Mennonite Weekly Review

One of my most meaningful Christmases happened in 2000. The violence of the three-month-old intifada had been consuming Palestinian and Israeli lives and destroying Palestinian homes and neighborhoods.

Kathleen Kern, of Rochester, N.Y., serves with Christian Peacemaker Teams.

The Christian Peacemaker Team in Hebron had to take five taxis to reach Bethlehem for the Christmas Eve service at the Lutheran church. We climbed over rubble mounds that the Israeli military had installed to prevent Palestinian traffic from moving.

By the time we got to church, the rain had so drenched us we had to wring out our socks. Most western governments had forbidden their citizens from entering the West Bank. But some members of Redeemer Lutheran in Jerusalem, CPT Palestine’s church home, had floored the accelerator when Israeli soldiers attempted to turn them back at the entrance to Bethlehem. If Palestinians had been driving, that action that would have resulted in them getting shot.

I watched the somber faces of Palestinians and internationals as they filled the pews. I tried not to think of my frozen feet. But as soon as I sang, “O come all ye faithful … to Bethlehem,” a revelation struck. I turned to my teammate Anita, and saw she was thinking the same thing.

We were the faithful. The internationals who had made it into Bethlehem were the faithful. Most significantly, the Palestinian Christians who had chosen to remain in Bethlehem — when thousands had chosen to emigrate to escape the occupation — were the faithful.

Representatives of the oldest Christian community in the world, they had stayed because they wanted there to be “living stones” in the Holy Land, not just monuments and shrines for tourists. We were all a part of the body of Christ who had chosen to resist principalities and powers by coming to church on Christmas Eve.

Part of me was reluctant to go back this Christmas Eve, because I didn’t think any service could be as meaningful again. And the ambience was different. Palestinian President Mahmoud Abbas was in town, so the traffic was terrible and police snipers were on roofs.

More plastic Santas than I remembered before decorated the outside of shops, side by side with olive wood Nativity scenes. Vendors selling animal balloons (cheetahs appeared to be the most popular) and children walking around with cotton candy lent a carnival atmosphere to Manger Square.

Young people dressed as Santa handed out leaflets regarding the dire situation of Palestinians in Gaza, which reminded us no one can get away from the occupation here. And watching it all, I was sad not to be with my nieces and nephews at Christmas.

But at the Lutheran church, the sermon reminded me that all the darkness in the world cannot put out the flame of one candle. And the next day, Jim Roynon and I, visiting the Church of the Nativity, came upon a band playing and singing Christmas carols in Arabic and Spanish.

Spontaneously, pilgrims from at least five continents had begun a circle dance around the band, singing and clapping, and the Holy Spirit pulled me in. That was the high point of my holiday experience — Christmas and Pentecost rolled into one.

And it just happened to be in Bethlehem.