Where We Work - Reflections
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Suhaila Tarazi
Ahli Hospital Director
Feryal Suliman Ashour is 42 years old lady, married with 7 children, 2 boys and 5 girls. The elder boy is 19 years old and the youngest is 6 years old. She lived in a 3 room home at El Farata Beit Hanoun village. It is near the borders with Israel on the east side of Gaza.
On 6th January 2009 during the incursion of Israeli tanks to Beit Hanoun, she was standing near the front door of her home. A tank bomb hit a neighborhood yard. Unfortunately shrapnel from that bomb injured her left leg and right hand. She fell bleeding and unconscious. Her daughters pulled her inside the home and tried to help her. They called an ambulance to save their mother's life but failed to reach them. No ambulance was able to go to that area.
Two hours later, with the help of the International Red Cross Office in Gaza an ambulance was able to transfer her to Shifa Hospital (The main government hospital) where she had first aid treatment and was immediately referred to Ahli for amputation of her right hand, 3 fingers and repair of the fracture on her left leg. After her departure, her home was destroyed by 3 tank bombs and her family members were transferred to an UNRWA school to have shelter there.
When I have asked her if she would like to say something she said: "Though I am an injured but I am grateful to God that I am still alive and no one of my family members has been injured. I want this war to stop. Enough war and enough bloodshed, I and my family are very much exhausted from this conflict and we need to live like human beings. I am so worried, I have no home to live in and I do not know where to go after my discharge from the Ahli hospital??".
Feryal continued:" Last and not least I am very grateful to the passionate heart of Ahli staff members in particular the doctors and the nurses. For them after God is my gratitude, they have saved my life. To the donors who are supporting Ahli also are my great thanks and appreciation. Without their help to Ahli it would be very difficult for the doctors to save my life.
By Phoebe Griswold
In 1995, my husband Frank and I made our first visit to the Holy Land thanks to The Bishop’s Associates. I remember standing on a dry sandy red hill top and looking out over the surrounding dessert, dotted with a few ragged sheep, a dusty flat topped tent, sides flapping in the breeze and a Bedouin boy atop his donkey scrabbling up the rocky hillsides. It was lovely and warm. But what struck me most of all was looking up into the low clouds and grey sky.
In great contrast to the great wide bowl of a sky in the Midwest, this sky seemed to brush the hilltops. The whole heavens had floated down to rest on the hill tops. It was very easy to imagine a person reaching up into the clouds for the unseen spirit. And at the same time to see the unseen spirit reaching down to touch humankind. Heaven and earth meet in this tiny strip of land along the Mediterranean. It is no accident that the three major faiths of the world claim their holiest of sites in Jerusalem. This site is the home of Abraham, the father of the three Abrahamic faiths, Islam thru Ishmael and Judaism and Christianity thru Isaac.
On this trip we had a Jewish Arab guide whose family had lived outside of Jerusalem for several generations. He was an excellent teacher of Biblical history from Bethlehem, to Jerusalem, Jericho and up the Jordan to the Galilee.
The Bishop’s Associates took a second trip the next year. What I had missed completely on the first trip was that this land was peopled by two tribes, Jews and Palestinians who held very different stories about this land and who it belonged to. Going from the Jewish tour guide and crossing an unseen border in the middle of Jerusalem to the Anglican/Episcopal Cathedral, we were dropped in the ancient Palestinian Christian peoples, our Episcopal family, members of the Diocese of Jerusalem. I could have taken tour after tour and never met or really known the existence of our own family there. By the grace of God and the reality of the global Anglican Communion I was drawn into the ancient sacred story and conflict.
Visit to Deheisheh: A Mother and Child of Bethlehem
By The Rev. James La Macchia
During a summer 2004 visit to the Land of the Holy One several years before Israel’s installation of its so-called separation barrier now completely encircling the city of Bethlehem I had the opportunity to visit the city’s Deheisheh Refugee Camp as a member of a small group from Saint George’s College in Jerusalem. Six of us were exploring the roots and relations among the Abrahamic religions through the college’s Abraham: Yesterday & Today course. On our way to the camp, we passed the ruins and debris of buildings that had been destroyed by the Israeli military in targeted actions taken to combat the recent Intifada. The ravages of this asymmetrical, urban warfare on a primarily civilian population and its infrastructure were immediately apparent and served as an eerie prologue to the even more devastating human hopelessness, despair and poverty the worst sort of violence that we were about to encounter in this camp within the environs of Bethlehem.
When we arrived at Deheisheh, our van was immediately surrounded by smiling and very curious young children, clearly excited by this sudden appearance of visitors from the West. As we walked through streets running with sewage and lined with concrete dwellings in various stages of completion, I was struck by posters pasted on many exterior walls bearing the faces of very young men. When I asked our local Palestinian guide who these young people were, he replied that they were martyrs from the camp, celebrated and remembered for giving their lives in the struggle against Israeli occupation. As we continued our slow and somber walk toward our meeting with a Palestinian family, one young boy in particular who could not have been more than ten years old followed along closely, clearly fascinated by our presence. Only when we reached our destination did I learn that he was a young member of the extended family with whom we were about to meet.
Despite the squalor and disarray of the camp’s exterior, we met this extended Palestinian family in their two-room, immaculate apartment. They had to share an external bathroom with three other such dwellings in their block. With characteristic Palestinian hospitality, they immediately offered us coffee and sweets as they welcomed us into their home and their world. They were an elderly mother, father, uncle, son, and daughter-in-law, the mother of the young boy who had been our constant companion since our arrival. She also held in her arms an infant daughter to whom she had recently given birth.
We talked at length about the terrible deterioration of every conceivable aspect of Palestinian life since the onset of the Second Intifada, together with the sheer desperation of the daily struggle to survive with some measure of hope and dignity amidst the manifest injustice and brutality of the Occupation. Only a few miles from Bethlehem’s Manger Square and the Church of the Nativity, Deheisheh could have been anywhere in the occupied West Bank or Gaza. It was isolated, cramped, even claustrophobic, and a whole world away from anything remotely resembling the ordinary joys and hopes, sorrows and anxieties of daily existence in the developed world. The Occupation’s brutality, injustice, impoverishment, and prohibition of real opportunity of any kind had completely stripped the people of Deheisheh of the equal, unique, and transcendent dignity of every human person. It had violated their basic human rights, subjected them to daily harassment and humiliation, and consigned them to a life of futility and suffering without any meaningful horizon of hope. I will never forget the words of the young mother of the newborn infant and young son when I asked her if she had any hopes for the so-called peace process. Hope, she cried, Hope. Who has any hope? We are already as good as dead here.
I left the visit to this cramped Palestinian home in a somber and solemn frame of mind, stung by the gravity and hopelessness of this young mother’s plaintive words, which were both an expression of despair and a desperate cry for help. As we climbed back into the van waiting to return us to our comfortable accommodations in Jerusalem, I felt like a helpless intruder into the sacred lives of these people who, sisters and brothers of Abraham all, were mired in a world of suffering and poverty with little hope for any relief in the immediate or, even, distant future. As we drove away, our little companion smiled and waved good-bye to us, and I suddenly wondered, if were to return to Deheisheh in another ten years, would I find him as an adult living in the same hopeless circumstances, merely repeating his mother’s startling words, Hope. Who has any hope? We are already as good as dead here? Or even worse, might I find his picture pasted to a wall there, a generation later, as another martyr in the struggle against Israeli occupation? I cannot answer these questions with certitude, but at that moment, I resolved to do everything in my power through unremitting prayer and action to prevent such a tragedy. Too many lives have been lost; too many have been blighted by poverty and war; and too many have just withered away in hopelessness. Like the magi in the Gospel According to Matthew, I had been privileged to behold at Deheisheh that day a mother and child of today’s Bethlehem, and they had shown me that the time for every child of Abraham in the Land of the Holy One to experience the fruits of resurrection is long past due!
Meg Carter
There’s a Portuguese word, not easily translated, which means a longing for what has been lost and simultaneously a hope for its unlikely return. When I think of Palestine, and especially Gaza, "Saudade" is the best way I have to express the nature of those peoples and that land.
Ubi caritas et amor, Deus ibi est.
25 Old King's Highway No., Suite 13 Darien, CT 06820
Bernice Youtz
I met Mrs. Tarazi and toured the Ahli Hospital in Gaza in 1993 - 16 years ago. I was impressed by the hospital - old, decrepit and immaculately clean. A few days earlier I had toured the sparkling, state-of-the-art Hadassah Hospital. What a contrast.
I have often thought of Mrs. Tarazi and find it difficult to believe she, or anyone, could have survived that stress for all those years and now this latest catastrophe. I only wish I had more to give.
Dr. Harry Gunkel in Jerusalem
Sometime between 3 and 4 in the morning now comes the sound of drumming. I wake and hear it distant at first, then closer as someone moves along the streets in East Jerusalem pounding a big drum. No particular rhythm, just noise. Not long after that, a cannon fires once. A very big, very loud cannon.
It's Ramadan.
Ramadan is the ninth month of the Islamic calendar and it is the month in which the Quran was revealed to the Prophet Mohammad. The Islamic calendar is a lunar one, so the dates of Ramadan, according to the Western calendar, are different each year. By the Western calendar, it occurs one month earlier each year. That is, next year it will be from mid-July to mid-August.
Ramadan is intended to be a prayerful and observant time as befits the revealing of the Quran. The faithful fast from before sunrise until the moment of sunset. The drumming in the morning is intended to wake people so that they might eat before the fast begins and that is signaled by the cannonfire. At the moment of sunset, the cannon fires again to let everyone know the fast is broken. So now, during the summertime, the fast lasts about 15 hours.
The fast is absolute. No food, no liquids, no gum, no cigarettes, no sexual relations during its time. But more, the mouth should also be prayerful. There should be no idle gossip, or silly chatter. No profanity or harmful speech.
When the fast breaks every evening, there is a general gathering of friends and family for "break-fast" (iftur). So there is an extremely important social and family-strengthening aspect of the time as well. And this is shared with all. A few evenings ago, I was returning to my apartment just after 7 in the evening and waved hello to the guys in the barber shop across the street. They called me over and invited me to share their iftur with them. I did and enjoyed getting to know my new neighbors.
The evenings also find the streets lit up festively. The photo at the head of this blog shows a scene in the Old City at Ramadan.
I love the rhythm of Ramadan. It is rather noisy where I live, with the sounds of life all day long from the street. But around 6:30 pm, a quiet begins to descend. It is noticeable and makes you stop - "what's different?". It lasts until about 8 pm. Everyone is indoors eating and drinking after 15 long hours without, and enjoying their friends and family. Around 8, the streets fill again, but then it becomes quiet again about an hour later. It is now Evening Prayer time and most people are at the mosque for prayers. I live near Al Aqsa Mosque, one of the holiest sites in Islam, and thousands of people attend prayer services there during Ramadan.
As an outsider and one with an extremely superficial understanding of Ramadan, I am struck by the profundity of this time. I am moved by it and in awe of the faithfulness it calls forth. I sometimes try to join in the fast and admit it is extraordinarily difficult. But what moves me is that the difficulty is minor for the observant's. They are much more focused on the intent. The Quran tells that the purpose of the fast is "in order that you might become more pious"; to find humility; to recognize the bounty of Allah by noticing its simulated absence; and to find empathy and compassion for those everywhere who everyday do not have enough to eat. From where I sit, this is profound and I feel blessed to be here in the midst of it.
This cathedral was built during the 1890's, under the watchful eye of Bishop Blyth and with the cooperation of the Greek Patriarch of the time. The relationship between the Greek Orthodox Patriarchate and the Anglican community here had fallen upon hard times. Repairing and restoring this relationship was the calling of Bishop Blyth upon his arrival in 1887. The Greek Patriarch and Bishop Blyth brought forth a cooperative spirit and through their renewed relationship, the Patriarch became enthusiastic in his support of the building of an Anglican cathedral on this site which had long been known as "tel Kineseh" – hill of the church.
Subsequent excavations preparing for the foundations of the Cathedral revealed traces of a church from the Byzantine era, perhaps in the 5th or 6th centuries, along with tombs and cisterns of other centuries on this site. Remnants of stone work of that time grace the grounds of the cathedral even today along with small mosaics which have been preserved in the floor of the Chapel of St. Michael and all Angels.The Greek Patriarch urged Bishop Blyth to include a residence for the Bishop on the grounds of the Cathedral to provide oversight for services held in the Cathedral; thereby ensuring that worship was indeed according to Anglican tradition, liturgy and theology. The Patriarch wanted to ensure that "episcopal" oversight was not merely in name only. Bishop Blyth included quarters in his plan which has provided housing for subsequent bishops and now for Bishop Suheil and his family.The Cathedral was built in two stages. The first stage came down as far as what we now see as the crossing. It was not until 1910 that the crossing, transepts, two additional chapels, choir, high altar and bell tower were completed. This building has seen its share of conflict throughout the past 111 years. The Ottoman Turks took over the property, including St. George's School on the adjacent land for the duration of the First World War. The Cathedral was closed; Bishop Blyth went home to England; the surrender agreement which ended hostilities in Jerusalem in 1917 was signed on what is now the Bishop's desk. During the 1948 and 1967 conflicts, the Cathedral saw considerable damage – stained glass windows were blown out, an organ and the original pulpit were destroyed and the roof was damaged.During these times of armed conflict, prayers were held regularly in the Chapel of St. Michael and all Angels where it was safest for those who came to pray. The places where you see clear glass throughout the Cathedral today provide mute testimony to the violence and destruction of earlier times.
Cathedrals provide the symbol and center of a bishop's pastoral, liturgical and teaching ministry. The word "cathedral" refers to the place where the bishop's "cathedra" – the bishop's chair or seat is housed. When the bishop speaks "ex-cathedra", it is from the chair, from the seat of authority as bishop of the diocese that the bishop has something very important to offer the clergy and people of the diocese.Cathedrals are powerful symbols of hope in a world which is desperate for good news. Cathedrals are sometimes larger than life, engaging our imaginations, lifting our spirits and encouraging us to look up as we seek out the details of stained glass windows, stonework and ceilings we are drawn heavenward by our eyes as we look above for the peace of God which passes all understanding. Cathedrals are intended by their design and their presence to gather God's people for prayer and to lift them out of the ordinary, out of the normal and, in a sense, to bring us to a fresh inspiring insight into our relationship with our Lord and Savior. Bishop Suheil has made it a cornerstone of his ministry to be clear to all who have ears to hear, that this Cathedral, in the holy city of Jerusalem welcomes all who enter her heavy doors. Here in Jerusalem, all of God's people are welcome. We welcome all, we welcome all to pray, to listen for the Holy Spirit, to sing their praises, to shed their tears, to confess their sorrows, to celebrate the gift of life, to reflect upon the sacrifice of Christ, to discover what that offering on Golgotha means to each faithful soul. The heart of a pilgrim is the heart that is open to the work of the Holy Spirit; we are all pilgrims and all are welcome here.
I have not been able to discover the exact reason why St. Luke's Day was chosen for the consecration of this Cathedral. Could it be that the date was merely convenient for all the participants – I would like to think there was a more inspiring purpose. St. Luke the Physician, St. Luke the Evangelist emphasizes throughout his Gospel the good news of Christ as a healer and reconciler – bringing people with contrite and penitent hearts to a new faith in God, a faith which truly brings healing to heart, soul, body and mind. Saint Luke records our Lord Jesus Christ spending a lot of time and energy, by word and example, on the need to restore peace and wholeness among all people with God, within ourselves, and with our neighbors.This message rooted in the good news of Luke's Gospel has been important throughout the generations. This message of peace and healing was important under the Ottoman administration of 1898 throughout this region on the Feast of St. Luke and it is no less important for the political and religious leadership of the Middle East of our own time.May this Cathedral, by its presence and through your participation in prayer and praise, continue to be a symbol of hope; a reminder by its very presence of God's call for peace among all of God's people; a place of proclamation where Bishop Suheil may continue to inspire and challenge all who have ears to hear in the way of justice and peace.October 18, 2009
Feast of St. Luke the Evangelist
The 111th anniversary of the consecration of the Cathedral of St. George the Martyr, Jerusalem
On this day in 1898, at 10:00 o'clock in the morning, on the feast day of St. Luke the Evangelist, this Cathedral was consecrated for use according to the worship and practice of the Church of England, as part of the Anglican Communion. The Bishop of Salisbury, the Rt. Rev'd John Wordsworth, representing the Archbishop of Canterbury at the request of the Anglican Bishop in Jerusalem, the Rt. Rev'd George Francis Popham Blyth, took the principle role in the consecration, which was witnessed by a host of Anglicans, and ecumenical and political representatives from throughout the holy city. As near as I can tell, you are sitting in the very chairs used on that morning, 111 years ago today.
The Rev'd Canon Robert D. Edmunds
The Edmunds
Steven France
In Palestine, there are stone walls all around -- forming homes, churches, mosques, shops -- emerging from the dry land, hand made, lightly toasted, in the creamy light. But now, towering blades of sooty cement cut through fields and residential areas, forming monotone gray ribbons that smudge the landscape and bruise the cityscape, punctuated by squat guard towers that squint menace at all that moves or breathes.
The people, used to suffering, are less afraid than I. They are warm, ebullient, succulent -- as in able to thrive on mere drops of freedom, opportunity, wealth. Beautiful to observe in their sure movements and melodious conversation, they own their faces, dark eyes that gently search your eyes, bestowing smiles of all kinds, sometimes almost imperceptible, easily and with pleasure.
Bob McKewin
Bob McKewin lived at the Diocesan School and Home in Ramallah during the autumn of 1987.
When we lived in the orphanage, we were house parents with other volunteers. I believe Audeh and Patricia Rantissi to be two of the most dedicated Christian souls who ever served God and humanity. Their book, Blessed are the Peacemakers will become a classic as it tells some of the great truths of Palestine/Israel during the past 50 years.
I have visited Israel/Palestine a total of 7 times and was a student at St. George's College in '76 and '80. A book came out of that experience, Behold the Man which was published in '90. My dear wife, Pat McKewin, and I were houseparents in the boys' orphan home in Ramallah from September thru early December of '87. My wife helped with laundry, and clothing repair. We both worked directly with all the boys during study time each evening. On Sundays we led the 32 boys, two by two, to St. Andrew's Anglican Church for worship.
I walked them all to the Evangelical School each school day, a distance of some five city blocks. We brought them their lunches at noon and sat with them while they ate. (They didn't want the good roast beef sandwiches imported canned meat from the USA. They wanted eggplant or cheese!)
I once asked Patricia Rantissi this question: The Moslem people I have met here (they live side by side with their Christian neighbors, and have done so for centuries) seem like very good people. What is the difference between them and us?" Patricia answered: "They are good neighbors. They are honest in their business dealings. They are good citizens. They love their children. The only difference between them and us is they don’t know they have a Savior!
Audeh Rantissi was acting Mayor of Ramallah for five years before we arrived there -- the previous mayor had his legs blown off by a car bomb. When he was well enough to leave the hospital, he was deported to Jordan. Audeh worked well with all denominations of Christians, as well as with the Moslem population in Ramallah. He was honored and respected.
An escort was necessary as the Palestinians didn't trust the Israeli soldiers who patrolled the streets.
A few hours each day were spent by me and other houseparent men helping with the construction of the dormitory and school. Audeh recruited volunteers from Christian communities in Europe and America to help with that construction. The work went on for years and years.
Afternoons after school, another houseparent, a young woman from Sweden, Gunnel Fallmark, and I took the boys to a soccer field for fun and good exercise. Gunnel was 20 years old then. I
was almost 64. Sometimes I would try to
play, but it was more reasonable for me to be a spectator.
Evenings after study time were spent watching videos. The boys particularly liked Superman movies, or other action films. The story is that one of the boys was sure he could fly, so he leapt off the roof of the three story 'home'. He landed in a grape arbor and was not hurt. But he did learn about gravity.
They are the people of the Land, those who live and die in the land where pilgrims, prophets and conquerors tread the holy ground, their heads in the clouds. Where do they go for a pilgrimage, when they want to touch eternity? Perhaps they move in imagined time to a Holy Land where all the nations are welcomed, all the "others," and all give thanks to the people of the Land and bless them.
Website by; WebsforGood.com
The Rev. Dr. Deborah Dresser
AFEDJ Trustee
The Jerusalem Cross, sometimes known as the Pilgrim’s Cross, perfectly represents Christ (the larger cross) at the center of every pilgrimage, leading the pilgrims the four smaller crosses in each corner into a journey of spiritual discovery. An equally valuable interpretation is the central cross as the pilgrim going forth with Christ and the four smaller crosses representing the faith community that supports the pilgrim with prayer, and then welcomes the pilgrim home. This connection between the individual pilgrim and his/her parish can be potentially profound. That relationship begins with the intentionality of the pilgrimage. Far more than being tourists, however rewarding that may be, pilgrims seek out people, places and things that affect their spiritual core. So often the pilgrims return home with a sense of being transformed in some remarkable way through their engagement with holy sites and with people they have met.
In Borg’s and Crossan’s important book, The Last Week (2006), the authors describe the two "royal" processions on their way to Jerusalem during the Passover. One procession, the "imperial procession," began in Caesarea Maritima with all of the Emperor’s power coming to keep peace in the out-of-the-way city called Jerusalem. Passover was the one time of the year that Rome felt it was necessary to keep the "Pax" in Jerusalem. The emperor’s representative, Pilate the Governor, as we know by Roman coins, would have been carrying a palm branch, a sign of imperial power. The road the Emperor’s procession would have taken to Jerusalem would have been from the west.
In contrast, the Jesus’ procession, the "peasant’s procession", would have come up from the Wadi Qelt road in the east, from Jericho to Jerusalem, arriving on the Mount of Olives, near the Augusta Victoria Lutheran Hospital today, not that far from Bethphage. There Jesus asked for a donkey and a colt, fulfilling the prophecies of the Prophet Zechariah (9:9). As Jesus made his way along the Mount of Olives, a large crowd cut leafy branches (olive branches) and waved them as they shouted, "Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord."
To understand Palm Sunday, it is critical to know the first century roads leading into Jerusalem. To understand Palm Sunday, it is critical to know the careful distinction that is made in the Scripture between the olive branch and the palm branch. In other words, one cannot understand what happens on Palm Sunday without understanding both the roads leading into Jerusalem and the role of the olive and the palm branch.
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The Reverend Canon John L. Peterson : Understanding Palm Sunday
The olive branch symbolizes peace. The palm branch symbolizes imperial power. Entering Jerusalem on these two different roads, a clash of power was about to take place: the power of the Emperor and the power of the "highest heaven". As the drama of Holy Week unfolds, the question that we have to remember is this: the Palm Branch or the Olive Branch?
This information comes to you as a courtesy of St. George’s College, one of more than thirty institutions of education, rehabilitation, and healthcare of the Episcopal Diocese of Jerusalem, covering Israel, Palestine, Jordan, Syria, and Lebanon. Click here for their website.
St. George’s College, a continuing education center of the Anglican Communion, offers educational pilgrimages.
Every moment, holy invitations are given to us to enter into the mystery of God. And that is what I felt when I said "yes" to going to the Holy Land on a Pilgrimage with a group from my seminary in 2009. It was a privilege and an honor to walk in the steps of so many that had gone before, and to consider places where Jesus spoke, taught, baptized and called "come, follow me." However, when I touched the stones at the Arab Evangelical Episcopal School in Ramallah, I felt I had come into a special place.
These were the living stones of voices that were laughing, playing, shouting, singing, and smiling - inviting me to come and be a part of their life. The buoyancy of the students, from youngest to oldest, stirred me to dare to dream to return and enter into the work at the school. The warmth and openness of the leadership of Iyad Rafidi, the loving countenance of Sister Najeh Rantisi, the support of all the hands that I held, shook, extended Arab coffee and cookies, and prayed with, gave me the courage to write and consider committing five weeks to work at the school.
Within the year, we received a grant, raised additional support, and realized the dared dream I had felt. In this experience, we felt the struggle of the Palestinians - Christian and Muslim - to find their way through life as an oppressed people. We shared everyday experiences of getting food, applying for permission to travel and being rejected, of having an identity and yet being "invisible" behind a wall. We learned how important faith, love and fellowship are amongst us. We learned what the visible reality of hope in a besieged circumstance looks like. We learned the all important phrase, "In‘Shallah" ("As God wills"), because there may not be tomorrow. We went from tears, to laughter, to prayer, to joy, to love. When we left, a part of my heart felt torn.
It is ongoing. The dream unfolded to become a partnership, and we are now undergoing building a partnered relationship between the Arab Evangelical Episcopal School and the school where I currently serve as a Chaplain, St. Patrick's Episcopal Day School, in Thousand Oaks, CA. It is a privilege.
The Rev. Sarah Kitch
Sixth graders in Thousand Oaks CA connect with students at Arab Evangelical School in Ramallah
...can you believe that I was only steps away...
...all I had to do was drop down to my knees...
...and stick out my hand...
...and reach into the place - marked, lest I should miss it, by a silver star, illumined by sacred lamps, sheltered by an altar...
...but, instead... I walked away from this... in a hurry?
And this is how I should leave Bethlehem?
What might have happened if I’d stopped at the place where Jesus had been born...
...and instead of uttering my Hail Marys as an antidote to the world around me...
...I’d found a better prayer to offer to God?
...a prayer of just how wonderful it was to be in Bethlehem in the first place - to have the freedom and the resources to get there...
...a prayer of thanksgiving for all God’s given me...
...a prayer of love and concern for others around me...
...a prayer of care for the earth God has given us...
...a prayer for peace in a world that is drowning in war and violence...
But I left Bethlehem without saying any of the prayers...
...which is a lot like visiting Bethlehem without really visiting Jesus.
And tonight, tonight... we have built Bethlehem here. And I believe that perhaps God is giving me another chance to visit Bethlehem, and to make a better visit of it.
Yes, tonight we have built Bethlehem here... and of course the same question is staring you in the face, as it is me: What are we going to do now that we are here?
Are you we going to wait and see if we get what we want out of this visit? Or are we here to see Jesus? I sure I hope I get it right this time!
There is no hero of Bethlehem - and it certainly wouldn’t be me or you if there was - God does not need a hero tonight, or any night of the year. There is only this child in the manger... and a thousand reasons not to stop and worship him, not to bend low and adore him... but to plan our exit... and get on with our lives, because we foolishly think it is all about us.
But for one night only we have built Bethlehem here... and it’s not about me or about you... and there is only this question:
Now that we are in Bethlehem, are we going to stop, and be with Jesus, and let it be about him?
Christmas Sermon by the Rev. Sean Mullen,
St. Mark’s Episcopal Church, Philadelphia
The question Bethlehem poses isn’t only about tonight. Because we all have our weaker moments, our less proud moments, even on Christmas Eve... Even when you have travelled half way around the globe to visit Bethlehem and all you can do is conclude how much holier you are than everyone else around you. The truth is that many of us do this with our faith all the time. We say it is about Jesus; but really, we make it about us. And if we’re not getting what we came for, then don’t expect us to stick around Bethlehem very long. We are going to find the fastest way out, and the best story to tell of why it was so virtuous of us to leave so soon. That’s what I did.
Reflection from a pilgrim, October 2011
One of the blind girls at Savior’s School in Zarka sang a song for us that she has written in Arabic. The words said, “I can’t see with my eyes, but I see with my heart and I can draw with the sun. I have my mother and father who are helping me to learn, and I have this school.” The music was soulful and plaintive in a traditional Arabic style, and so, so hopeful.
The Rev. Dr. Mitri Raheb
Pastor of the Evangelical Lutheran Christmas Church, Bethlehem, Palestine
2012 winner of the Deutscher Medienpreis
No one else understood what peace really is like St. Paul. He himself a former Jewish leader, a zealot, a persecutor, and a hard liner; he committed himself to making sure that a wall of separation is built and kept between his community and its enemies. He was ready to attack, terrorize, and even sanction the killing of whoever dared to question the importance of this wall for the security of his community. He did that to St. Stephen and to many others as well. For Saul there was no compromise. For Saul the ideological wall of separation was a necessity, a must to preserve his people’s identity, demography and security. This was the way he was brought up. This is the way he was taught.
However, this same radical person was radically transformed. He had a unique encounter with no one less and nobody else but Jesus of Nazareth, God incarnate. This encounter made him discover what true peacemaking is all about, and he described it as "breaking down dividing walls of hostility" (Ephesians 2, 14). From that moment, the zealot Saul became the passionate apostle Paul. His great discovery was that God himself in Christ has broken the walls of hostility between the human and the divine. The wall of sin was brought down by God himself, and in its place a bridge of an amazing grace was constructed. For Paul this discovery had only one conclusion: If God himself in Christ has destroyed the wall of hostility between the divine and the human then there is no place for walls between peoples, tribes, cultures and nations. For Paul, the incarnation, the reason for us gathering here on this eve, was thus nothing sentimental, but a radical transformation. This very reality of the incarnation was mightier than Saul’s old convictions. It was so powerful that it transformed the ancient world and created a new reality.
