse of the Ottoman Empire, Lebanon came under French rule. The French strongly favoured the Maronites, offering them education, political power, and cultural elevation. French was introduced in schools, Latin traditions were reinforced, and Maronites were held up as the “civilised Christians of the East.”

This created a new layer to Maronite identity. Not only were they survivors, they were now the elite. This prestige became embedded in the way Maronites saw themselves, not just in Lebanon, but wherever they migrated.

Over time, this created a subconscious hierarchy...

Maronites didn’t just see themselves as devout. They saw themselves as:
- inherently superior
- more faithful than others
- more refined than their Eastern counterparts
- more cultured than the West.

The Church remained Catholic in doctrine, but Maronite culture became increasingly inward looking and status oriented.

5. Diaspora Identity: Quiet Superiority in a Land Meant for Assimilation

In Australia, many Maronites are generous, polite, and deeply committed to family and faith. But beneath this outward decency lies a persistent, unspoken sense of cultural superiority.

It isn’t loud. It isn’t aggressive. But it shows in how many Maronites speak about non-Lebanese, as if they are less refined, less spiritual, or less capable of understanding our customs. The language is respectful. The tone is soft. But the unspoken posture is clear... "We are the bearers of something richer, something deeper. We’ve brought it with us, not to adapt, but to continue it."

The irony is, in a land where they are technically outsiders, many Maronites refuse to assimilate. Instead, the cultural framework of Lebanon is imposed upon Australian soil, with little openness to reciprocal cultural exchange. The Church becomes a pocket of preserved identity rather than a missionary outpost of the Gospel.

6. Clergy and Class: The Elevated and the Silent

This preservation of identity has reinforced a social dynamic where priests are not just spiritual fathers, they are cultural figureheads. Revered, admired, and often placed beyond criticism... not by theology, but by cultural expectation.

Historically, this made sense. In rural Lebanon, priests were the few educated men in a village. They were teachers, mediators, even power-brokers. But in the diaspora, this has translated into a passive laity, where questioning is rare and spiritual exploration is muted.

The result? A faith that is memorised more than internalised, and performed more than pursued.

7. From Christ to Culture: What Have We Prioritised?

The Maronite Church began as a spiritual movement. It has become a cultural institution.

The question we must ask is: Have we lost the deeper pursuit of Christ in favour of maintaining cultural comfort?

Have we turned faith into heritage, and heritage into hierarchy?

We celebrate Maronite saints, sing ancient hymns, and host cultural festivals. But how often do we encounter Christ in mystery? How often do we invite strangers into our community... not because they are Lebanese, but because they are hungry for God?

Too often, the culture around our faith has become the point of our faith. And when that happens, we risk building a Church that reflects our ancestors, but not our Redeemer.

8. Conclusion: A Love That Demands Truth

I love the Maronite Church. I love its liturgy, its history, and its rootedness. But love must be honest. And if we’re honest, we must admit:

1. We have confused pride for holiness.
2. We have confused exclusivity for reverence.
3. We have confused cultural preservation for Christian mission.

Our past explains these instincts. But our future cannot be built on them. Christ is not Lebanese. The Gospel is not tribal. The Church is not a monument to our ancestors. It is a body called to invite all nations, not just our own.

I am Maronite by baptism. I am Roman Catholic by formation. I am Australian by birth. I carry these things with gratitude. But I no longer see them as boundaries. They are not what define me. Christ is.

If even one person reading this says, “Yes, I’ve felt this too,” then perhaps we can begin the slow, necessary work of peeling back the cultural layers, and rediscovering the Christ beneath them.