A Palestinian reflection on entering the season of Advent. FOR THE THIRD year in a row, Advent in Palestine is not a season of joy. Even with the tenuous ceasefire, Advent is lived in the shadow of genocide, walls, checkpoints, ethnic cleansing, dispossession, and fear. For many Palestinians, these days of waiting and preparation are overshadowed by mourning for loved ones lost, for homes demolished, for lands taken. In Bethlehem itself, where the Christian story began, streets that should be filled with song and light are burdened with grief and lament. The hymns of waiting mingle with the cries of the bereaved, displaced, imprisoned, and the starving. In the land where the gospel of Jesus first unfolded, the nearness of Advent is most real. The Christmas story doesn’t look like comfort, plenty, and “toys in every store.” The original narrative bears a much closer resemblance to the times in which we, Palestinians, currently live. The Nativity story is one of a family forced to flee massacres and of a child laid in a manger because there was no room in the inn. In our land, where space is denied and belonging is contested, this story is not remote history. Instead, it mirrors our present reality. Christmas is not a shallow festivity, nor a consumer spectacle, but a hope born in the very midst of instability, insecurity, and suffering. Christmas is for the oppressed. It is for those who know exile and the bitterness of hunger. The angels’ song of peace was not first heard in royal palaces or halls of government power, but in the shepherds’ fields. The Incarnation, the birth of God among us, is not an idea, not a distant abstraction. It is held in the reality of flesh and blood. It is the embodiment of God as a Palestinian Jew under Roman occupation, sharing the identity of the oppressed and living among them. Jesus is born into poverty, a child of an oppressed people. The good news of Christmas proclaims that the savior of the world is also the companion of the crucified peoples of history. God’s choice is always to be with those whom the world casts aside. The presence of God is not aligned with any empire, nor with the powers that dominate and destroy. God is among the brokenhearted and those yearning for liberation. This is why the Nativity cannot be separated from the Cross. The child born in Bethlehem is already the Christ who will be lifted up at Golgotha. And then there is the manger. Luke tells us that Mary “gave birth to her firstborn son and wrapped him in bands of cloth and laid him in a manger” (2:7). A manger is a feeding trough for animals, a place where food is laid down. The prophet Isaiah writes that “the ox knows its owner, and the donkey its master’s manger” (1:3). Luke’s account insists that there was no room in the inn (katáluma or guest room), no proper place for the child to be born. Later in Luke’s gospel, as Jesus prepares to face the cross, he tells his disciples to look for the upper room where they, as guests, will eat the Passover (22:11-12). The same Greek word for guest lodging (katáluma) links the beginning and the end of Jesus’ earthly life. Luke wants us to make the connection between Incarnation and crucifixion, between the child laid where food belongs and the One who will give himself as bread and wine. Mary is, in this sense, a prophet. By laying Christ in a manger, she is already declaring who he will become: food for the hungry, bread for the life of the world. On the night before his crucifixion, Jesus takes bread and says, “This is my body, given for you.” But Mary’s actions in Bethlehem are the first proclamation of this truth. She offers Christ to a starving world, laying him in a place meant for food. The infant swaddled in cloth is already the bread of life for all who hunger for justice. How then can we celebrate Christmas in times of such suffering? We celebrate Christmas truthfully when we join in Mary’s prophetic act. We celebrate Christmas when we participate in feed-ing the hungry, comforting the brokenhearted, raising up the oppressed. To receive the Christ Child is to share in who he becomes, to share in his mission. We humbly enter the stable when we break the bread of life in places of despair, embody solidarity with the wounded, live in such a way that hope is not extinguished. This is the meaning of Christmas in Palestine. Amid a darkness so dark that we have no idea where we are going, we proclaim that light has dawned. During a despair so deep we are helpless to rescue ourselves, we proclaim that God is with us. This is the meaning of Christmas wherever people cry out for deliverance. John Munayer is a Palestinian theologian from Jerusalem involved with interreligious activism.
Samuel Munayer is a Palestinian theologian from Jerusalem and works for a humanitarian organization serving in Gaza and the West Bank. | 
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