Not Just Another Day in Bethlehem

I spent this past weekend on a second trip to Bethlehem. While I thought the first trip was pretty incredible, looking back it pales in comparison to what I experienced this time.

Josh, Leanne, and I left midday on Saturday for the West Bank city of Bethlehem. Hoping to save some money on cab fare, we decided to take the Palestinian bus from Damascus gate to the military crossing/check point across from Bethlehem. The bus ride went off without a hitch, proving our fears of vehicles with blue stripes and Arabic writing baseless. We reached the security checkpoint, which is located adjacent to the wall Israel has built to separate itself from the West Bank. This was my first close-up experience of the wall, and, at the expense of sounding redundant, I must say it really was quite a wall. Regardless of what one thinks of Israel’s policy in regard to the building of the structure, one cannot help but be reminded of its similitude to another wall separating democratic Western Germany from Communist Eastern Germany in Berlin. On both sides of the wall was protest graffiti, adding even more resemblance to the aforementioned barrier.

We were allowed to enter Bethlehem without a problem, and took a cab to the Church of the Nativity. Although the church was not new for me and Josh, we did meet some new people inside. After a short conversation, we befriended Dominic, a Palestinian expatriate who has lived in Australia for some 27 years, and his friend George, a Palestinian citizen who married an American and is moving to the States in a couple of weeks. They quickly became our guides, expecting nothing but to share with us their excited knowledge of Bethlehem and its mysteries. They first took us to the Tomb of the Innocents, an ancient burial site said to be filled with the bones of the infants Herod murdered at the time of Christ’s birth. The door leading down to the tomb had a lock on it, but George’s friendship with a priest in the church helped secure us our entrance. Inside the cold tomb were human bones piled in stacks. Few of the bones looked like they were from infants, but Dominic maintained they were in fact from the time of Christ. Along with the bones, the dim light and Greek Orthodox icons hanging on the walls gave me a strong case of the heeby-jeebies.

After the visit to the tomb, Dominic took us see the Milky Grotto, the traditional place where Mary fed Christ after the holy family left the manger and stable. The grotto, which seemed more like a cave than a place of worship, was marked by a crumbly white substance mixed in with its walls carved from the rock. Dominic told me to rub the rock and taste the powdery substance, which supposedly would remind me of milk. I listened, but the powder just tasted like chalk. In the grotto were pictures of Mary feeding Christ, and I thought that this was perhaps the only place in all of Christendom where such a graphic representation of Mary’s breast was acceptable.

After the Milky Grotto, Dominic left us to go visit his family. George remained, though, and offered us a special tour. After having an early dinner at his friend’s knock-off Subway restaurant (with the Subway logo and all -- apparently corporate trademarks don’t matter much in the West Bank), we got into a cab that George arranged for us. We had no idea where he was going to take us, but soon enough were heading out of town and towards the hills of Jordan. As we went away from Bethlehem, the land became less and less fertile and the homes (and people) became poorer and poorer. After a 45 minute drive, we reached a beautiful outlook point over the West Bank/Jordanian border. Still, though, our cab ride continued. We crept along dangerous precipices, curving our way along a dusty dirt road that seemed to lead to nowhere. Our prize at the end of the drive, however, was well-worth the wait. In the middle of the rocky desert hills was an ancient Greek Orthodox monastery, the second-oldest continually inhabited monastery in all of Christendom. Only the men were allowed to enter, so Leanne and George’s wife had to remain outside while we explored the splendors of Mar Saba.

We entered through a gate guarded by a Greek Orthodox monk, clad in black hat, robe, and long beard. After climbing down some steps, George, Josh, and I were greeted by an American Greek Orthodox monk who lived, worked, and prayed at the monastery. The secluded retreat was founded in the 6th century by St. Saba, a fellow who appreciated the desert wilderness and its harsh rocky environment as a place to pray and meditate. After his death, the monk told us, the saint’s body remained in tact even though it had not been mummified. We were then taken to the large chapel of the monastery, where we were able to see St. Saba himself, laid out exhibition-style behind a class barrier. His skin was wrinkly and tearing away from his bones in some places, but I’d say he looked quite well for spending some 1500 years in the desert. The damage to his skin didn’t seem to be anything that a little moisturizer couldn’t fix.

After visiting the chapel, arrayed in its Eastern Orthodox icons and religious finery, we were told a little history of the monastery and Greek Orthodoxy. At one time, it had housed over 5000 monks. Today, however, there were only 17. The Eastern Orthodox Church, our monk-guide told us, was the oldest and most-genuine form of Christian faith. I was hardly impressed with his proselytizing efforts, but I really did appreciate the old monk’s hospitality. He offered us a drink after the tour, invited us back again in the future, and then allowed us to leave before the monastery’s evening prayers began. (Click on this link to read another fellow’s experience Mar Saba)

The visit to the monastery left us with our jaws hanging wide open, and we returned to Bethlehem after a day of grand adventure and excitement. George offered to take us to Jericho next weekend -- another mark of his amazing hospitality. I cannot overemphasize the generosity, welcome, and kindness we received from our Palestinian friend and his wife this weekend. He paid for our taxi rides, meals, and anything else we may have needed. When we offered him money, George shrugged us off and wouldn’t allow us to pay. Overall, it was an amazing time experiencing the sights, sounds, and life of Bethlehem.