December 24, 2000

A marathon day. It began with worship at St. Andrew's Church of Scotland in Jerusalem. Most of the people were planning to get to Bethlehem later in the day, but no one was really sure how.

We soon found out, grabbing a shared taxi headed towards what had been advertised as a "closed military area" due to the nighttime clashes in Beit Jala and Beit Sahour. The checkpoint on the main road was closed, and the road around the main road had been destroyed that morning, so we drove through an abandoned quarry.

Palestinian Scouts in Bethlehem’s Manger Square for the Christmas celebration.

After a grueling walk to Manger Square through the rain and crowds (and paying our cab driver's constantly escalating "tourist" fare - we could say something about the redemptive suffering that pilgrims need to undergo, but it wouldn't be true), we arrived to find the parade to the church already in progress, Boy Scouts and all. We checked into our Pilgrims' Hostel (next to the church) and rested briefly.

Candlelight worship at Bethlehem’s Christmas Lutheran Church.

After the 3:00 Latin Mass, we headed to Christmas Lutheran Church's Trilingual service. It had the feel of a church on a snow day - not many people, but everyone had some kind of troublesome travel to get there - including the newly restored organ. It had been held up in customs in Haifa until three days before the service, had been purring like a kitten until the transformer blew two hours earlier, and was then running off of the pastor's car battery. "O, come, all ye faithful, joyful and triumphant, o come ye, o come ye, to Bethlehem" - never had those words had such meaning. It was difficult to hold back the tears of sheer joy.

It was a powerful service, a true moment of Pentecostal worship, where new words had been written for O Little Town of Bethlehem:

O little town of Bethlehem, the organs still do play
Of Jesus in a manger and angels on the way;
Our music and our singing is louder than a gun,
And church bells in their ringing remind us we have won.

Our dinner at the hostel brought us an interesting assortment of folks - a Slovenian PhD student studying Holy Land pilgrims (a scarcity of them apparently didn't deter her research), a German correspondent for Catholic News Service, a South African nurse living in Tel Aviv, and an Australian who came because "the Pope said it was a holy year." Again, there was a comraderie among those who had battled to arrive - most of those present were already in the area and made a trip from Ramallah, Haifa, Jerusalem (or Zababdeh), so the pilgrim quotient was low.

Marthame and Elizabeth’s mother at Bethlehem’s midnight Mass.

On a non-2000 year, there would be literally "no room at the inn." But we had made our reservations one week in advance and got our choice of accomodations, as well as tickets to the midnight mass at the Latin church.

Eucharist at Bethlehem’s midnight Mass.

We stood for the three hours of the service. It was mostly in Latin with a smattering of other languages in the hymns and liturgy. Patriarch Michel Sabbah addressed the crowd of dignitaries (including Arafat, who arrived to much commotion) in French and Arabic, proclaiming that "God allowed us to end the year of the Jubilee with trials and sufferings. For all grace, for all trial, we thank God, because suffering is also a part of the grace of the Jubilee. It helps to purify us; it allows us to see better the face of God, to better claim our freedom, since we become able to see the face of God in that of our brothers and sisters, and in the face of those from whom we claim our freedom as well."

Palestinian Authority President Yasser Arafat at midnight Mass in Bethlehem.

The sheer lack of attention and overwhelming crowds, while heartbreaking, felt a lot more authentic as a remembrance to that first Christmas. Those who arrived had come to bear witness to the Prince of Peace. And we were there, joyful and triumphant.