The Land Where Jesus Walked…

M. Moore/ Continued fraom Page 4

got control of Beirut, their Maronite Christian allies, called "the Lebanese Forces," entered the camps and massacred everyone!

But nowadays, to the otherwise oblivious tourist and pilgrim, driving to Bethlehem cross-country from the coast is a really lovely experience: the pine-clad modern highway rolls cheerfully through fluffygreen Judean hills and valleys with charming little farms and camping trails winding in the woods along old stone paths dating back to Roman times. Our guide called the entirely re-forested and refurbished region "little Switzerland."

We stopped for a "souvenir" in the limestone-littered valley where Bethlehem-born hero David met Philistine Goliath and killed him with one of those very rocks; not far from there we saw a grassy skull-shaped mound believed to mark the historic site of Goliath’s severed head. Whether or not he was a giant is a matter of debate.

Our guide smilingly told us that, during so many successive centuries of rewrites, evil Goliath only got bigger and bigger!

But isn’t it possible today to see a reallife revival of the same old story?

Suddenly the road turned, and there before us loomed a wide mountain plateau some 2500 feet high and dotted with dreary human dovecotes. On the slopes dropping unceremoniously into a scraggly series of valleys below wandered a few sorry sheep and at least one broken-down shepherd. Such was my first impression of "O little town of Bethlehem." Our guide said its name derives from "Beit Lahm," or "House of Meat"— obviously from the (slaughter of) many lambs once pastured among the profuse silver-leafed olive trees just below the town. Jesus, whom St. John called "Lamb of God," fittingly chose to be born here. So, beyond the singing angels and dazzling star of the first Noel, His future role as both shepherd and sacrifice was clear from the start.

Just outside and below the town, we were stopped at a big checkpoint. The stations were manned by Israeli Defense Forces in full metal jacket. I saw lines of miserable-looking people and cars being held up in the heat for who knows how long, or why. Our driver explained that the standard license plate for cars owned by Israeli citizens (Jews and Arabs) is yellow. Yellow plates are also issued to Palestinians living in East Jerusalem, considered by Israel to be part of its territory.

But license plates for a Palestinian resident of the town of Ramallah, for example, have a white rectangle on the left with the Hebrew letter "R." The number appears on a blue or green background. Similarly, (N)ablus, (B) ethlehem, (H)ebron, and so forth.

Palestinian cars from Gaza have all white plates.

For a Palestinian living in the villages surrounding the town of Ramallah, the "R" is in an orange rectangle.

Jewish settlers living near Ramallah or Bethlehem have yellow Israeli plates. In other words, license plates show one’s race. Thus, were one to find oneself with the "wrong" plate on the "wrong" time or day, one might expect to be greeted by bullets from an M-16 or AK-47.

Americans with an Israeli driver are of course quite safe.

Having served many years in the IDF, our guide and the checkpoint guards knew and saluted one another. We were immediately waved right through, exiting ahead on a winding road up— at last!—to Bethlehem! Our Israeli guide—not permitted to go further— drove to a hotel parking lot and texted his colleague, a Palestinian (Christian) guide, who came to squire us the rest of the way in an appropriately-plated car.

Motoring the hilly streets, we got a good look at "the wall" which has made a ghetto out of Bethlehem.

Apart from titanic tour coaches lumbering with plumes of exhaust fumes towards Manger Square, I thought it was sad and a bit creepy to see so little activity in the streets (pedestrians, people working, people shopping or children at play). Where were they?

En route, our new guide bade us do a bit of shopping at an amazing gift shop.

It was like a Christian Ali-Baba’s cave, replete with everything you can think of, and so much more. In retrospect, I know that we spent too much time and money there, but… whenever would we come this way again? Getting in the taxi, I was approached by a very poor Moslem vendor with strands of beautiful, locallymade amber, mother-of-pearl, and onyx. He obviously would have been grateful for the most nominal of shekels (unlike the Christian "prix-fixe" store we had just exited). So, in a spirit of charity and wonder at the lovely items, I paused to look. Our guide, however, started cursing and screaming at the old man and almost ran him over as we were whisked away in the car! What an example of the hatreds and personal religious "apartheid" existing here even among the Palestinians themselves!

By the time we had parked and were finally walking toward the Church of the Nativity, I hardly felt any glory in the moment…only weary and worn, like the walls of the old edifice itself.

Given the extreme heat, the lateness of our arrival, and the prodigious masses of tourists swarming from triple-parked vans and double-wide coaches, I felt like giving up. At least we had actually made it to the courtyard of Church of the Nativity. From the outside, the church looked like a Crusader fortress that had seen much better days. That is true. In the Middle Ages, we know that Europeans had about a century of success taking back the Holy Land from Islam. It’s obvious that they spent a great deal of their time restructuring and shoring up reclaimed Christian shrines; but I also got the distinct impression that they had no problem recycling those sacred places (like Bethlehem, atop strategic mountains) into formidable citadels, established as symbols of Western temporal [but ironically oh-sotemporary!] authority and power.

As we sat on a stone bench in the sun, too fatigued to advance, too disoriented to retreat, the guide took advantage of our paralysis and talked about the church. He called the small 4-foot stone beams and lintel facing us "the threshold of humility," which required each person, one-by-one, to stoop and bow down. This was but another "remodel," as medieval military (not religious) paranoia mandated that two of the original majestic entrances be sealed, and third shrunk inside and out.

From years of teaching courses on imperial Byzantium [a monarchy known as "East Rome," lasting 1000 years after the collapse of the Western Empire], I was familiar with a lot of what he had to say. For example, it was Emperor Constantine who first and officially decriminalized Christianity in the early 4th century, then founded Constantinople as the great Christian capital of the eastern half of his empire, the only city in the world straddling two continents: Europe and Asia.

Meanwhile, his mother, Empress (St.) Helena of Rome, made an epic and heroic pilgrimage to the Holy Land in hopes of discovering the true sites of Jesus’ earthly life. Her ardent and arduous efforts were ultimately most successful. She bade her son build the first churches over all the sacred places, and brought to Constantinople so many hundreds of miraculous relics that its new basilica was called "little Holy Land" [predecessor of "Hagia Sophia," the Church of the Holy Wisdom].

Back in Bethlehem, much of the Church of the Nativity that we can see dates back to the 6th century when Byzantine Emperor Justinian rebuilt over the previous one. He had the original octagon-shape converted to cruciform.

Damaged floor mosaics were covered by new soil and marble pavement with lofty pink limestone columns, all laid at higher levels. Justinian had the holy altars encased in gold and embellished with breathtaking Byzantine icons.

By this time, we had recovered sufficiently to attempt to rejoin the fray; and after crawling crab-like through the mini-passageway, we finally were able to see for ourselves.The Cedar-of-Lebanon roof was only partially restored for the last time in the 19th-century; but some structures date back much farther.

So dirt gets in and water drips down from holes in the timbers on priceless liturgical art pieces and mosaics. We were shocked to learn that, despite the irony of the Palestinian Authority’s efforts to intervene and mediate, ongoing and long-standing feuds among the three resident custodial clergy (Greek Orthodox, Armenian Orthodox, and the Franciscans) block any agreement or common plan to prevent further damage and resolution of these problems. An atmosphere of hostility "taints the holy place," said a Roman Catholic priest.

This most unfortunate stalemate seems like a microcosm of what is generally happening these days with Congress, U.N. negotiations, Middle East peace talks, perhaps the world at large. Folks do not seem to be looking up (at God in heaven), but rather focused on vanity and ownership issues. As least as far as the arguments and fights about the future of this church are concerned, that will surely end soon: the day the ceiling simply falls and all the hotly disputed building parts meld into one common ruin!

Walking forward to the apse of the church, the main body of which "belongs to" the Greek Orthodox, I was awestruck by their magnificent "iconostasis," a solid gold altar screen bezel-set with jewels and embossed with holy images.

It separates the nave from the sanctuary, and no one but Orthodox priests can go near it, and even though there are many empty chairs in the area, angry guards made it very clear that people (waiting in line sometimes hours to go down into the Nativity grotto right below) were forbidden to rest there.

We were quite lucky (blessed) to have a guide who "knew" the Orthodox monk who was directing traffic from behind the altar area into the crypt. We had already bypassed incredible lines of people log-jammed on the right side of the nave; but after just a nominal wait, we were ushered down the very narrow spiral stepping stones and -- at last!-shown the cave where Jesus was born!

At the bottom of the stairway were three shrines: one altar facing east in honor of the Maji, where they might have knelt, one altar facing north marking the place of the real-life Nativity… Having visited the Church of St. Mary Major in Rome, I know that there are honored holy "crib" relics that St.

Helena brought back from Bethlehem.

The silvery-grey olive planks, believed to be from the real manger because of the miracles associated with them, were placed in a windowed silver and golden reliquary below the altar by Constantine when he first built "Mary Major"in the 4th century. Also, should you visit the Cathedral of Cologne, the chapel behind the altar is dedicated to the "Three Kings" and features a glorious sculpted reliquary believed to hold bones of the Maji (brought back to Europe by German Crusaders). The Nativity grotto area is no more than about 40x10 feet. It is covered in marble, but kept dark and close. The only light comes from flickering red oriental lamps which, like the holy site itself, are owned

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The Land Where Jesus Walked

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covetously by the Greek Orthodox, the Armenians, and the Franciscans (Latins). Interestingly, this cave is one of many in the area that sheltered animals, shepherds, or hermits. In Jesus’ time, this particular one would have been on the edge of town, a place for travelers’ pack animals to stay just a little way down the mountain yet still near the hostel or inn.

20th century Franciscan archeologists excavating those grottos found many tombs, indicating that later Christians wanted to be buried next to the holy place where Jesus was born.

As quickly as we were ushered into the crypt, as quickly we were forced to exit. The monks above could be heard shouting for everyone to keep moving, and certain ones planted in the cave itself obnoxiously made sure everyone did.

In a way, it was necessary, as some who were kneeling could have been trampled in the darkness or unable to breathe in the crush. Absolutely—almost, anyway---out of the question to do any real praying or "feel the moment" until well out of there and away. Our guide escorted us through a long passageway into a big, modern, bright—but empty— Franciscan Church connected next door. It was dedicated to St. Catherine, and built so that the Roman Catholic priests could say the Latin Mass for their Faithful in peace. Apparently, the Catholic clerics had had enough of being discriminated against at the old Church or deprived of the right to be at services or be allowed to pass to the Grotto via the Orthodox-owned nave and transept in the Church of the Nativity. So this area is where they have their monastery and say Mass, most significantly Midnight Mass on Christmas Eve!

Furthermore, the Franciscans access the holy grotto by a tunnel from St.

Catherine’s directly to the crypt (once below ground, no hassles, as they "own" part of the altar of the Maji and altar of the star of Bethlehem). How glad we were to be whisked away from Manger Square by our Christian Palestinian guide who delivered us safely to our Israeli IDF guide who duly drove us in the dark, nicely navigating the checkpoints cross-country back to Ashdod on the sea, a late supper and a night of fitful sleep. ■

Church of the Nativity, Bethlehem,