It was New Year’s Eve in northern Lebanon and death was in the air. As the year 2000 dawned, a horrible plot was under way that would forever mark this place.

It is a rich agricultural area, between the Mediterranean and a range of hills on the horizon, where olives, citrus fruits and vegetables are grown. The rich olive oil produced here is famous for its quality.

In the village of Kfar-Habou Jean, a Baptist layman, and his wife, Sarah—five months pregnant with their first child—were returning home where Sarah’s mother, Selwah, waited for them.


Above Jean talks about the night his wife, unborn child and mother-in-law were killed. Muslim terrorists trained in Afghanistan by Osama Bin Laden’s Al Queda organization led an attack on his village in Lebanon.


Above Jean, a Baptist layman, describes how the terrorist attack on his village unfolded. In the background is his house. It was destroyed in the fighting and he is rebuilding it. It is where his wife, unborn child and mother-in-law died. Jean’s quick actions probably kept his entire village from being destroyed.

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When Jean drove his nephew into Beirut earlier that evening, he saw the Lebanese Army had sent troops into the area. When they returned home around 10:45 p.m., Jean, an officer in the army, checked with his base to ask what was happening; he was told there was no problem.

But there was a big problem.

Suddenly, they heard a bomb blast and shooting. Sarah was terrified. Jean again called his base.

“What’s happening up here?” he asked. He was told to stand by. After hearing more shooting he called the base again.

“Don’t worry. It’s probably just people celebrating,” they said.

“No! This is heavy weapons fire!” Jean protested.
More shooting. Closer. Jean called the base a third time.

“Something is not right! I’m in the army and I know what I’m hearing!” he said. But the official he spoke with refused to take action.

By now villagers were calling around trying to find out what was happening. Jean went out onto his second-story balcony and heard movement near his house.

Then, he saw them—30 heavily armed men—terrorists, some right in the front of his house.

“Who’s there?” he called. “We’re in the army,” one of them responded. “Get back inside!”

Jean knew they were lying. His first impulse was to shoot at them. He pulled out a pump-action shotgun, but Sarah begged him not to shoot.
Someone knocked at the front door. He called his base a final time.

“They’re knocking at my front door! Thank you very much!” he screamed, and hung up.

He switched off the lights. He moved with Sarah and her mother into an unfinished back room.

Then, through a patio door, Jean saw someone pulling the pin, preparing to throw a grenade. He shouted for Sarah and her mother to lie flat on the floor.

Other terrorists shot into the front door and broke it open. Jean watched them through an interior door he cracked. They wore masks and fake beards. Jean turned back toward the man with the grenade and fired his shotgun.

The blast was deafening.

He again turned toward the interior door. As he did, one of the terrorists shoved an automatic rifle through the doorway spraying the room with bullets.

Selwah was killed instantly. One bullet hit Sarah in the chest. “I am dying!” she said and kissed Jean.

Jean was shot in an arm and a leg, but he stood and fired his shotgun again, killing the man entering the room.

Abruptly the telephone rang. It was Jean’s brother, calling to check on them. “Don’t call again!” one of the terrorists screamed and hung up the phone.

Several minutes of silence, then another man entered the darkened room. Jean fired again, killing a third terrorist.

As more rebels came into the house, they found the bodies of their comrades. In the confusion and darkness they began screaming and firing their weapons, shooting each other.

Jean recalls clearly the attackers’ names: “Mustafa! Samir!” And he remembers the wounded groaning.

For 15 minutes confusion reigned. The terrorists were afraid to enter the back room where Jean crouched over his wife.

Sarah was struggling to breathe. Jean whispered to her and shook her. A death rattle came from her throat. He tried to keep her quiet and prayed that someone would come to help.

Finally, as minutes slipped past, he realized Sarah was dead. And with her, their child.

Slipping onto the patio, he dropped 10 feet to the ground, clutching his shotgun, struggling to move with his wounded arm and leg. He headed toward a neighbor’s house some 45 feet away.

At first they thought Jean was one of the terrorists and almost opened fire on him. Then they began firing toward the rebels to give Jean a chance to get into the house.

Amid more shooting, Jean made his way to his uncle’s house where family members bound up his arm and took him to a hospital.

Finally the Lebanese Army appeared. The terrorists holed up in Jean’s house held two soldiers hostage they had taken prisoner earlier that evening. The terrorists promised to surrender them in exchange for safe passage to a camp inside Syria.

The army refused.

Later they would learn that one hostage, a Muslim, was allowed to escape through a back window. But they slit the throat of the second hostage, a Maronite Catholic.

The soldiers trained cannons on Jean’s home, firing round after round until it was destroyed. One support beam was left standing. A house next door belonging to Jean’s brother was also destroyed.

As the homes were reduced to rubble, some of the terrorists ran out, firing their weapons wildly.

For the next two days, they were rounded up or killed as the army swept the area. One was found hiding near the house several days later, one leg shot completely away.

Amid the ruins of Jean’s house, authorities found Sarah’s diary and her Bible. The Bible was marked with a single drop of blood from one of the terrorists.

In the aftermath of the carnage, it was revealed the attack was part of a plot. The terrorists—some trained by fundamentalist Muslims in Afghanistan—had planned to kill every Christian in Kfar-Habou.

They had crept through the hills from Syria into the area and established a base in a water tank on a hill overlooking the village. For weeks they hauled in weapons and ammunition for their attack.

Kfar-Habou is surrounded by three dozen Muslim villages. Once the attack began, Muslim villagers were expected to help in the mass murder of thousands of Christians.

Learning of the plot, the Lebanese Army sent some 4,000 soldiers into the area. But it was learned later that Muslims within the army sympathetic to the plot impeded its efforts.

The fighting at Jean’s house undoubtedly saved many lives. A mob of Muslim villagers—armed with knives and farm implements—were headed toward the village, but turned back when they heard the fierce fighting.

In the days that followed, authorities discovered the true dimensions of the attack. Workers collected two truckloads of spent shells and ammunition around Jean’s house.

Elsewhere, a Baptist church in West Beirut got a bomb threat. Terrorists entered the Russian Embassy and killed two people. And a nun was raped and killed.

In the weeks that followed, Muslims in Tripoli circulated fliers calling for Jean to be prosecuted for killing the terrorists at his house.

The attack has been called the worst since the Lebanese civil war ended more than 10 years ago. Southern Baptist workers say peace prevails for the most part in Lebanon now, but this attack illustrates the depth of faith-related problems that still exist—and the people’s pressing need for the good news of Jesus Christ.

Two days after the attack, Sarah’s funeral was held at Fahr-Habou Baptist Church. Muslim and Christian leaders alike attended the service.

The Baptist pastor stood and preached from the book of Job. He talked about how the Lord gives and the Lord takes away. Then he gave the plan of salvation—that there is no hope in eternity without personal faith in Jesus Christ.

He spoke about how the Bible instructs Christians to pray for government leaders, not to retaliate.

He wept openly as he talked of Sarah’s life in the Lord.

The church asked a Syrian believer to pray. He also presented the gospel, through prayer, and even prayed for those who killed Sarah and her mother. Shocked newspaper writers reported widely how these Baptist Christians had actually prayed for their attackers.

“I know pearls come from bleeding shells,” says ‘Felicity’,* a member of the Baptist church. “I am asking for a greater pearl to come from this bleeding shell.

“Sarah was a great believer, a moving force behind some of us who knew her.”

One man who had drifted from the church returned after that day and is again a faithful member. Some Muslims have come to faith in Christ, though most are afraid to attend church services.

Today Jean’s house is still only partially rebuilt. The government gave him only $20,000 in reparations, not nearly enough to pay for the reconstruction.

As he talks about the death of his wife, he does not seem bitter. But as he leaves the house, he picks up his automatic pistol and tucks it into a back pocket.

*Name has been changed for security reasons.