The Friday of the Pilgrimage saw us in the coach driving
south past Mt Tabor through the West Bank to Nablus. Passing through our first military checkpoint and
having to put our cameras away led to a sense of foreboding, but any fears were
soon dismissed by an unscheduled comfort break at a petrol station and the welcome from the friendly locals offering coffee. We heard all about the different zones: A (under
the Palestinian Authority), B (PA have civil control & shared security
control) & C (full Israeli control, leaving just education and health to PA). We quickly learned to recognise the
Palestinian areas from the water tanks on the roofs, essential as their water
supplies could be quite intermittent, as opposed to the Israeli settlement
areas where no such contingency seemed necessary. Indeed, it became clear that control of the water supply would be another bone of contention standing in the way of a two-state
solution.
The only real investment on the Palestinian areas was the
occasional new mosque, at huge expense from a Muslim neighbour, but in
surroundings of such poverty that street cleaning, education and health care seemed
to be a more pressing need. We would
also spot sporadic signs indicating Western charitable investment, but the
basic infrastructure (water, electricity and roads) had not changed since Jordanian
rule in 1967. Why? Palestinian development had to be approved by
Israel and unauthorised developments would face demolition.
After quite a long journey in the coach, we were glad to disembark
at Nablus, formerly Sychar, to seek the relative oasis of Jacob’s Well. This was one of the highlights of the
pilgrimage for me, perhaps because this was off the normal tourist trail. The practicality of lowering the galvanised
metal bucket to raise cool fresh water which we all drank meant that we were living
the story of Jesus meeting the Samaritan woman at the well, both physically and
spiritually. After a short act of
worship, which included a most moving rendition “I heard the voice of Jesus say”,
I managed to sneak back down to the now unlit “grotto” for my own sit down by
the well.
Then, it was a short journey to St
Philip’s Church to be met by Fr Ibrahim Nairouz to see the church being
redecorated, to hear about St Philip’s mission there (both in Acts 8 and today)
and then to enjoy a wonderful lunch prepared by members of the
congregation. It was great to be able to
support them in their work by offering the going rate for such a feast.
Our last stop that day was at Taybeh, once a city near the
wilderness called Ephraim where Jesus took refuge after bringing Lazarus back
from the dead (John 11:54) and now the only remaining Christian community on the
West Bank. By the church, a traditional
dwelling house has been preserved and its layout makes more sense of the
nativity story, with the separate spaces for animals below. Unfortunately, we didn’t stop at the brewery, but I was pleased to know that I
had already been supporting this aspect of the local Christian economy.
Having driven past Jerusalem’s walls, and passing back
through yet another checkpoint, we eventually arrived at our hotel in
Bethlehem, right next door to the Church of the Nativity. Having a little free time, I popped next door
that evening to get a feel for the atmosphere among the long queue of international
pilgrims. I was approached by an
Orthodox priest and ready to greet him, only to discover he was only interested
in teaching me that crossing my legs was not correct etiquette! As ecumenical exchanges go, this was a
disappointment. With Andrew, a fellow
priest from Wales, we wondered around the surrounding streets of Bethlehem,
which quickly became quite oppressive and depressing as we tried to decline the
goods on offer for some increasingly desperate sellers. Once back in the tourist area, where
conversation was easier, an extended discussion with “John” (one of the few remaining local
Christians) and another with the Bedouin-son owner of the (not quite!) Starbucks made us
aware of how bad business was, but also how few other options they had open to
them, not least because of the travel restrictions resulting in the sense of imprisonment.
I was beginning to feel the frustration and helplessness of the Palestinians, but trying hard to remain impartial, knowing that we had yet to hear the other side of the story. The peace of Galilee from that same morning felt a long way away, but as a follower of Jesus, we too had to set our face towards Jerusalem and find our hope in Him. As I took in the view over the Manger Square from the hotel (there was a room!) and sniffed the cool breeze, I was reminded how this "little town" had previously known that same sense of occupation, resentment and struggle against a much stronger and dominant regime. So much for a "deep and dreamless sleep", there was a lot to process here...
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