Christmas Eve in Bethlehem – Jan 6th!

The grocery store is right next door to Adnan’s olive-wood shop. Elizabeth the grocer said to come back to Bethlehem on Christmas Eve. “Be here by 11 o’clock,” she said. So there we were, on the morning of Orthodox Christmas Eve, January 6th, hurrying down the sheep path, past the checkpoint and into town. We were greeted by a group of Arab men, tall and short, all asking if we needed a ride, but not a taxi in sight!

“Manger Square? This way! You come with me!” We went. Through a rusty door in the wall, down a dusty, winding road, up a little hill, round a sharp corner, and there they were! All the black and yellow taxis in Bethlehem, parked on the sidewalks and filling the street of a residential road.

Arja the thug driver

Along the way we'd been handed off from one taxi driver to another until we’d ended up with Arga Al Mahoumed – ”Arja”. From the back Arja looked like a short, hefty thug in khaki, with a red checked Arab scarf slung around his neck, and a swagger that looked like he was packing big guns on each hip, but from the front his eyes smiled under silvering hair. What's more, his taxi was at the front of the line, so we got into it, dutifully and with faith. Perhaps Arja was a Christmas angel leading us to Jesus' birthplace.

“Why taxis here?” Paul asked. Arja responded with a broad shrug and expansive wave of his hands: “Chrrristmas! Merrry Chrrristmas!” he said, smiling. I remembered Elizabeth had told me her store would be open for Christmas Eve, to welcome the Archbishop from Jerusalem who was coming to Bethlehem and would be driving through the streets. I guess taxis had to make way for his arrival too.

But as we ascended toward Manger Square I wondered why many shops were shuttered and closed, until I realized that this was another kind of holy day as well: it was Friday, the Muslim day of rest. Muslim-owned shops would be closed, Christians would be open. It was another example of Palestine: you can’t go an inch without thinking about religion.

Arja's good side!

As Arja got us closer to the heart of Bethlehem we began to feel like Mary and Joseph. All the roads leading to Manger Square had been closed, with a police officer posted at the foot of each to ward away traffic. Security is always an issue in these parts. Arja would drive up and say, “Manger Square?” with his disarming smile and they would brusquely reply, “No Entry!” and we’d be turned away. He tried again and again, with the same result: “No Entry”. We began to think we’d have to walk up the hill to get there, but Arja said, no he’d try another way. We drove around to a smaller road that wound steeply up past small houses. “Manger Square?” asked Arja. The intelligent police officer at that checkpoint looked into the back of the car and, seeing our kids, realized this was no ordinary gang of tourists. He nodded and waved us on, to choruses of thanks and appreciation. This was the kind innkeeper who found us a back way in.

Back way indeed! Narrow, winding, and definitely the steepest hill I’ve ever climbed in a car like that. “Mercedes!” Arja said proudly when Paul asked what kind of car it was. “…But old.” I guessed that the car was like Arja himself, aging, but able to pack a good punch or two when necessary!

Pretty people!

Happy priests!

Throngs of people were gathered in Manger Square: black-robed priests holding cameras; frivolous teenage girls navigating cobbled streets in high-heeled suede boots (no, I didn’t join them!); a kid in a sparkling Santa hat; a quiet, smiling nun carrying a single pink carnation. 

We rounded the corner as a brass band marched down the centre street, and a trumpet blared the invitation: “Come to Bethlehem and see Him whose birth the angels sing; Come adore, on bended knee, Christ the Lord the newborn King. Glo-ri-a! In Excelsius, Deo!”  Gloria! We were there, in Bethlehem, on Christmas Eve!

The Bethlehem Bagpipers

Band after band passed us. My favourite had to be the Bethlehem Bagpipers – quite an unexpected instrument here, but hey, this part of the world is full of anomalies! These were all Scout bands that had gathered from all over the West Bank to be present for the occasion. Christmas Eve is, of course, Bethlehem’s highlight day, and the bands were joined by TV cameras, international news reporters, and Orthodox church leaders: the Greek Patriarch from Jerusalem, the Russian Patriarch, the Syrian Archbishop, the Ethiopian Archbishop, the Coptic Archbishop, with national and local politicians, as well as the faithful, the families, and all those who had just come out for fun! On they paraded, bright, loud, joyful.

Wondered where Tolkein got his inspiration?

Finally the tide turned. The bands marched out of the scene in glorious parade, and then the church leaders, more splendid and more colourful than any of them, reversed the direction and came out to meet the head of their church, the tiny, old Patriarch who had been driven through the town and arrived at that moment in Manger Square. Majestic, full of anticipation, with red and gold banners flying, they went out to meet him. There was a greeting. There was a speech. Then a pause.

And then, from the tall minaret opposite the church, a muezzin began to sing into the shimmering silence, earnestly, beautifully calling the faithful to prayer. Elliot looked at me. “I thought that was for Muslims!” he said. “Why's it part of Christmas?” Good question! The only answer was, “This is Bethlehem” -  where many people worship – not together – but in very close proximity. This call to prayer was not part of the service; it was just a regular, daily call, but it landed up smack-dab in the middle of Christmas Eve!

Then the elderly Patriarch, surrounded by heavy incense and stately churchmen, moved eagerly towards the Church of the Nativity, where simple people, bearing wreaths of fresh flowers, waited. Once again, wise men and shepherds had convened at Bethlehem to celebrate Christ's birth. Children, dancing like little angels in the streets outside were joined by red-necked Arab taxi drivers and ordinary Canadians. And so Christmas arrived.

The balloon seller

A red balloon with the words “I love you” floated up into heaven, and was soon joined by another, shaped like a zebra, lost by some little child.  In Bethlehem, paradox and puzzles mix together, but because of the holy Baby who was born on that very spot, all will be well.

Inside the church - note the red balls on the candelabra! Photo by D. Lynch