Most Americans mark December 25th on their calendars as the Christian holiday of Christmas, celebrating the birth of Jesus. Jerusalem on the eve of the 25th transforms from a vacant network of narrow passageways into a bustling neighborhood, filled with color and light. Pilgrims flood the alleys, services in various languages echo off the ancient stones, and unlike holy days in other religious traditions, when the politics of the region can threaten the atmosphere for the observant that look to a more peaceful future, churches provide a rare haven from these tensions. They require no security checks, and people of all walks of life can share the comfort of acceptance, whether or not they share the same faith.
What many Americans forget, though, is that the Gregorian calendar was not the original Christian calendar. While Christmas is celebrated on a variety of days throughout the Christian world, some Eastern Orthodox communities, such as the Greek Orthodox Patriarchate of Jerusalem, use the date according to the Julian Calendar. December 25th on the Julian Calendar corresponds to January 7th on the Gregorian Calendar.
Long story short, after all the pilgrims depart, the Church of the Holy Sepulcher, the Russian Orthodox Compound, and other sites open for a special midnight mass on the eve of the 7th. I arrived at 22:30 to the Holy Sepulcher for an 23:00 mass, but found the gate locked. This was obviously disappointing because I assumed hundreds of people would be arriving. I live close enough to the Christian Quarter, so I raced home and double-checked the times, and by the time I got back the doors had been opened. It was bizarre for me to see the quiet emptiness in front of the doors to the Church. It must be one of the only times all year that a stranger can enter in the middle of the night, and be the only person in the plaza.
I attended the service until 1:30, because I was starting to fall asleep while standing, but below are clips of my experience. I was shocked at the small turnout. One of the representatives of the Greek Church made it his duty to kick out anyone who didn't look like they belonged. Don't ask me how he did that, and according to what guidelines. On numerous occasions, he approached people who had lighter skin, asking if they were Catholics, and then directing them to the Catholic Church, which is in a separate area of the complex. I hid behind my beard, and kept a low profile next to a woman who was worshipping in Greek. This was an interesting ethnical observation to me.
The service I witnessed, meaning through the eyes of one illiterate in Greek with limited familiarity to Orthodox Christian liturgy, had lots of chanting, beautiful robes, a crown, and a ceremony in front of the site where Jesus is believed to have been entombed. Men and woman stood together around the main sanctuary. There were lots of candles, and I'm sure if I had stayed a little longer, those present would have shared the same flame. There was definitely a genuine peace to the place. It was different than the typically vociferous shouts of Santa from his firetruck, or the banal Christmas music. Here, I imbibed the incense as it was carried around the Church, and enjoyed the sight of faces, though few, with their eyes sparked by the light of their candles and the anticipation for the good year this holiday brings.
Pictures of a Christmas in Jerusalem
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