O little town of Bethlehem
How still we see thee lie
Above thy deep and dreamless sleep
The silent stars go by
Yet in thy dark streets shineth
The everlasting Light
The hopes and fears of all the years
Are met in thee tonight.
Bethlehem. The little town of Bethlehem. The home of Jacob and Rachel and Naomi and Ruth. The town of David: boy shepherd, slayer of Goliath, and divinely-ordained king. The birthplace of a Savior.
I am part of a small group centered on spiritual disciplines that meets monthly. We have been asked to bring our favorite carol to the December Zoom meeting and share why the words or melody is meaningful to us. When I think of the carol "O Little Town of Bethlehem," it is not only the words for me but the warm emotions the song brings forth. When I hear the slow, soft music, I picture myself sitting in a sanctuary on Christmas Eve giving thanks for the sweet simplicity of Christmas, the birth of an infant.
There are also moments when I return in my mind to the complexities of Bethlehem as well. I have been twice. The first time was in the summer of 2000, when I studied abroad in Israel the summer after my freshman year in college. We ate dinner one night in Bethlehem and while I don't remember the food, I do remember kids throwing rocks at our bus and my being confused as to what was happening. One month after I left, was the second intifada, a Palestinian uprising after failed peace talks. Less than two years later, a wall was built around the West Bank, including Bethlehem.
I went again to Bethlehem in 2013, and this time stayed overnight. We had to wait at a checkpoint to enter through the wall and into the town and the air was fraught with tension. Armed Israeli guards walked up and down the aisle of the bus looking for things or people we might be smuggling in. The Israeli West Bank barrier is over 400 miles long and 25 feet tall. It is a massive grey concrete wall. It is covered in graffiti of every color and language. We had a Palestinian tour guide who introduced us to many people who knew firsthand the conflict that has ravaged the land for centuries.
Bethlehem is a poor Palestinian Christian enclave. Bethlehem is one of the thin places in the universe. In Bethlehem, heaven and earth seem to touch one another. The distance between the two collapses and in the town, you can glimpse the divine - in spite of, or maybe because of, the conflict.
One hundred years after the birth of Christ, Christian pilgrims traveled often to Bethlehem. Often they went to one particular grotto, one cave in the earth, where they believed Jesus was born.
Three hundred years after Jesus’ birth, Christians built the first sanctuary over that cave. For the last seventeen hundred years, generations of Christians have built above that holy spot where Mary gave birth to her son. One sanctuary after another has been constructed to form what we call today The Church of the Nativity. Pilgrims to the Holy Land still journey to that cave. Pilgrims like me.
We pulled in front of the rectangular, fortress-like, stone building. It was a rainy, chilly day. I had on my bright red rain coat and tour group badge, but had failed to wear appropriate shoes. My feet were cold and wet. We dodged traffic and other tourists on foot to arrive at the entrance.
The entrance of the church is so low that you have to duck to get in the door - literally bend yourself in half to walk through. The low door has provided protection against generations of aggressors. Upon entering, you realize that the plain stone building contains two different churches and multiple niches with altars by varying denominations.
The front interior room is dimly lit. It is lined with ornate Corinthian columns. The floors are covered with tile, and the walls are covered with dense brocade tapestries. They are dense with rich red and burgundy threads and fabric. Overhead hang large gold and silver ornate oil lamps glowing in the darkness. In the cool, unheated air, the lamps seem to absorb more light than they give off. I was shivering in my wet clothes.
Along the walls, small side altars were covered with tall, thin, and lighted candles. Pilgrims were gathering from Spain, Korea, and Africa. People were singing Christmas carols in different languages, singing harmonies in various tongues. Incense was heavy in the air, and I watched religious priests in various garb pacing the room.
Our group huddled next to a small door beside the high altar. We then began to move down the small stone steps leading to the birthplace of Christ. I had to move slowly, so as not to slip on the well-worn stone stairs, watching my head so I didn’t hit a protruding rock. We entered a small room leading to a small cave. Outside the small cave, maybe ten feet wide, people knelt down amidst more hanging lamps.
We could see on the side of the grotto, on the floor, a silver star. Two feet wide, it had fourteen points. The star marked the spot where Jesus was born. This was the place where God entered into human flesh. Bethlehem.
And while I cherish the simplicity and the sweetness of the song, I embrace the complexity of the birth and the land.
Perhaps these two lines
"The hopes and fears of all the years
Are met in thee tonight"
become the most powerful for us.
We have hopes. We have fears. God is with us. There are thin places on earth where we encounter God. My prayer is that you may encounter God this Advent season in the midst of your hopes and fears. May God enter in, and may the Everlasting Light shine in our darkness.
