There is a wall in Bethlehem, it’s 25ft high, known by the Palestinian people as a wall of apartheid casting shadows on either side of. 440 miles of concrete slabs and steel, to keep people in and out, but where messages of hope are created from the spray paint can, a white dove, with an olive branch in it’s beak and wearing a bullet proof vest with the words “welcome to Palestine, welcome to Bethlehem” and another, letters sprayed in red and green that say “Merry Christmas world from Bethlehem Ghetto. What we don’t see is the little town of Bethlehem lying still and silent there is no deep and dreamless sleep, no watching the silent stars go by, but the deafening noise of fear, of destruction and uncertainty.
We do not watch our flocks by night but instead we watched initially with horror and now perhaps desensitised as the geopolitical issues are played out on an international media stage, and as we do we should remember that Jesus was born during the time of King Herod, a bully, a dictator, Herod the tyrant who ordered all male children around Bethlehem “who were two years old and under” to be slaughtered because his position of power was threatened by the birth of baby, the birth of Jesus Christ. ‘good news, good news’ Noel Noel born is the King of Israel. Jesus The perfect light who was born into a troubled and turbulent land.
Herod’s reign, marked by paranoia and violent repression, had created a climate of fear and instability. His death left a power vacuum that was immediately filled with unrest, rebellions, and interventions. Much like today.
We read in Genesis that Jacobs wife Rachel died, Jacob and his family were only a short distance from Bethlehem. Yet he did not bring his most beloved wife Rachel into that town to be buried, nor did he bring her home with him to Hebron, but he buried her in the middle of nowhere, on the side of the road. Centuries later, the prophet, Jeremiah, will immortalize Rachel’s grave in his famous passage from 31:15, “Thus said the Lord: A cry is heard in Ramah – wailing, bitter weeping – Rachel weeping for her children. She refuses to be comforted for her children, who are gone.”
There is a wall in Bethlehem, on it is written “we are weeping. Today Rachels tomb is no longer in a secluded place in the middle of nowhere but uncomfortably close in the shadow of the wall.” and the people weep, for their children, for their dead, separated families, destroyed livelihoods, the wall that has driven an axe between communities, infrastructure and the economy it is bleak, like the midwinter.
The political chaos following Herod’s death likely shaped the experiences of ordinary Jewish families, including Mary and Joseph. There was a heavy-handed response to uprisings, culminating in massacres and the crucifixion of thousands, which underscored the Roman Empire's readiness to maintain order at all costs. Perhaps like the presence of Varus the Roman general and politician under the first Roman emperor Augustus. Varus and his legions in Galilee would have brought terror and destruction to nearby towns, perhaps even Nazareth, where Jesus was later raised. Families like Mary and Joseph’s lived under constant threat, navigating a world dominated by unpredictable rulers and the oppressive Roman occupation. The infant Jesus and his parents fled to Egypt to seek refuge, yes Jesus was a refugee. As of mid 2024 there were approximately 122.6 million people displaced across the world due to persecution, war, conflict, violence and human rights violations.
It is estimated that 1 in every 67 people on Earth has been forced to flee their homes, An estimated 6.6 million are in camps. Not places of refuge but of unnecessary suffering.
There is a wall in Bethlehem, and on it written is the words “make love not war”
And man, at war with man, hears notThe love-song which they bring;O hush the noise, ye men of strife,And hear the angels sing.
And you will see him lying in a manager wrapped in swaddling clothes, and this will be a sign. The Holy land needed a messianic figure someone who could deliver the Jewish people from foreign domination. While these leaders used violence to achieve their aims, Jesus’s birth symbolized a different kind of hope. The Gospels describe him as the Messiah bringing peace and salvation, contrasting sharply with the political and militant responses of the time.
In this fraught environment, Jesus’s teachings of love, forgiveness, and a kingdom "not of this world" would have stood in stark contrast to the prevailing struggles for power and survival. The turbulence of the time set the stage for his life and mission, offering a profound counterpoint to the cycles of violence and oppression that defined the era.
And while churches in Bethlehem place baby dolls in the rubble instead of a manger for their nativities this year, we too place him in our hearts, hearts that despair for the aggression, violence and misuse of power across our fragile world today. Hearts that fear the destruction of our planet, fear of the despots, the tyrants, the geopolitical tensions across nations, fear breeds ignorance, ignorance lays way to hate and hate can cause destruction.
The hopes and fears of all the years were real, and so they are today.
On the 21st of December 2023, Stephanie a mother and journalist living on Manger street with her children in Bethlehem said this “During wartime, you cannot afford to wait for God to arrive. So, I searched for God already with us. I felt God when the bakers beneath our house handed my children warm bread. When my friend Hanadi carried a heavy pot of burbara through the checkpoint on the feast of St. Barbara so that she could share the dessert with her colleagues. God was in Sami, the tea seller who taught me the recipe for his tisane: infused mint and sage, cardamom, cinnamon, ginger, lemon, rose. God was in Suleiman, wiping down chairs on Star Street, already preparing the café he would open when the war was over.
People became gentler with one another. A soft hand on the shoulder. A message asking: How are you?
It was in those days that I became aware that the incarnation is a kindness. God breaking through the void to comfort us. Emmanuel, God with us, a with I now understood was not simply a word but a connection that carries the weight of the entire world.
God bridging the distance and saying: You are not alone. I would never ask you to live this by yourself. And it is precisely this that we are longing for in our lives, for God to reach out, over and over again, to keep reassuring us. And so God does.
On Milk Grotto Road, I found Jack Giacaman carving nativity sets out of olive wood.
“The olive wood of this region has a different grain, a different beauty than the olive wood that comes from other regions,” he told me. “If you gave me a piece of olive wood from Bethlehem, I’ll know immediately that it’s from here. When you carve it, you taste the dust, and it even tastes different.”
He explained that carving is a form of prayer. In order to be a good carver, you must believe in the story you are creating.
I asked him why carving olive wood matters. He paused before answering.
“Through our carving, we are teaching the stories of the Bible to small children,” he replied. “It’s not enough to simply read the story of the nativity. You have to be able to hold it in your hands.”
On December 16, The Latin Patriarchate of Jerusalem issued a statement that the Israeli military had killed two Christian women, Nahida Khalil Anton and Samar Kamal Anton, who were sheltering inside of the Catholic compound of the Holy Family Church in Gaza. All lives are equally precious, and as we mourn them we also grieve the thousands of others who have been killed in this war.
A few weeks ago, my daughter heard her brothers discussing the Christmas truce, a series of unofficial ceasefires that took place over Christmas in Europe during the First World War. Soldiers from opposing sides briefly put down their weapons.
“Maybe Christmas will stop the war,” Carmel said at dinner.
I was touched by her innocence, that she still believed such miracles might happen.
But later, her words returned to me, like a prayer.
I cannot pretend to have the same faith as a child anymore. But I want to believe.
Yes, maybe Christmas will end the war. I am praying to God who entered into history and is entering history still. That when we arrive at the manger, it will not be to read a story. It will be to welcome the Prince of Peace, here and now. A kindness. A tenderness. A peace that we can finally hold in our hands.
There is a wall in Bethlehem, and on it is written ……
Amen
Comments