It will be dark in Bethlehem this year

​“`It will be dark in Bethlehem this year,’ that according to the Palestinian Christians.” This was what I heard on NPR yesterday morning as I was getting up. “It will be dark in Bethlehem this year.”
 
It is impossible for me to imagine what it is like living in Bethlehem this hour, this day. Or living in Jerusalem. Or in Gaza or the West Bank. Or Kibbutz Kfar Aza. Impossible to imagine the living of this day for our Jewish, Muslim, Christian sisters and brothers. Their darkness there is truly unspeakable. The suffering and devastation. The loss of life. The loss of home. The loss of hope. Truly it will be dark in Bethlehem this year.
 
On this first Sunday of Advent, we enter in with these words echoing in our hearts and on our lips as we struggle to find words for our prayers. Today we begin our journey to Bethlehem. Following in the steps of mothers and grandmothers, of generations of pilgrims who have gone before us, we begin to make our way to Bethlehem. Palestinian Christians, Kenyan Christians, Ukrainian Christians. Russian Christians. Methodists and Congregationalists and Catholics. We, Christ’s Body begin today making our way to Bethlehem. Just 6 or 7 miles from Jerusalem to Bethlehem. Not that far. And yet, the stones along the way are crying out in despair and heartbreak.  
 
It will be a different Advent journey for us, for you and for me. Tender and difficult steps surely ahead. It is so painful to turn on the radio or to watch the news. AND it is important that we do just that. As hard as this is, it matters that we bear witness. A half world away, I know logically that there is little I can do. But I believe that it matters that we continue to listen, and God in your mercy, we continue to watch as this horrific story continues to unfold. This is a story that is being written on all our hearts. 
 
And so, we begin our journey to Bethlehem by stepping out into the darkness. This year ‘s prayers are already different. The star we follow is there, even if we can’t yet see it. The songs to comfort and sustain are there, even if we can’t yet hear them. The belief that love is greater than fear will come to life there, even if it feels impossible to imagine. The promise of light shining brightly has already been given us, even if we can’t yet see it. This I believe. Left foot, right foot. 
 

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