There is nothing quite like the sites and sounds of Bethlehem in the early morning. If the internal tango of differing time zones doesn't wake you up, the bellicose invitation to prayer at dawn does the trick.
This first morning in Palestine, I got up quite early and went for a walk. I watched children head off to school and parents scurry to jobs. I wanted to pray and so I wandered into St. Catherine’s Church, the
catholic church known for its around-the-world broadcasts on Christmas
Eve. Despite the untimely hour, the church was
full of pilgrims from Spain. There were dozens of men and women with eyes uplifted, voices soaring as they waited for their first mass of the day.
I sat on the sidelines, a protestant interloper. No matter, God’s worship knows no denominational boundaries.
In another corner of Manger Square, Muslims gathered for prayer at the Mosque. What earlier had seemed like a loud and brash invitation to my jet-lagged soul, now gave way to the quiet prayer of Arab Muslims. No less fervent than the Spanish Christians, I wondered if the worship of God was meant to be so divided and disparate.
As I begin this journey, I can't help but ask about the divergent aspects of my own soul. Am I open to experience God in unexpected, unplanned, and unhurried pace of pilgrimage when my soul is habitually tuned to the familiar?
I know what I should answer but it is much too early to peer into the depths and honestly respond. Right now, I just want some good Arabic coffee while I savor the quiet of the morning, this first morning.
