When he visited the Holy Land earlier this Jubilee Year, the Pope hoped to set an example. He hoped that many thousands of Christian pilgrims would converge on the Holy Places where Christ lived, taught, and died.

Now, as the bare streets of Jerusalem play host to journalists and diplomats—who greatly outnumber the straggling tourists—Christianity faces a threat on two fronts: not only are pilgrims avoiding the land of their Messiah’s ministry, but more alarmingly, the indigenous Christian presence faces the threat of extinction.

“The same people”
The small town of Beit Jala, near Bethlehem, which has a large Christian presence, has become a hot spot for violence. Israeli tanks, missiles, and helicopter gunships have rendered the town virtually uninhabitable. This has come as a surprise to those who regarded the town as a quiet idyll; it is somewhat less surprising to those who suspected Beit Jala to be the birthplace of Hamas, the militant Palestinian faction.

According to Israeli security forces, the Palestinian Authority (PA) has been focusing on Beit Jala in order to draw Christian Arabs into the conflict, and thereby to generate support for the Palestinian cause, and criticism of the Israelis, from the international community. However, Father Raed Abusahlia, the Chancellor of the Latin Patriarchate of Jerusalem, vehemently disagrees:

The Arab Christian community in the Palestinian territories is an integral part of the Palestinian people. It suffers with it, rejoices with it, and shares with it the same hopes and aspirations. Therefore, the recent Israeli rumors about getting the town of Beit Jala involved in the clashes is not a coincidence, but aims to “divide and rule” among the one Palestinian people.

This is not to say that there are no problems between Muslims and Christians. A preacher in Gaza recently called on Palestinians to commit violence against Israelis and Christians; shortly afterward, Christian properties were attacked by radical Muslims. In Nazareth, tension remains over the construction of a mosque in the shadow of the Basilica of the Annunciation. But leading Christians are insistent on the solidarity that they feel with their compatriots. As Father Raed says, “We have the same language, we have the same culture, we are the same people.”

Christian leadership
For Christians in the Holy Land, inter-faith tensions are only one part of the problem. In 1893, Christians represented 13 percent of the Palestinian people; as the current conflict dawned, they had dwindled to 2 percent. Reports suggest that consulates have been helping Christians to leave as the violence continues to rage. The greater financial resources of Palestinians living abroad, and their closer ties with the Western world, facilitate escape from a region to which they may never be able to return.

In an increasingly dangerous climate, the Christian leaders in the Holy Land face a daunting task. The most politically prominent of them, His Beatitude Michel Sabbah, the Latin Patriarch of Jerusalem, is playing an active role in demanding “dignity and rights” for the Palestinians, and the “restoration” of East Jerusalem—including the Old City —to Palestinian rule. His views are at least partially supported by the Holy See, whose Foreign Minister, Archbishop Jean-Louis Tauran, regards East Jerusalem as “occupied territory to which (UN resolution) 242 applies.”

Less politically active, but equally concerned, is the Franciscan Custos of the Holy Land, His Paternity Giovanni Battistelli, who is responsible for those holy places that are under Catholic control. With his mandate to protect and encourage the pilgrims who visit the region, he is deeply involved with the religious side of a tourism industry that has all but collapsed. Meanwhile the native Christians, for whom the Franciscan Custody also provides assistance, represent an even graver concern.

But the Catholic Church does not represent the majority of Christians in the Holy Land. That distinction falls to the Greek Orthodox Church, whose traditional enmity with the Western churches is gradually subsiding in favor of warmer relations. In the present tragedy, such relations are needed more than ever. These religious leaders have joined, together with the Armenian Orthodox Patriarch, to condemn the bloodshed and call for a restoration of negotiations. Their words may be having scant effect, but they are a reflection of the alarming state of affairs in the Holy Land for a Christian population among whose falling numbers there is increasing frustration and despair.

The Patriarch’s role
Al-Maqassed Hospital, in East Jerusalem, has played a major role in treating the Arabs wounded in clashes with Israeli security forces. As staff members hurry between beds, removing rubber coated “butterfly” bullets, visitors stream in. One such visitor was the Latin Patriarch of Jerusalem. He was greeted with gratitude and delight by a crowd composed almost entirely of Muslims. Among the patients he met was a Muslim sheikh. “I have heard so much of you,” the sheikh exclaimed, “and now I see you in person. We are honored to have you here.” The Patriarch has called for an end to the violence that, he says, “cannot be the guide of life in the Holy Land. Justice is the only guide and symbol.”

It is not unusual for the Patriarch to involve himself in political matters in a place where, as recent events have demonstrated, religion and politics are almost indistinguishable. Throughout the Crusades, patriarchs like Daimbert controlled finances crucial to the Crusader kings. However, their moral integrity was sometimes questionable: when Saladin captured Jerusalem in 1187, Patriarch Heraclius left the city weighed down by the amount of gold he was carrying, while members of his congregation were being ransomed. Compared with Heraclius, the current Patriarch lives like an ascetic. But he carries clout as a moral figure in a city where religion is frequently exploited for political ends.

After Saladin’s conquest of Jerusalem, the Patriarch resided in Italy. Many of his duties were performed by the Franciscans, who became the Custodians of the holy places. Since Pope Pius IX relocated the Patriarchate to Jerusalem in 1847, there have also some been tensions between the two parties: the Latin Patriarchate and the Franciscan Custody. But there is also cooperation between them in a wider battle. The Patriarch is not allowed to enter the Church of the Holy Sepulchre without a Franciscan by his side. If he did, brooms, hats, and even crosses might well be brandished by the Greek Orthodox, the Coptics, or the Armenians who jealously guard their own shared custody over Christendom’s holiest shrine.

When Joseph Valerga entered Jerusalem on horseback in 1847, as the first resident Latin Patriarch of the modern age, he brought with him numerous religious orders and congregations. They now number 31 male and 72 female orders. Today, the work carried out under the auspices of the Patriarchate covers religious, social, and political services. There are 85 priests in 60 parishes, as well as the seminary in Beit Jala which serves 100 future priests. There are 104 schools for 59,390 students; 39 of these schools, and 18,939 students, are under the direct control of the Latin Patriarchate’s General Schools Administration. Bethlehem University (independent from, but under the patronage of, the Patriarchate) enrolls over 2,000 students. Research centers such as the Notre Dame of Jerusalem Institute and the Tantur Ecumenical Institute for Theological Research, also under the Patriarch’s patronage, provide further academic opportunities. Ten hospitals, fifteen orphanages, and seven old people’s homes provide health and social care in the region.

The fact that the Patriarchate must provide or support services which were traditionally supplied by the government is in itself an implied criticism of the political authorities. It is an aspect of the Patriarchate’s involvement in the social infrastructure of the region, which is also highlighted in the Patriarch’s speeches, letters, and articles. Rarely, in his annual Christmas message to his people, will the Patriarch ignore the current political climate. He stands out as a voice for the Christians, stressing their importance as a testimony to the fact that “Arab” does not mean the same as “Muslim”—that bullets do not distinguish between a follower of Christ and a follower of Mohammed.

Unique background
His Beatitude Michel Sabbah, the 8th Patriarch since the 1847 restoration, is a man whose person, like his role, is loaded with political implications. A stocky man whose features at once suggest integrity and hard-mindedness, he is unlike his predecessors. As Italians, they were distanced from their congregations; as a Palestinian born in Nazareth in 1933 and, after 1948, a refugee unable to return to the city of his birth, he has a natural connection with his congregation. He has described Christ as a refugee who died a redeemer. With over three million Palestinian refugees living in camps in the Near East, he perceives this factor as part of a personal relationship between himself, the people, and Christ.

Having taught Arabic, philology, and Islamology in Beit Jala, Beirut, and Djibouti before receiving his doctorate in Arabic philology from the Sorbonne, Patriarch Sabbah unsurprisingly conveys the impression, in his writing and public speaking, of a highly developed intellect. His experiences in education have made it a key issue in his work; the results can be seen in the schools and the seminaries that are ultimately under his control. During the original intifada, he ran an underground educational movement that taught catechism in people’s homes when military lockdowns prevented free movement.

Today, Sabbah’s time is divided by a welter of organizations and activities. On a typical day he meets religious figures, foreign dignitaries, and personalities in the morning, and pilgrims in the afternoon; he visits the parishes, and presides over First Holy Communion and Confirmation ceremonies in every part of his diocese, whether in Amman or Cyprus. He is president of the Conference of Latin Bishops in the Arab Regions, member of the Assembly of the Catholic Patriarchs of the Middle East, honorary president of the Middle East Council of Churches, and elected president of Pax Christi International. He travels abroad about 15 times a year, not counting his 2 or 3 visits to Jordan each month. Conferences, international congresses, and meetings in Rome (such as the recent Synod of Asia), demand their share of his time. And this does not take into account the paperwork, the prayers, and the Masses that he says on a daily basis.

An experienced practitioner of the diplomatic sound bite, the Patriarch is convinced that a peace settlement will come. “The turbulence,” he says, “is in the souls of the people.”

With his wide experience in the Arab world, in Jordan and Lebanon as well as Palestine, Patriarch Sabbah identifies with the Arabs and is critical of the Israeli government’s “Macchiavellianism.” When His Beatitude disagrees with the authorities, he makes his voice heard. He is clear as to where the blame lies for the recent bloodshed, condemning the “provocation of religious feelings in the Haram Ash-Sharif” by Sharon on September 28. But he feels that the ensuing events have reinforced “the Palestinian people’s claims for life and freedom. And they will have life and freedom, sooner or later.” He exhorts the people, both Israelis and Palestinians, to “imitate God in his love and justice,” but he also interprets the situation at the grassroots level, when he says that “it is not in vain that the situation came suddenly to this explosion. Those young and old who are offering their lives are not doing it in aggression against anybody: they are only defending their holy places, their freedom, and their lives.”

The Patriarch sees the Palestinian fatalities in terms of martyrdom. “Blood today,” he says, “is crying to God, claiming justice and dignity.” But he would like to see a halt to the violence and a return to the negotiating table, “to see how to go back to the situation which was prevailing before 1967.” It is clear on which side of the debate he stands: “The people should be given their right to life and to self-determination,” he says. “The Palestinian state must be born and have a stability which allows it to re-organize its own affairs, external and internal.”

On the question of Jerusalem itself, the Patriarch supports the notion of a divided city in which “Palestinian Jerusalem should be the capital of Palestine, West Jerusalem the capital of Israel.” But over and above political cartography comes the importance of Jerusalem as “the Holy City.” He would like to see Jerusalem’s status “protected and respected by its own governors, and by the requirements which its sanctity imposes on the entire international community.” During the Camp David summit in June, he wrote a joint letter with the Greek Orthodox and Armenian Patriarchs, to US President Bill Clinton, Israeli Prime Minister Ehud Barak and Palestinian President Yasser Arafat, stressing the goal that the “fundamental freedoms of worship and access by all Christians to their holy sanctuaries and to their headquarters within the Old City are not impeded.” But for the Patriarch, access to the holy places is not the only issue; equally important is the status of “the Christians who are living around the holy places.”

In order to increase his ability to have influence on such public issues, Patriarch Sabbah has cultivated a strong personal relationship with Arafat. The result was illustrated at a recent ceremonial dinner. The seating plan had been set out by the Greek Orthodox Secretary-General, Metropolitan Timothy. The Patriarch was seated several places down the table from Arafat. But when he entered the room, Arafat scanned the seating plan, took the Patriarch by his arm, and sat him to his right. “Your place is here,” he said.

Juggling political and religious responsibilities is an unavoidable part of the Patriarch’s job. Whenever an issue arises which blurs the lines between the two realms, some sort of patriarchal involvement is demanded. For example, when a public dispute arose over the construction of the new mosque in Nazareth, the Patriarch could not keep quiet. Together with the Greek Orthodox and Armenian Patriarchs, and the Franciscan Custos, he arranged for the closing of all Christian sanctuaries in the region for two days, along with the release of a statement criticizing “a clear discrimination against the Christian community in Galilee.” This collaboration between Christian leaders in the Nazareth controversy is one of many recent examples of cooperation.

When questioned about his political influence, the Patriarch shook his head. “We do not play political games,” he said. But he cannot avoid becoming involved in them when the welfare of his people is at stake. As he explained: “The government is attempting to promote its electoral interests at the expense of the national unity of the Palestinian people.”

The Franciscan legacy
Another public priority for the Patriarch is the necessity of addressing the alarming migration of Christians from the Holy Land. “Our suggestion is that emigration might be a solution for some,” he says, “but it is not a solution for those who are left behind.” Many of the Christians who remain in the Holy Land suffer forms of discrimination that also concern their spiritual leader. In order to travel to and from Jerusalem, a Palestinian must hold an identity card; these cards are frequently confiscated by Israeli authorities. The Patriarch regards this practice as “unjust and unjustifiable, because it robs Palestinians of their rights to their land, home, and properties.”

“Dignity and rights,” the Patriarch stresses, must form the bedrock of any peace settlement: “Israeli security will best be achieved by justice for the Palestinians.” He is critical of the use of “soldiers, military vehicles, and even missiles” in the recent clashes. This use of force, he insists, cannot bring “tranquility, or even order” to the Holy Land.

The recent wave of unrest has had a disastrous effect on the local economy. Hotel managers are in despair. “There are cancellations across the board,” disclosed the manager of Casa Nova, a popular stop in Jerusalem that is run by the Franciscans. “I am having to offer reductions and special deals, and still no one will come.” Finally, due to the lack of any clientele whatsoever, Casa Nova was forced to close down entirely.

There is little optimism among the local Palestinians: “The situation is not getting better,” said a local schoolteacher; “in fact, it may get a lot worse.” Her words have been reinforced by the recurring clashes, in which stones, police batons, and finally gunfire have been used. In this sort of situation, St. Savior’s monastery—the residence of His Paternity Giovanni Battistelli, the Custos of the Holy Land—is like a sanctuary, a spiritual enclave far removed from the troubles outside.

The disappearance of pilgrims is an important concern for the Custos, since a large part of his job is the responsibility for facilitating access to the holy sites for visiting Christians. The Franciscan involvement in this process goes back to the time of the Crusades.

When St. Francis of Assisi visited the region in 1219, access for Christians was extremely limited. However, St. Francis impressed Sultan Melek El-Kemel with his quiet dignity, and his successors similarly gained favor with later Muslim leaders, with the result that the Franciscan order was granted a special authority to establish monasteries at Mount Zion and Bethlehem, and to guard the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. A document signed in 1309 by Baybars II allowed the “Brethren of the Cord” (as they were known) such rights, but refused entry to all other “Frankish” (i.e. Western) clergy. Nearly 700 years later, there are clergy of every conceivable rite in the Holy Land, but the Franciscans have maintained a stable presence. Taking his mandate from St. Francis, the current Custos is anxious to see peace restored and pilgrims enabled to visit the sites, as the saint intended. His “special mission,” he says, is “the protection of pilgrims, which was given to us by the Holy See and was reinforced by the Pope’s visit.”

A kindly looking man in his late 60s, the Custos embodies the simplicity of the Franciscan Order; his brown habit and knots of remembrance stand in stark contrast to the brightness of the room. He does not have the same powerful presence and booming rhetoric of the Latin Patriarch; he operates in a far more understated manner. However, the Custos’ simplicity of appearance conceals an impressive range of academic credentials; he has degrees in philosophy and theology, and a licentiate in Oriental sciences; and he was Superior of the Collegia Internazionale di Terra Santa in Rome for 13 years.

When he talks, the Custos speaks with a combination of Italian passion and the intellectual tone which his academic experiences suggest. However, given the current situation, his passion is hard to subdue. He agrees with the Latin Patriarch on the source of responsibility for the clashes: “The way Sharon behaved has been a provocation,” he said. “What’s happened now has taken us back many years.” While he doesn’t condone violence, he too identifies with the Palestinians, and sees Arab and Christian aspirations as “the same.”

“There’s so much hate now,” the Custos sighs; “they’re looking for blood.” He would have liked to see an “international inquest” into the situation—which, he hastens to add, would ideally be “not headed by America,” since “the Arabs think that America is too interested in Israel.” Such views may seem to suggest that he is taking political sides, but in fact they correspond with the views of the Latin Patriarchate and the wider Christian community in the region. The Custos is also concerned that local Christians suffer discrimination and injustice at the hands of the Israeli government. He explains:

The biggest problem that the families have is for security and the future of their children. The development that has taken place in Israel has not favored the economic development of the Arabs.

Such people, the Custos worries, will present further problems for Christians when and if a Palestinian state is declared: “The Palestinian statutes are based on the fundamental laws of Islam,” he observes; “this is very much a matter of concern for Christians in the Holy Land.” The eventual demise of Yasser Arafat—who has a Christian wife, and has made it his practice to attend the Midnight Mass of Christmas in Bethlehem—will also mark a “very difficult” transition for the Christians of the Palestinian territories. Only time will resolve the future of the Palestinian Christians, but on the subject of the Basilica of the Annunciation, the Custos is anxious to find a resolution as swiftly as possible. He recently sent a letter to the Israeli Minister for Internal Security, Shlomo Ben-Ami, “warning of the danger this mosque will raise.” And if there is no positive reply, he will again arrange for the closing of all Christian sanctuaries in Galilee. The Custos believes that “this sort of pressure should bear fruit.”

Preserving the Christian heritage
The Custos firmly believes that he must take a stand when politics infringes on religious matters, as is so often the case in the Holy Land. However, he is determined to abide by the teachings of St. Francis, who impressed the Sultan with his apolitical attitude—which was so different from the territorial ambitions and machinations of the Crusaders. The Franciscans have worked since that time on preserving the holy places, and have tried to stay out of local political disputes. But the increasing importance which the Church has given to maintaining an active Christian presence in the region—and the corresponding fear that dwindling Christian numbers, with its fear that the Holy Land could become a “museum for the memory of visitors,” has induced the Franciscans to work closely with, and for, the local population.

Now the Franciscans have 16 schools and colleges, which serve 10,000 students (6,000 of whom are non-Christian); two orphanages; two rest-homes; and three clinics. They also run summer camps and women’s shelters, and have recently opened a clinic for children with polio. A substantial amount of their time and funds is devoted to providing housing units. (There are currently 357 such units in Jerusalem alone, for which the Custody usually covers the cost of repairs.) There is even a Franciscan Printing Press, which serves the local people by providing employment, while also serving pilgrims by providing cards, maps, postcards, and guidebooks. And along with the 74 registered shrines that they already administer (either independently or in partnership with other groups), the Franciscans are now also involved in excavation and archaeological work in such places as the Judean desert and Jordan.

The Pope’s pilgrimage made the early part of this year particularly busy, as the Custos was heavily involved in the logistical details of the visit. Waving such administrative details aside, he now emphasizes the strong relations that were forged: “The Pope was able to solidify his relationships with the Jews and the Muslims,” he says. “So much good came out of this visit.” He is also pleased with the development of relations between Christians, which have often been more problematical than relations with those of different faiths. He believes such relations are now essential: “All Christians,” he suggests, “should come together at this time and pray for peace. We must remain in contact with the other communities here.”

The Custos says himself that “in a holy place, the friar must spread goodness to all around him.” In light of the recent developments, that means that “we must behave in the best way to help bring peace.” So he is organizing regular prayer services to petition for God’ help. But he does not confine himself exclusively to the spiritual sphere, believing in the importance of practical ‘caritas,’ enacted through the Custody’s social works, as well as the letters and public statements which are intended to draw the government’s attention to the Catholic position.

Emerging from isolation
Such public political involvement stands in stark contrast to the stance taken by the relatively subdued Greek Orthodox Patriarchate. The apolitical stance of the Orthodox leadership was driven home to these reporters as we waited for an interview with Metropolitan Timothy (who, given the ailing health of Patriarch Diodoros, fulfills most of the patriarchal functions). We were warned against asking “any political questions,” since “he doesn’t want to be seen taking sides.” However, there have been signs of increasing political involvement among the Orthdoox, and stronger relations with the Catholic Church. The results of this trend are visible in the joint statements over the Camp David Summit, the mosque in Nazareth, and, most recently, the latest outbreak of violence.

Traditionally, relations between the Greek Orthodox and the Roman Catholic Churches have been tense. The latter accused the former of supporting Saladin’s conquest of Jerusalem in 1187, which enabled the previously banished Greek Orthodox Patriarch to return to the Holy City, and saw the departure, for almost 700 years, of his Latin counterpart. The Greek Orthodox Church took justified umbrage when Crusader armies sacked Constantinople in 1204, pillaging churches and establishing a Latin Patriarch in place of the Orthodox incumbent. Tension between the two Church bodies still prevails, at least among the clergy, although it tends to manifest itself in disputes over such mundane issues as who sweeps which step in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. When an earthquake in1927 left the Church in disrepair, it took more than 30 years for the various parties to agree on renovations.

The tensions between these churches developed throughout the early years of Christianity, as different customs and theological interpretations gradually solidified into direct contradictions. The division of the Roman Empire into East and West drew a line between them, but it was not until Pope Leo IX excommunicated the Patriarch of Constantinople and his adherents in 1054, that a conclusive break was made.

Today, differences are most apparent in matters of style. The Orthodox Church —pewless, its congregation standing, kneeling, or lying prostrate as they physically immerse themselves in the ceremony, bending down to press their hands against the floor or walls, and crossing themselves throughout the service—is covered with icons, while brass lamps glitter over the heads of the faithful. The altar is separated from the congregation by the iconostasis: a large screen painted with images of saints and the Holy Family, with Christ Pantokrator looming over the people as an expression of God’s almighty power. Throughout the service, the emphasis is on the greatness of God in contrast with the poor congregation begging in submission for mercy and benevolence. While such traditions derive from serious theological and doctrinal thought, they can also be interpreted as expressions of the more impassioned Mediterranean and Levantine personality.

Metropolitan Timothy estimates his congregation as numbering about 180,000, although official Israeli records acknowledge only half that number. He explains the difference by the huge number of immigrants who escaped from Communist regimes in Eastern Europe and claimed to be Jewish in order to gain asylum in Israel. Even the larger number, however, is a tiny percentage of the 13 million Greek Orthodox worldwide (or the 250 million who belong to the wider Orthodox tradition). But the Patriarchate of Jerusalem describes itself as “the Mother of Churches,” on the grounds that this is the only Church to have maintained a continuous presence in the Holy Land since the time of Christ, tracing roots back to St. James the Apostle. To be sure, this presence has not always been peaceful; Roman, Arab, Persian, and Mameluke conquerors, as well as Crusader Christians, have all spilled their share of blood. But now, as His Beatitude Diodoros and Metropolitan Timothy dine with the Latin Patriarch and Yasser Arafat, they are able to direct their energy away from inter-faith disagreements and toward more positive business of care for their congregation.

When he is not in Jerusalem overseeing the day-to-day running of the Patriarchate, Metropolitan Timothy is often away in Jaffa, Gaza, Nazareth, and Amman meeting with the bishops of his Church. A hawk-eyed, bearded man in his early 50s, his simple habit conceals a sharp intellect, reinforced by an articulate and authoritative manner. Unlike his counterparts in the Latin Patriarchate and the Custody of the Holy Land, he is not greatly concerned with the gradual emigration of indigenous Christians here. He explains:

The Christian Church in Jerusalem was the first Church established in the world. The gates of hell will not prevail over this. We are confident that the Greek Orthodox Church will continue to survive here and be maintained until the end of ages.

Ironically, the Orthodox leader sees the main threat to his church as that of “proselytism.” He condemns the active evangelism carried out, and the conversions achieved, by new Christian communities in the Holy Land: “Christians shouldn’t cheat each other by evangelizing other Christians,” he says. “The Greek Orthodox Church suffers more than any other community as a result of this, because we have more to lose.”

When asked what the Church has to lose from the current political situation if a peaceful solution is not reached, the Metropolitan shrugged his shoulders. “There is no political solution,” he says, “but to solve the conflict on the basis of understanding and justice. Without this there will be no just and lasting peace.” He is particularly anxious that “the rights of the Church must be recognized, free and safe access to the Holy Places ensured, as well as freedom of worship and demonstrating rights.” Pre-requisites for such an understanding will be “tolerance and respect for other convictions.” These views echo those of both the Latin Patriarch and the Custos—further evidence that Christian leaders have taken a common stand in a time of crisis.

The Metropolitan himself remarks that the Christian denominations are “working together closely to have a common stand during the conflict.” He attributes their improved relations to the “democratic principles which we are enjoying here.” However, while the Latin Patriarch and the Custos attribute much of the improved ecumenical climate to the Pope’s visit, Metropolitan Timothy is less inclined to compliment “the Bishop of Rome.” As he sees it:

We were delighted to receive him, as we were the Armenian and the Constantinople heads of Church, or as we would be to welcome the Bishop of Georgia or the Bishop of Canterbury. They are bishops of a certain area and equal in importance and office. But their power is of this world, not of the spiritual world.

Pushed into politics
Regardless of their plans, it may be inevitable that clerical leaders will become community figureheads during times of crisis. A few days before the latest conflicts erupted, we met a group of young Latin priests on the West Bank. They seemed like any group of young men: enjoying one another’s company as they exchanged jokes and tales of their everyday experiences. But their everyday experiences were quite different from those of ordinary young men. One priest told us about a double agent who worked for both the Israelis and the Palestinians. Apparently both sides were aware of this, but used him nonetheless as a convenient source of information. When we commented on the abundance of mobile phones, the young priests explained that there were no telephone lines in the area; the Israeli government had refused permission for lines to be laid down. Most alarming was the threat that at any moment, electricity might be cut off. Apparently, this is a popular government tactic in the winter.

Many of these priests were concerned about the “depression” which the Palestinian people were feeling in response to a peace process that did not seem to have produced any concrete results. One priest, in an ominous forecast of the events which would take place just days later, said:

People will say that we tried our utmost in order to negotiate, to reach a solution, but if they don’t understand our language we are ready to use another language . . . They don’t want violence, but if it is the best means, they might use it.

This is ridiculous. To say that after 2,000 years, “This is mine,” is ridiculous. It is as if the Romans from Italy came to the Middle East and say, “This was ours; we want it back” . . . And the Jews never had control of it for more than 50 years. And when they did, they occupied it by force.

Few of the clergy expect a quick peace agreement. The Latin Patriarch believes that even when a settlement is finally reached, it will take “two to three years of preparation of the people” before it really takes effect. But they are all confident that, peace or no peace, the Christian Church will continue to play a major role in the Holy Land—morally, politically, and socially. The Church provides services not only to Christians, but also to Muslims (who represent approximately 40 percent of the students in Christian schools); and the importance of Christians in the Holy Land to the international Christian community cannot be underestimated.

As scenes of devastation send shock waves through living rooms around the world, presenting live images of bloodshed in the Holy Land, it is hard to imagine any kind of lasting peace. In an atmosphere of such tension and frustration, there is little that these leaders can do, on a practical level. When we asked the Latin Patriarch about the future, he glanced at an icon of Mary on the wall, and summed up the sense among many Christian leaders that now, more than ever, they must draw their strength from spiritual rather than worldly sources. He said: “The future—like the past and the present—is in the hands of God.”