The complexity of Lebanon is apparent in few places more than Ras Baalbek, a Catholic Christian town in Lebanon’s northern Bekaa Valley close to the borders with Syria.

The town, which boasts two Byzantine churches, has teamed up with Hezbollah in a bid to preserve its heritage and protect its 6,000 devout Catholic residents.

So close are the two communities that the Iranian-backed militant group buys a Christmas tree each year for the village.

“The relationship between the village and Hezbollah is stronger than with the Pope,” Rifiat Nasrallah, 60, a quarryman and village leader whose marble sarcophagi line the village cemetery, told The Telegraph during a visit in the midst of war.

“The Vatican did nothing for us but Hezbollah spilt their blood to protect us. The Pope only has prayers.”

Two soldiers from the Lebanese army, whose political leaders have vowed to disarm Hezbollah, sit in Mr Nasrallah’s home as he explains the local politics. A crucifix hangs next to a portrait of Hassan Nasrallah (no relation), Hezbollah’s former secretary general, on one of the room’s walls.

The Bekaa Valley is beautiful, dangerous and cosmopolitan in equal measures. Christian, Sunni and Shia Muslim villages sit cheek by jowl.

As The Telegraph drives there, Israeli jets and drones are hunting Hezbollah positions in the hills to the west after the militants let rip one of their long-range ground-to-ground missiles towards “the entity” the previous night.

These missiles are large and said to be launched from adapted shipping containers carried by articulated trucks, which makes the drive there hazardous.

But the threat that brought the Christians of Ras Baalbek and Hezbollah close came from the east. The village sits at the foothills of the arid Qalamoun mountains, over which you can trek just a few kilometres into Syria.

Nobody hides, Mister Telegraph. As for the rest of you, put your beliefs into practice.