(Top left, a 1990 view of the spire of the Church of the Nativity, a creation of the 3rd Century anno domini. Below left is where the rental car was parked with a few others on the Square that day. At the upper right is the antechamber below the Church designed to accommodate many more people than were present when we had our chance to visit. At center is the interior of the Grotto, bathed in candlelight. On the floor is a dark crystal orb surrounded by the rays of a golden star. It is said that on this spot Mary delivered her son 2,022 years ago today).

This is the morning each year when many pay homage to an ancient miracle. They share this day with a week of Dedication celebrated in Lights by others joined in celestial harmony that dances in the skies above us all.

I wish we could say that about our visit to the Holy Place. It was off limits at the time due to modern political issues. We went anyway, considering it would be the only time we would have physical proximity to the end and the beginning of the story in the same day. To be orderly, we should have headed for Bethlehem first, but we wanted no trouble on Liberty in the Holy Land. The decision to violate the lawful orders restricting our travel was made in the Garden of Gethsemane, a place where other historic decisions are known to have been made. Like many who visit Jerusalem, we became infused with a certain zealous spirit at walking in places that had only been words all our lives.

(In the Garden of Gethsemane are ancient olive trees that grow where others did millennia ago).

Due to the modern tension, the little town of Bethlehem was mostly deserted when we arrived. Jerusalem had been approved for visitation, and there we had paid respects to both sites of the single Crucifixion and trudged the Way of Sorrows, the Via Dolorosa. There we marveled at Station 8, where one of us knelt for a moment. The guidebook stated that Christ had stopped there while bearing his cross to comfort some distraught women of the old city. And having given them grace, trudged on to meet His fate.

The Deputy Commander of the Air Wing in which Lutt-man, Toad and Vic served another empire had let us go during the Haifa port visit. We had hired a driver, an older Israeli man who had fought on this soil. Our visit was not on the high holy days. Instead, we were in the midst of the Intifada, a long-running protest by Palestinian activists. The civic boycott by some residents added uncertainty to our American travels, led by an Israeli citizen through areas inhabited by the winners and losers of more recent conflicts.

We were in the garden of Gethsemane when the realization struck us. Think for a moment what it is like to sit in a placid place in which grow olives from plants that may have existed when other decisions were made there. While not impossible, we realized it was likely that this would be the only time in our existence on this planet in which it might be possible to actually see- to physically touch- a place described in the story celebrated each year derived from ancient words.

You know the story, regardless of faith. A young couple was traveling in troubled times. The woman was with child and near her time. There were no rooms at the inn in a dusty wayside town. The Innkeeper was kind enough to direct them to a grotto in back of his place and permit them sleep there. In the night, a child was born beneath the glow of a bright star.

For us it was a dusty day in a small quiet town. We were there in early spring in a place “off limits” to us. One of the oldest churches in that faith- the Church of the Nativity- stood above the rental car. We entered through a doorway in which stones had been added to preclude the entry of warriors on horseback in Ottoman days. They would have to dismount if they were to visit this place.

That is part of this place. A few years after our visit, more than a hundred protestors of another faith occupied the Church and the grotto before being expelled by the current rulers of the West Bank of the Jordan River. There will doubtless be others in the years to come. Over the centuries since the Emperor in Rome commanded the Church be built, management of the Grotto has been refined. The Greek Orthodox Patriarchate of Jerusalem and the Armenian Apostolic Church provide different days of celebration for the Nativity. According to a liturgical practice, the next will be held on the 7th of January.

For us?  The silence in the square held solemnity common to the three Patriarchal faiths. We were alone in our silent transit to the stairways that led down to the Grotto. A single priest, Coptic, we thought, swung a lantern filled with warm rich light and incense behind the curtained entrance. The lighting was dim and aromatic smoke filled the small space adorned with muted gold decorations.

Some of us offered prayers. Others were caught in the power of the memories of this place on all the 738 thousand days since the sacred moments occurred and a new life began. The magic of it remains.

A sideways glance between us in the Grotto’s flickering light indicated our time in the place where Mary delivered her son was complete. We had hours of daylight to go on that day, and soon we were riding out of the square and headed for the Sea of Galilee and the Mount at Masada. We had a bottle of spirits (not taken into the Holy place) and were determined to complete the New Testament while the places described in it were at our feet.

But those moments in that small dark chamber will stay with us while we live, you know?

Merry Christmas and Happy Hannukah!

Copyright 2022 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com