Rather than writing myself this time, I thought I would share
with you a reflection from my co-worker, Margo Sabella. Margo
is a Palestinian Catholic Christian. She and I share an office
at Catholic Relief Services here in Jerusalem.
For me, Easter has traditionally been one of the most festive
seasons in the Holy Land. Pilgrims wishing to celebrate Holy
Week and Easter here in Jerusalem brought the city to life by
joining Palestinian Christians with Christians from all around
the world. As a child, I used to love to watch the Palm Sunday
procession from Beth Fage. Each group passing by had its own
cultural composition, yet what fascinated me most was hearing
the hymns familiar to my ear with words being sung in another
tongue. Music, I thought then, is indeed universal, as is my
church.
Jerusalem always came alive with people who had come on a personal,
spiritual journey, hoping to renew their faith in God. One particular
Easter in the courtyard of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre,
I observed an Indian woman pouring her heart out, her eyes turned
heavenward. Witnessing that woman’s passion renewed my
own faith that Easter; that she had traveled halfway around
the world to be here was humbling and made me turn anew towards
grasping my own personal faith and what the Holy Land means
to me.
As a Palestinian Christian, I sometimes tend to take the holy
sites for granted. The fact that they are just around the corner
somehow implies that there is no particular urgency or bond
that compels me to visit at regular intervals. My aunt lives
quite near the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, and for as long
as I can remember, every visit to her house included a short
detour to the church. Before one enters the church compound
there are souvenir shops to the left and right where I would
stop and buy candles in order to light in the church. Once inside,
the most popular place to light a candle and hope that your
prayer will be heard is around the edicule, or tomb of Christ.
If not crowded, however, lighting a candle inside the tomb itself
is the preferred spot. Lately however, in particular during
this past year-and-a-half and amidst the political crisis, I
have gone to the church a couple of times, more out of not wanting
to break a habit than out of a practice of faith. It is there
that I stand today, trying to recall the days of my childhood
when I would step into the church and my sense of smell would
be welcomed with the fragrance of 4711 cologne that had been
poured onto the anointing stone and the smell of burning incense
and candles. Armenian monks would be chanting in their area
of the church, as would the Greeks and Franciscans. It was a
place where I felt comforted, not only by the presence of God,
but also by the presence of people who had journeyed far to
be here. Their expressions of faith in God was for me the ultimate
sign of solidarity with me and my people, for their faith brought
us Palestinian Christians renewed strength.
Jerusalem is not expecting large numbers of the faithful to
visit this Easter. They are not coming from abroad due to the
violence and political unrest that is gripping Israel and Palestine.
From the Holy Land itself, Palestinian Christians are not coming
either because, like the rest of the Palestinian population,
they are hindered by the countless Israeli military checkpoints
that, at worst, seal off entire areas for days on end, and at
best, require hours to maneuver in order to pass.
The local church views us Palestinian Christians as the "living
stones" (1 Peter 2: 4, 5) that it does not wish to see
emigrate from this land. Palestinian Christians have borne witness
to waves of pilgrimages throughout the two millennia of Christianity,
as well as to numerous wars interspersed with momentary eras
of peace. They have always been contributing citizens within
a society that, for historical reasons, has been predominantly
an Islamic culture. Palestinian Christians continue to bear
witness to the struggles of the Palestinian people as a whole—not
as spectators—but as active members of a community robbed
of its human dignity by a military occupation. Yet "living
stones" are not merely those who live here, but also those
who practice their faith in other lands, not only with prayers
and religious observances, but also by standing in solidarity
with the weak and the wronged.
This year, as I await Easter, and as I practice my own, personal
tradition of lighting candles in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre,
I close my eyes to recall the memories of my childhood Easters.
I hope and pray that pilgrims will once again come to this land
we all hold dear and call holy. At a time when everyone else
appears obsessed with the notion that Christians are leaving
the Holy Land, my concern is that they are not coming. At a
time when the holy sites are struggling to remain alive with
the blood and breath of its living faithful, my hope is that
the Holy Land will once again come alive by the presence of
the Christian faithful worldwide. For us as Palestinian Christians,
we need those signs of unity and solidarity now more than ever.
Easter blessings from Jerusalem!
Margo Sabella
