April 11, 1995 Bethlehem
The sign above the door to the Bethlehem Nativity Church read, “No food. No weapons. No talking.” I bent to enter. We made our way through the traditional chapel and nave, where candles and incense burned, and priests were chanting. We viewed the traditional spot where many believe Christ was born, marked by a 14 point star. With all the tourists in the church, I somehow got separated from my group. I walked around the chapel, then suddenly caught the faint strains of a hymn. I could hear singing and followed the voices to find some stone steps leading downward.
The steps were so worn, I could place my foot directly into the concave bevel where others had stepped many decades before me. I walked down a hallway, also made of stone and found myself reunited with my class, all crowded into a grotto. Our instructor, Brother Gallup, was just finishing up his instruction, but said we could stay as long as we wished in the grotto, or we could shop, or explore. We just needed to be back to the bus in two hours. I decided to linger. I found a chair, put on my headphones and began listening to Enya. I closed my eyes and tried to visualize that sacred night.
Many thoughts, feelings, and images came into my mind. So many I will never be able to adequately describe them. I was able to see in my mind, this new little family, just beginning. I heard the sweet words they spoke to each other, the tender looks they shared that matched their deep understanding. Later that week I composed this poem about the experience:
Bethlehem’s Nativity Church
The sign read,
“No food. No weapons. No talking.
Reverence Required.”
I bowed to enter.
Robed priests chanted,
Incense burned,
Yellow candles dripped,
But still… within… I felt something.
My ears caught distant voices, resonating sounds,
The song of a Babe in a Manger.
And like the heralding star of yesteryear,
I followed it.
Down grotto’s smooth steps I slid
and joined in the last stanza of song.
With prayer completed, all people passed by.
There was quiet peace, I was alone.
This cave — its gray walls so familiar, so similar.
Did they take refuge here?
I thought of newly illuminated star,
I thought of Shepherd’s moon.
With lashes low and head in hands
My mind began to see,
My ears began to hear,
My heart began to feel.
I saw three caressed in soft warm light,
I heard gratitude gently spoken and love quietly whispered.
I felt each of them there, in that place.
Husband, wife, and first born child
One, a mortal mother of God’s son!
Her tiny babe a King to be,
To heal, to weep, atone and die.
Did she know?
Her face I could not clearly see,
Just long dark hair draped across soft shoulders,
His strong arm around her,
Precious little one cradled in her arms.
This day He was all hers.
Tomorrow He would be sacrificed for all.
Could the world ever know a more beautiful night?
Journal expert from Catherine Arveseth who was a student in Jerusalem, Winter 1995
| This image was originally posted to Flickr by neilward at https://www.flickr.com/photos/8328536@N06/7703592746. It was reviewed on by FlickreviewR and was confirmed to be licensed under the terms of the cc-by-2.0. Some photoshop was used to remove unwanted objects. |
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