Postcard from Jerusalem, III

Two weeks ago as of this writing, I had just arrived in the suburban Jerusalem hamlet of Bethlehem. Now, I spent the summer of 1999 at Lehigh University in Bethlehem, Pennsylvania, so I had kinda gotten used to how quaint it sounds to say, “Yeah, I’m going to Bethlehem,” but that isn’t the same thing as arriving in the same town, around the same time of year (according to legends) as when those Magi found him, as the story goes, by looking up, reading the night sky, consulting charts of stars, by following a single, bright star all the way to Bethlehem…all the way from Persia to Bethlehem …traversing not merely mountains and plains as they progressed, but also cultures and countries, religions and races, customs and tongues.

As I stepped off the Jerusalem public bus #21, I guessed that I should walk up the hill of Pope Paul VI Avenue, and I would make my way to Manger Square—on a dusty, summery March Friday.

It goes without saying that one has the Nativity story reverberating in one’s head as you walk down the city streets of Bethlehem (Look! There’s Shepherd’s Street!). I am thinking of those Magi, in particular, as I trudge up the hill toward the Church of the Nativity.

Having found the child, those strangers bent their bodies to fit the cramped space until they were kneeling. I imagine Mary and Joseph, with heads tilted and ears cocked, must have listened as the strangers’ clothing—so thick and crisp and rich—rustled against the cool dirt floor. Then, opening a chest, the strangers presented the infant with gold that must have glittered by the light of the oil-lamp. They presented the exotic frankincense, and its aroma must have overwhelmed the small space, mixing with the smells of the animals. Finally, they presented a reddish, brown, sticky substance…raw myrrh—sharp, pleasant and somewhat bitter—and it mingled with the other scents.

As I entered the Church of the Nativity situated on Manger Square—haven’t we seen that site on the news every Christmas Eve forever?—the visit of the Magi stuck in my head. But not just their journey and their gifts, but the striking incongruity of their appearance. That is the magic word for me of this visit to Jerusalem! Incongruity! As I mentioned in the first postcard, I tried to convey the tension coursing through every street and artery (or so it seemed to me) in Jerusalem. But then in the second postcard I observed the fervent worship in the Old City. Incongruities.

The church in Bethlehem is built over the grotto where Helen, the mother of Roman Emperor Constantine, determined in the 4th century where Mary had given birth to Jesus. The visit of the Magi evokes paradox, freedom, compassion, contemplation, tolerance, mysticism, pilgrimage, and struggle for understanding (just like modern-day Jerusalem). The church that honors this visit is rather inelegant and fortress-like (hmmm…again, many parallels to modern-day Jerusalem). The church is presided over by armed forces representing the Palestinian Authority.

The Church itself is controlled jointly, by an uneasy agreement among three Christian traditions, each of which claims to be the true church: the Armenian church, the Roman Catholic Church, and the Greek Orthodox Church. For centuries this has been one of the most contested holy places in a contested Holy Land. It has been seized and defended by a succession of armies, including Persian, Muslim, and Crusader forces.

Here are a few tidbits I picked up eavesdropping on the various tour groups as they toured the Church of the Nativity:

• The main access to the church is by the very small Door of Humility, which visitors must enter by bending over awkwardly. The Door is said to have been made in the Ottoman era to prevent warriors entering on horseback and slaughtering worshippers

• In 1847, inside the church, Greek monks beat Roman Catholic priests with staves in an attempt to drive them from the holy site in Bethlehem

• In retaliation, the Roman Catholic church took possession of a tapestry which they said was theirs

• This was followed by the mysterious disappearance of the silver star in the Grotto of the Nativity, which marked the site of Jesus’ birth. The Latins accused the Greeks of stealing the star. Yes, and then a Greek bishop was wounded in a clash with the Latin clergy over this matter.

• In 1984, during the annual Christmas cleanings of the church, 50 Armenian and Greek priests came to blows over the right to clean a disputed section of the church

• In 1985, in an effort to prevent a similar brawl, the two sects agreed to leave the disputed area unclean

• In 1989 Latins and Armenians protested Greek attempts to repair the leaky roof of the church. They both felt that the act of repairing the roof constituted an act to assert control over the roof. Eventually, in 1990, the Israeli government came in as a neutral third party and fixed the leaks.

The Church of the Nativity, like so much in the Holy Land, has had a strange, fraught, often violent past—so incongruous with the gentle story Christians choose to associate with this site.

Here is another interesting tidbit I picked up from a tour group leader—this is the oldest standing church in the Holy Land. Despite all that has happened around it, the church was spared destruction at least twice. Why? I learned it was because of the Magi. In both 614, and then again in 1099, invaders spared the church because of the depictions of the Magi on the walls of the church. It is said that the invaders both times entered this Christian church in full battle mode but then they encountered frescoes depicting men in Persian dress—men who looked like they looked! Seeing themselves so honored and so respectfully depicted, the invaders lowered their swords, retreated respectfully, and spared the ancient Christian church from harm and desecration.

I arrived in Jerusalem just weeks after recent fierce battles had faded—Israeli ground forces had entered Gaza on January 3, 2009. With the cities in this region controlled by armed guards, and massive walls and ghettoes very prominent, barbed wire and security check points commonplace, it felt as if the centuries had collapsed with jumbled images of Herod and Hamas, Gentiles and Gaza, Bethlehem and Ramallah, militants and Magi, swords and stars.

The obvious truth is that woven relentlessly into the narratives of Christians, Jews and Muslims in Jerusalem are braids of fear, political repression, bloodshed and territorial disputes. Jesus was born into a world as volatile and fraught as ours today. Jesus was born in a cold cave rather than at home in Nazareth because a hothead Roman emperor decided to dislocate the people of Judea for the sake of a headcount. After the Magi presented their gifts and departed, Mary and Joseph fled to Egypt with their baby through modern-day Gaza, escaping murderous Herod’s massacre of the innocents.

The Magi are men of peace, emissaries, curious and courteous. The legacy of the Magi live on, out of camera shot, away from microphones, in quiet, courageous, unheralded visits between Palestinians and Israelis bent on peace.

Those Magi—they stay on my mind, as I ponder how we can emulate the journey of the Magi. We can cultivate associations of Jews, Christians and Muslims, learn each other’s names, read each others’ books, study each other’s holy books, love each other’s children, worship in each others’ houses of worship, learn to drink each others’ coffees and eat each others’ sweets, offering to each other the gifts of friendship and respect.

Once upon a time, in a violent and brutal world, three exotic and quixotic figures traversed cultures and religions. They defied potentates, refused violence, risked life and limb—to kneel for a moment in a cramped space, and there pay homage to a child of another nation and faith.

Acts of kindness and friendship can be as real as the killings and the rockets and the occupations and the wars. It would certainly be a parallel universe, a universe alongside the violence, a somewhat invisible, but no less real universe—a universe committed to respect, knowledge, compassion and freedom. We can inhabit that universe visit by visit, conversation by conversation, book by book, cup of coffee by cup of coffee, until, looking at each other, we finally see and recognize ourselves.