Merry Christmas!

In those days a decree went out from Emperor Augustus that all the world should be registered. This was the first registration and was taken while Quirinius was governor of Syria. All went to their own towns to be registered. Joseph also went from the town of Nazareth in Galilee to Judea, to the city of David called Bethlehem, because he was descended from the house and family of David. He went to be registered with Mary, to whom he was engaged and who was expecting a child. While they were there, the time came for her to deliver her child. And she gave birth to her firstborn son and wrapped him in bands of cloth, and laid him in a manger, because there was no place for them in the inn. Luke 2:1-7

 “But Mary Margaret, isn’t it a bit late for a Christmas post?”

 And now it’s my turn to surprise you and say, “Absolutely not, because here in Jerusalem, TODAY is also Christmas. Armenian Orthodox Christmas, to be precise. And for another little surprise- this is the third Christmas we’ve had, because January 6^th was also Christmas- Orthodox Christmas.”

So now that I’ve proven I am well within the Christmas season in writing this post, I want to tell you a bit about my Christmas this year, which I spent in a place I never even considered I could possibly spend this special day—in the place where the faith of Christians was quite literally born—Bethlehem.

I’ve ridden the bus into Bethlehem time and again, but December 24, Christmas Eve, was different. The bus filled up quickly with a combination of Palestinians going about their normal routines, local Palestinian Christians heading to Bethlehem to celebrate the holiday, and other pilgrims like myself. The energy was cheerful as we smiled at one another, and struck up the odd conversation among passengers. The girl sitting next to me was traveling alone for just a couple weeks, and when she found out that I had been here for four months, she began pumping me for information. A friend of mine from church climbed onto the bus along with a friend of his who was visiting. It turned out that neither my seat-mate nor my friend knew the route from the bus-stop to Manger Square, where the Church of the Nativity is, so when we climbed off the bus, I became the leader of my own little parade of pilgrims.

How appropriate, because a block from Manger Square we ran right into the annual Christmas parade done by the local scout troupes. Line after line of brilliantly colored flags, children of all ages proudly wearing their scout uniforms, the thrilling blasts of bagpipes, and the infectious rhythm of the drums. I stood up on a star-shaped fountain to get a better view, while the music echoed off the white Jerusalem stone, and vibrated through my own body.

As the end of the parade snaked by us, and the drumbeats faded, I headed straight into Manger Square to meet up with Rachel and Greta. We made a necessary visit to the Church of the Nativity, the traditional site of Christ’s birth, but soon slipped out of the dim, incense filled nave back into the cool, bright afternoon. Walking down another Old City street, we got caught up in the parade a second time, and so found ourselves running late to catch a taxi to Beit Jala. In Beit Jala, at the home of our country coordinator’s, Martin and Suzanne, we shared Christmas Eve dinner, and swapped Secret Santa gifts with the other YAGM. In an effort to bring a little bit of home (and the South) to the Holy Lands, I made my Mamoo’s sweet potato soufflé. While I was missing my family and our traditions, it was such a blessing to spend time with our wonderful team here for the holidays.

Directly after dinner we headed back into Bethlehem to attend a joint Arabic-English-German worship service at Christmas Lutheran Church. I really love these combined services; while it seems disorienting at first with everyone singing hymns and saying prayers simultaneously in their own language, it’s this simultaneous expression of faith that is so compelling. It’s hard to describe how I felt as the stained glass windows of the church slowly darkened, and we passed around small flickering flames from candle to candle until the church was full of dancing light. I was grateful and happy to be where I was, among friends, celebrating the birth of the Savior, singing, and rejoicing.

 The rest of the evening was spontaneous and exciting for me, made so partly by the childlike wonder I felt from standing under that same night sky in which the Angel appeared to the shepherds and from which shone the brilliant star that guided the Magi. We went from standing in Manger Square watching choirs perform, to eating delicious hummous and falafel in a little cave off the Square, to attempting to visit the Milk Grotto chapel (which ended up being closed, but this didn’t seem to dampen anyone’s spirits). As midnight drew closer, we decided to make a visit to the Shepherd’s Fields in Beit Sahour and headed down the hill away from Bethlehem. This first attempt was thwarted by a procession coming from the Shepherd’s Fields that was heading back up the hill. The torches, drums, and strumming of guitars proved to be too enticing, so we joined in for a while, walking along with them. Though we never quite figured out who this varied group of internationals actually were, they didn’t seem to mind our procession-crashing, and after deciding we didn’t want to go all the way back up the hill (trust me, those shepherds had a hike!) we said goodbye and left them to go on their way.

Once again we headed back down the hill in the direction of the Shepherd’s Fields, only this time we were stopped by a voice from above. Not an angel, no, but a little lady on a balcony, shouting, “Merry Christmas! Come up and drink tea with me! Please- I ask you from my heart! Come and drink tea with me.” And we did. At midnight on Christmas we experienced the joy of the hospitality of a total stranger and enjoyed tea with this very kind woman.

After saying thank you and goodbye to our Christmas angel, we headed once again towards the Shepherd’s Fields. Third time’s the charm, and this time we finally made it. Unlike Manger Square, the Fields were quiet and peaceful with few people milling around- the perfect place for us to stand together and hear the Christmas story read from the Gospels of Matthew and Luke.

It was now the early hours of Christmas morning as we walked through the silent streets of Beit Sahour, and I knew that this Christmas was solitary and unique from Christmases past and those yet to come. I pray that I can capture this memory and feeling in my heart and mind, and think of it each year as I hear those words read about Bethlehem, about the shepherds, about hope, and peace. And I pray that in some way you could also feel along with me the joy of Christmas in Bethlehem—of drums and pipes, flickering candles, tea with a stranger, and the vastness and wonder of the open night sky.

Merry Christmas and many blessings for the New Year!