Read Time: 3 minutes
The air is drenched with Christmas. Whatever that means.
Lights strewn upon unwilling trees, doors donned with exaggerated holiday wreaths, and Christians, for whom this holiday is perhaps the most significant, sing about the birth of a savior who has come to bring peace on earth. Like every good writer, the chroniclers of these stories knew that geography is a key element of any good tale, and therefore took pains to mention that Christ – the prince of peace – was born in a place called Bethlehem; a small town about 5 miles from Jerusalem, military checkpoints permitting.
Bethlehem has therefore occupied a crucial place in the Christian imaginary not only as the terrestrial ingress of the Divine but also as an everlasting physical reminder that God made a home amongst humans. In Christmas song and sacrament, rite and ritual, Bethlehem is repeatedly invoked as the sacred place, worthy of collective remembrance.
Before I had any concept of the Palestinian city of Bethlehem, I knew of its sleepy streets and silent nights as each Christmas, without fail, my Ghanaian communities would sing passionately about this holy city. Whilst we knew Bethlehem was, in fact, a real place, its history and significance bestowed a silvery metaphysical character to it. It functioned more like legend rather than reality.
It was not until the summer of 2023 when I lived in Bethlehem, walked its streets, sat in its cafes, and made friends with its local inhabitants that I realized I did not know or care about this city that I had so vigorously sang about. The romantic idea of a picturesque Bethlehem; quaint and peaceful, was as far from reality as one can imagine. Under a 57-year brutal military occupation, settler violence, dispossession and land grabs, and arbitrary detention and arrests, the legacy of the prince of peace has been destroyed by Israel’s settler colonial architecture. One of the most visually striking aspects of the occupation of Palestine is the illegal 440-mile separation wall that runs through the West Bank, complete with barbed wire, cameras, and watchtowers, which are often manned by snipers. In Bethlehem, the presence of the wall has left only “13% of the Bethlehem district is [sic] available for Palestinian use” and fragmented from other areas of Palestine, thus suffocating the city economically and culturally.
Bethlehem now stands as a near ghost town, suffering under the weight of an illegal occupying power, a struggling economy, and a rapidly declining population of one of the oldest Christian communities in the world. Yet, the global Christian response to the suffering and injustice in the Holy Land has been a deafening silence. Western evangelical Christians, who make up the majority of Christian support for Israel, have conveniently turned away from the injustice in the birthplace of Jesus in order to satisfy their Christian Zionist geopolitical worldviews. Jesus’ message of peace to the world, justice for the oppressed, and righteous judgment on those who exploit others, have been traded for an Israeli political vision of statehood built on displacement, dispossession, and ethnic cleansing.
What is seen in Bethlehem has been replicated by Israel in other parts of Palestine, albeit through different and more insidious technology of death. The American-funded, Israeli genocide in Gaza raging unabated has captured the world’s attention as the first ever genocide to be accessible to global audiences.
With over 1.9 million displaced, about 45,000 dead, and an indeterminate number who have died from indirect war-related causes of death, the global Christian community faces a crucial test; shall we fight, with everything we have to end this senseless war and uphold the dignity of Palestinians or we will sacrifice our convictions on the altar of colonialism and militarism? Our collective future will depend on how we shall respond to the annihilation of Palestinians in this moment.
In the Palestinian stuck under the rubble, the orphan, the mother without child, the wounded, and the heartbroken, are Christ. The justice-seeking Jesus who declares that what we do for the least of these – the refugee, the sick, and the prisoner, we do for him. The meek and gentle Christ whose command is to love God and neighbor, including the Palestinian. No exceptions. The Prince of Peace whose blessing is on the peacemaker and not those who, in the name of self-defense, wage a genocidal campaign against a civilian population.
Therefore as we recline at tables filled with Christmas feasts, fellowship with one another, and sing of the Holy Land, remember the land that is still aching, a people besieged, and the promise of peace taken hostage.
This Christmas morning, the air is drenched with the scent of death.
Headline Picture: The historic Greek Orthodox Saint Porphyrius Church in Gaza, damaged by an Israeli airstrike in October 2023. Photo by Ali Jadallah/Anadolu via Getty Images
Thank you I have just been searching for information approximately this topic for a while and yours is the best I have found out so far However what in regards to the bottom line Are you certain concerning the supply
Your writing is like a breath of fresh air in the often stale world of online content. Your unique perspective and engaging style set you apart from the crowd. Thank you for sharing your talents with us.