Merry Christmas from Bethlehem

Last night as I lay awake in bed, I recalled many scenes of Christmases past, and while many of them involved cold weather, new bikes, and Mahalia Jackson singing Sweet Little Jesus Boy, my Yuletide memories now include snipers on the rooftops.  Christmas has looked a lot different for us this year, and even though the Holy Land marks the place of Jesus’ birth in Bethlehem, there are only a few Christmas trees and nary a light-covered reindeer to commemorate the event in all of Israel.  We haven’t had to deal with the endless holiday to-do lists, the shopping, and the extra activities added to an already busy American life.  On the other hand, there’s been no Andy Williams Christmas album, no colored lights, and no presents.  I miss seeing our mantle that Deena turns into a Christmas masterpiece of gold and greenery every year.  I miss dragging the boxes of decorations down from the attic and unpacking them while listening to George Winston's December album in the background.  I miss the events at our church, especially the Christmas Eve candlelight service followed by the traditional Italian feast at our house with Deena’s family.  I miss shopping for presents for Joseph and Deveny. Watching them open the boxes with excitement on their teenage faces is just as special as when they were little. So, how in the world were we supposed to spend Christmas with no Reese’s Christmas tree candy, 6,220 miles from our family and friends in North Carolina without turning into a quivering mass of homesickness?  Thankfully, it was Jerusalem Baptist Church to the rescue.

Last Sunday, we spent a fun day of worship and fellowship with the congregation at the Baptist House in downtown Jerusalem, and during the time of announcements, it was mentioned by Deacon Bruce that the signup deadline for singing in Manger Square in Bethlehem on Christmas Eve was that day, and all money was due.  Using the telepathy that couples acquire after many years of marriage, Deena and I looked at each other wide-eyed and committed to this activity without having to say a word.  We had planned to go into Bethlehem before Christmas to avoid the crowds and have a quiet celebration at home, but this opportunity was too good to pass up.  After the service, we gathered around the piano with the rest of the group and rehearsed the song set with Roger the worship leader from Kentucky directing and his wife on piano.  Once rehearsal concluded, Deena and the kids stayed at the church talking to fellow travelers while I ran around the rainy streets of downtown Jerusalem looking for an ATM that would dispense the required amount for our inclusion in the choir, and to my complete dismay and frustration, I couldn't find one.  Back at the church, Deacon Bruce sensed my dejection and granted us a special dispensation of grace that would allow us to pay before boarding the bus on the day of the event—praise the name!

We spent the first part of last week continuing the exploration of the Old City until Joseph came down with a fever and a stomach bug that laid us low on Thursday and Friday.  By the end of the week, he was feeling better, and we limited our normally busy schedule to resting at the apartment and an afternoon viewing of the new Star Wars movie, Rogue One, at the cineplex down the street.  We were also able to check out First Station, which is an old train station converted to an outdoor mall with shops and restaurants located right across the street from our apartment.  We enjoyed pastries and people watching, and I found a coffee shop that produced an excellent double espresso, and as we made the short walk back to the apartment, the sun set and another Shabbat began.

The next day was Christmas Eve, and we got up a little earlier to make sure we were prepared for a long day away from home.  We were due at the church at twelve noon, so we hailed a taxi, navigated the sparse Shabbat traffic, and made it to Jerusalem Baptist with plenty of time to spare.  A Messianic Jewish congregation was having a worship service in the sanctuary, so we packed in tightly with our group in a second-floor fellowship room and shared a lunch of cold cuts and chips while our leaders reviewed the itinerary for the day.  The church has been sending a choir to Manger Square on Christmas Eve for thirty years, so they knew what they were doing, and the excitement was building in this year’s choir, sixty voices strong and representing eleven nations.  Rain had been predicted in Bethlehem all week, but we rejoiced that the skies cleared and the rain chance diminished to zero.

We boarded our charter bus and spent the thirty-minute drive to Bethlehem rehearsing our songs, finishing up just as we reached the checkpoint at the West Bank Border.  We had packed our passports in case there was an inspection, but the guards waved our bus past the sentry shacks under bright red signs warning Israeli citizens of death should they venture down certain roads.  Bethlehem is a Palestinian town located on the West Bank with a population comprised primarily of Arabic Muslims. There is still a small Christian community located there, but its numbers are dwindling rapidly.  The economy in Bethlehem is mainly supported the tourist money spent by pilgrims on their journies to see the birthplace of Jesus and the famous murals by the popular street artist, Banksy.  The area around the town is marked by runs of low green hills full of rocky outcrops and traversed with paths worn deep by the traipsing of shepherds and their flocks over the centuries.

We spotted Banksy’s striking Flower Thrower mural as we drove into the Bethlehem municipality and began a slow climb through streets lined with sandy limestone block buildings, the businesses denoted by signs written exclusively in Arabic and residences indicated by rooftop satellite dishes and homemade water heaters.  At every street junction camouflaged sentries stood watchful with machine guns fitted with long banana clips at the ready.  As we got closer to our destination, the roads narrowed and and seemed to go almost straight up as the bus full of joyful singers strained against the sharp curves.  I had always envisioned Bethlehem situated in a quiet valley with small buildings surrounding a sweet depiction of the Holy Family, but the images of a still little town produced by years of imagination were steadily shattered at the turn of every corner.  The Pilgrim Rest Hotel was our headquarters for the day, and after our driver masterfully parked the huge bus in an impossible place, we joined together in the lobby for final instructions before being released to explore for a couple of hours.

Bethlehem

The road from the hotel up to Manger Square was steep and lined with souvenir shops selling everything from baby Jesus refrigerator magnets to huge olive-wood camels, and the proprietors were all standing outside welcoming the tourists with friendly invitations to visit their stores.  We stopped in the Olive Wood Factory to check out some nativity scenes, and the owner invited everyone coming through the door up to the rooftop to check out the panorama of the town.  We had hoped to purchase a nativity scene to ship home, but once we were standing in front of shelves lined with every conceivable depiction of Jesus’ birth carved in olive wood, the desire just wasn’t there anymore, so our strained budget was safe for the time being.  We walked a couple of hundred meters more until the narrow street opened up on Manger Square anchored by the famous Church of the Nativity and full of people, decorations, news trucks, and a heavily armed Palestinian police force.

The Church of the Nativity was originally commissioned by Emperor Constantine and his mother, Helena, based on the traditional location of Jesus’ birth, and we decided to check it out for ourselves and got inside rather quickly considering the size of the crowd.  The church is in the middle of a large renovation project, and most of the interior is covered by scaffolding and drywall barriers, but the heavily decorated altar is still accessible.  After waiting for thirty minutes in a tight crush of tourists waiting to view the area that commemorates the supposed site of Jesus’ birth, we bailed out choosing to sit for a while in the altar area instead—good call.  Once we made it back outside to the square, we still had an hour and a half of free time before our sound check, so we wandered around taking pictures for a while and ended up at St. George’s restaurant for a pre-performance bowl of hummus and a round of hot beverages.  There were several members of our group already there with the same idea, so we joined them for an interesting time of sharing stories from around the world.

By the time our choir took the stage for our sound check, it was dark, the square was packed with people, and the decorative lights were on full blaze as a chilly wind blew through the streets of Bethlehem.  We were thankful that we had the presence of mind to pack our down jackets in the trusty orange backpacks, and one of the ladies from the church dispensed hand warmers all around.  Our choir ran through a couple of carols as the sound crew set the levels for our performance scheduled for 6:30, and the crowd gave us enthusiastic approval.  From the soundcheck, we walked as a group to a reserved room in the nearby Peace Center where we waited for our performance time.  Palestinian president Mahmoud Abbas was due in town any moment with his entourage for a special dinner near the square, so we had to wait until all of the official vehicles and extra security officers made their way across Bethlehem.  We passed the time by taking turns reading favorite Bible verses and sharing stories until we received word that it was time to take the stage.  

Our choir - this shot made the world news

Our sixty-voice choir and four-piece band weaved through the throng, crossed the barricade to the stage, and took our places in front of a packed crowd of mostly young Muslim men staring in anticipation of our performance.  While we were getting set, one of the men in front of Joseph and me pointed out several snipers in prone positions on the rooftops of the buildings lining the square, and I made the remark that we’d better not hit any wrong notes.  Then, our director smiled, counted off the band, and for the next thirty minutes our choir sang with joy on the main stage in Manger Square in Bethlehem—wow.  We sang all the familiar carols like Hark the Herald Angels Sing, Joy to the World, and my favorite, Oh Come All Ye Faithful, and the crowd loved it.  There were wide smiles all over the stage as we praised God and proclaimed the birth of our Savior with our singing.  We finished with Feliz Navidad and clacked plastic castanets as we walked off the stage and back down the narrow street to the Pilgrim Rest Hotel, where a huge buffet supper sat steaming and ready for a hungry choir.  For the next hour we laughed, sang, and shared testimonies with this special group of people before boarding the bus and heading back to Jerusalem.

The bus stopped very near our apartment to let off a large group, and we bid goodbye to our special friends before exiting the bus and walking the short distance home.  Once inside, we shed our many layers, got comfy, and recounted our experience in Bethlehem until the early morning hours, and I was able to tell my mom all about our night via FaceTime which was fun too.  So, Christmas was very different for my little family this year, and Deena and I are still shaking our heads in disbelief when talking about our good fortune and the opportunity to share Christ’s love on a world stage on Bethlehem.  We’re far away from home, but our family and friends are close in our hearts, and we are thankful for all of you.  We miss you, and we wish you peace and joy and a very Merry Christmas!