The Martyrdom of Nicolas Kluiters SJ, in Lebanon: Confronting Evil (2/3)

The feast of Saint Joseph (March 19), patron of the university that bears his name, brought to the mind of its new rector, Father François Boëdec, SJ, the memory of Alban de Jerphanion, the first Jesuit martyr of the seemingly endless war that erupted in Lebanon in 1975 – whose latest chapter, hoped to be the last, began unfolding in early March. Five other martyrs of that conflict fell after Father de Jerphanion. In tribute to their sacrifice, and with the publication of a new biography devoted to one of their holiest figures – the Dutch priest Nicolas Kluiters, whose cause for beatification is under way – this work is presented here, revealing previously unpublished details about the motivations of those who killed Father Nicolas. At the same time, it sheds light on the broader meaning of the gift he made to Lebanon, so that the country might endure as a model of “freedom and pluralism” for both East and West, at a moment when a heavily militarized nation threatens to strip it of a vital part of its territory, marked by the memory of Christ’s passage.

The insertion of a thoroughly Dutch man into a Lebanese environment did not come easily. It required a substantial degree of adaptation and renunciation. Gifted in the arts, Nicolas Kluiters had initially set his sights on painting before discovering a calling as an apostle. The contrast was stark: a refined sensibility set against the harshness of the human landscape around him.

He also consciously turned away from a West whose achievements, wealth – and, perhaps, illusions – were admired by his new parishioners. In his journal, his biographer notes, he wrote: “I am convinced that Western culture is in full decline in all areas of its expression. Its scientific achievements and knowledge amount to a practical waste of strength and energy. (…) The present greatness of the West is founded on military and economic supremacy, not at all on spiritual greatness.”

He had to convey his convictions to men and women who saw him both as an “outsider” – his Arabic pronunciation was at first barely intelligible – and as a brother. At times, he was troubled by the language barrier, watching Maronite priests administer the sacraments to people who were meant to be his own parishioners. Within him, an apostolic vocation and social resistance were in constant tension.

Moreover, his ministry brought him into contact with a form of clericalism for which he, at times, felt “a deep repugnance.” So much so that, a few months before his martyrdom, he considered devoting himself to poorer communities and even contemplated going to Sudan, believing he was no longer of use in Barqa. Father Peter-Hans Kolvenbach, however, took a different view, judging that the Sisters of the Sacred Hearts still needed his presence. The priority, therefore, was to consolidate his work, despite the danger. He resumed his mission.

Tortured and Killed

Upright, direct, and at times impulsive – he occasionally slapped students in class before correcting himself – Father Nicolas established himself in Barqa as an indispensable authority in both spiritual and civic affairs. Yet his life was not as austere as the Lebanese thistle, nor was he an unknowing stoic. A sensitive man, he formed closed friendships and, like any ordinary person, drew admiring glances, which he met with quiet reserve. He became widely popular. It was this, ultimately, that cost him his life. “See how the people follow him,” his enemies are said to have remarked. He came to be regarded as “undesirable” by Syrian and by rising Shiite groups which, according to his biographer, sought to “empty the Bekaa of its Christians.” An opportunity to eliminate him was actively sought. He was even warned directly by one or two Syrian soldiers he had picked up while hitchhiking.

On March 14, 1985, the opportunity arose. After visiting the Hermel region, where he had celebrated Mass for a group of nuns, he set off in haste to return to Barqa, taking the road through the mixed villages of Nabha and Qaddâm – a route he usually advised visitors to avoid. It was on that road that he fell into an ambush, was arrested, tortured, and killed. Even forty years later, readers of the biography may find the account shocking. After days of searching, his body – already in an advanced state of decomposition – was recovered from a ravine in the area, where it had been lowered after death, hands bound with a rope. The medical examiner determined that he had died on March 14, the day of his disappearance. His funeral was held on April 3, 1985, at the Jesuit fathers’ convent in Taanayel. He is buried in the convent cemetery.

Hell at Work

The sadism of his torturers and killers was proof enough that it was not only men at work, but that hell itself seemed to have joined in. In his pastoral work, Father Nicolas occasionally discerned anomalies he attributed to “impure spirits.” For example, he recounted that during a baptism, the glass of a window had shattered from a sudden gust of wind “just as he had commanded Satan to depart.”

Two or three times in his life, Father Nicolas experienced a vague, overwhelming dread, as if he were being swallowed by a chasm. He is no longer here to speak of it, yet the fact that his body was later recovered from a ravine is unlikely to be mere coincidence. Every Christian life carries its share of spiritual struggle against the Adversary, its own agony, its own Garden of Olives.

We have, on this subject, an extraordinary testimony from the renowned French war correspondent Jean-Claude Guillebaud. In his book How I Became a Christian Again, he recounts how, while covering the war in Lebanon, he was confronted with “the question of Evil” (his capitalization) because of the “funeral procession of massacres” that accompanied the conflict. To him, these massacres were evidence of a “barbaric jubilation that could not be explained solely by ideological or religious passion.”

Father Kluiters’ body was officially identified by his dentist, Dr. Sleïman Khnaisser, who recognized him by the dental work he had performed on his lower jaw. The medical examiner declared that in his entire career, he had never seen a body “so horrifically treated.” Beyond the blows, he noted signs of strangulation and throat-slitting. The ruthless treatment of Father Nicolas Kluiters’ body stands as a striking example of the demonic horrors that marked Lebanon’s civil war.

Next Article:

The Troubling Testament of Ghassibé Keyrouz, Right-Hand Man of Father Nicolas Kluiters, SJ

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