My heart lit up when I stepped into Manger Square a couple of weeks ago, on Christmas Eve. The large plaza in the center of Bethlehem was radiating from bright strings of neon Christmas lights. The familiar lyrics of Silent Night were pouring from the large speakers on the stage in the middle of the square. A red banner with "Merry Christmas" written in cursive announced the occasion and welcomed the Christian pilgrims. Large, inflated Santa Clauses welcomed greeters entering the cheerful shops encircling the square. Arab vendors, happy to overcome their religious differences for the unique economic opportunity, were selling Christmas balloons to passing children. The music, the lights, the decorations — it was Christmas at last!
The sight may have actually been disappointing if I had come straight from America. It may have felt depressing to see the quaint authenticity of the birthplace of our Lord and Savior lit up like Las Vegas. I wasn't coming straight from America, though. I was coming from six miles away in Jerusalem, where it is always summer and never Christmas. It was the first time this year that I got to hear "Silent Night." It was the first time I saw Christmas lights. It was the first time I saw Santa Clause. Christmas was finally here!
It wasn't just like Christmas everywhere else in the world, though. I was there in the very town where Jesus was born. The town where the whole story took place. I could almost imagine Mary and Joseph looking for a place to sleep for the night. I looked around and wondered where the inn would have been that didn't have any room, but I was distracted by the pair of soldiers watching me out of the corner of their eyes. These weren't the soldiers I'm used to in Jerusalem. These soldiers had their barrettes on top of their heads, their pants were a bit more fitted, and their machine guns seemed scarier. They were Palestinian Authority security forces. They stood in pairs at every corner. They stood at attention, determined to prove to the foreign visitors that they were capable of maintaining peace and order in the tumultuous territory.
I followed my group of friends further into the square. The place was completely packed with tourists and a surprising number of Muslim Arabs who I suppose just came for the party. I fought my way through the crowd, keeping an intent eye on the orange shirt of my friend in front of me, desperately determined not to lose my group. We stopped at a falafel stand, and after some quick calculating, I was thrilled to discover that my falafel only cost me the equivalent of $1.25. I scarfed that down and hurried to find a place where I could see the stage.
The muffled voice of a Palestinian political leader spouted out from the speakers on the stage. He rambled on in Arabic, inserting occasional bits in English with words like "peace," "freedom," and "justice." I made a mental note to learn Arabic. The speaker wasn't up there for too long, though, before he was replaced by members of an evangelical church in Jerusalem. They raced through a few, not particularly on-tune, Christmas carols. They apparently were not given a very big time slot, but they were certain to leave time at the end for an appeal to everyone in the crowd to "open your heart at this very moment to Jesus Christ and let Him come into your life." Their time was up. They ran off the stage.
A woman with a gorgeous voice took the stage this time, singing the number one, most popular Christmas song in our house while I was growing up. I remember lying in my cozy bed at Christmas time as a child, waking up to the duet of my mother's voice and the voice of Kathy Mattea singing "Mary Did You Know?" The woman performing wasn't Kathy Mattea (I don't think), but she did the song justice, and her voice echoed beautifully over the square. Mary did you know, that your baby boy would one day walk on water? I looked out in front of me at a pathway cleared by the police. A teenage boy jumped over the security fence, trying to cross to the other side. A soldier grabbed him forcefully by the bicep and decidedly encouraged him back over the fence where he came from. Mary did you know, that your baby boy, would save our sons and daughters? Another soldier walked down the cleared pathway, stooped over, holding the hand of a four-year-old Palestinian boy. He leaned over and whispered something to the boy. I walked up to the the fence to see if I could figure out what was going on. Moments later a woman pushed her way to the front of the crowd and reached out frantically toward the boy on the other side of the fence. I could almost see her tears of relief and joy radiating out from under her white hijab. She picked the boy up and gave him a big hug. Did you know, that your baby boy has come to make you new? This child that you delivered, will soon deliver you. On the other side of the square, a friend of mine who came with another group noticed that his camera was missing from his pocket. The blind will see, the deaf will hear, the dead will live again. An American, Jewish boy I recognized from my university came running out from one of the bars to greet his friends, "You guys, they sell real Palestinian beer here!" The lame will leap, the dumb will speak the praises of the lamb. Mary did you know?
It was time for us to go. I followed my group back through the winding alleys of Bethlehem. We stopped for a moment to watch a Catholic procession in priestly looking garb pass with lit candles in their hands. We crossed the checkpoint in a large Arab bus. Two Israeli soldiers entered the bus and spoke to the driver. The driver told us all to get our passports out. We held up our passports in front of us, and the soldiers marched down the bus glancing at each of them. The soldiers exited the bus, and we continued on our way back to Jerusalem. Kathy Mattea's voice continued in my head. Mary did you know, that your baby boy is Lord of all creation? Mary did you know, that your baby boy will one day rule the nations?
