An Advent Journey
Join the Advent journey over the next four weeks, beyond pageants and nostalgia, and step into the heart of Christ’s coming. Discover how He still moves in the lives of those in Bethlehem today, and let His true peace take root and rule within our hearts.
Bethlehem is Not a Backdrop
Bethlehem Is Not a Storybook: An Advent Journey Toward Peace
“God sent the angel Gabriel to Nazareth, a town in Galilee, to a virgin pledge to be married to a man named Joseph, a descendant of David. The virgin’s name was Mary” Luke 1:26-27
The first Christmas market I entered in Nazareth, I was amazed by the lights and the enormous Christmas tree, snowflakes, and snowmen. Can you imagine, in the Middle East – snowmen? Mary’s Well Square filled with Santa Clauses and American Christmas music from the 1940’s. Speakers projected Bing Crosby singing “It’s Beginning to Look A Lot Like Christmas”. The elbow-to-elbow crowds browsed the handmade treasures, sampled confections, and celebrated beneath strings of glowing lights.
The feeling of my childhood Christmas overwhelmed me! “Away in a Manger” crooned. Tables of Christmas ornaments, mementoes lined the edge of the wide multilevel courtyard. A bubble machine sent sparkling little bubbles floating among the lights. People pressed in long lines toward the main attraction on the top level of the plaza. There stood the ancient Greek Orthodox Church of the Annunciation. It marks the place where the Angel Gabriel visited Mary and told her she would be the mother of the Messiah. He would be named Jesus.
Lines of people waited their turn to pass through the church. As I passed through, I missed the point of this church. But the crowd moved one way only and soon I was back outside of the church. I felt an overwhelming disorientation. I didn’t know what to expect, but this nostalgic return to my childhood? Along with the ancient church glittering with gold and smelling of ancient incense, the crowds of people both from tour buses speaking in English and local people friendly chattering in Arabic, the crowds of cars, policemen, and priests, the smell of popcorn and roasted chestnuts, this all warmed my heart to a magical time of the year.
I could feel the collective joy of the moment, but I also felt the pessimism of Charlie Brown, “Isn’t there anyone who knows what Christmas is all about?” Christmas, the real Christmas of the
Holy Land? To understand, I Journeyed to Bethlehem and met the people of the land. Christmas, the real Christmas began here.
Bethlehem is not a Backdrop
Bethlehem is not a backdrop for a nostalgic, magical Christmas pageant. At the time of the birth of Jesus the little town of Bethlehem was undergoing many trials. Middle Eastern culture, that prized itself on hospitality, had no room at the Inn. Displaced people, refugees, crooked, evil tyrant governors who were afraid to lose power. And Heaven joyfully proclaiming to the shepherds – a blessing, a great blessing to all mankind. But evil and darkness were present too.
The complex story of Bethlehem both in the time of Jesus, and the Christians who live there now is full of supernatural beings, and modest struggling people, the greatest military might of its day, and humble hopes for peace. This is the birthplace of the Prince of Peace. Not everyone welcomed peace.
The First Witnesses
“And there were shepherds living out in the fields nearby, keeping watch over their flocks at night.” Luke 2:8
It began, as holy things often do, with something small.
I was in Bethlehem, days before Christmas, and hoping to find a star of Bethlehem ornament for my mother’s Christmas tree, a little gift from the Holy Land, something real. I asked a cab driver for help, and he nodded knowingly, driving me through winding streets to a quiet corner of Beit Sahour. The shop he brought me to was closed. The street was nearly empty. For a moment, I felt like I had come to the end of the search.
But something told me to wander.
As the driver made calls, I wandered down the street where piles of olive wood branches were stacked like kindling. Men with knives and chisels worked the wood slowly, deliberately—crafting scenes I had known all my life: Mary, Joseph, angels, sheep. Biblical stories, carved by hands that had inherited the land and the memory of that past.
A young man stepped forward with a smile and instructions to wait while he brought Arabic coffee, warm and fragrant. He introduced himself and brought out his father. We stood there, steam rising from our cups, the scent of wood polish in the air, and exchanged stories. My family is from California. His family is from Beit Sahour—has been, he told me, for thousands of years.
Thousands.
I must have raised an eyebrow, because he smiled, not boasting but rooted in something deep. “Our family,” he said, “descends from the shepherds.”
The shepherds.
The very first people, aside from Mary and Joseph, who heard the angel’s proclamation. Who saw the sky torn open with song. Who walked through the night to see the baby, and who carried the good news out into the world. They weren’t royalty or priests. They were locals. Farmers. Herders. Men who watched sheep and held the sky in their hearts.
His family, the Ashrof family, traces its lineage back to them. The same hills, the same fields. In fact, they told me, it was their ancestors who donated the land, held for centuries in the family, to the Catholic Church to build the Shepherds’ Field Church. Not for profit. For witness.
And now, generations later, their hands still tell the story. Not in sermons or cathedrals, but in wood, carved from olive trees rooted in the same soil where sheep grazed. Their craft is a testimony, passed through generations not by power or wealth, but by memory and love.
When I asked to buy a carving, a nativity scene, an angel, a star, they refused my money. “It is a gift,” they said. “For your mother. And for you. You are family now.”
I left with a heart full of wonder. Who gives like that anymore? Who believes that their story matters enough to give it away freely?
They didn’t ask for a platform. They didn’t need recognition. They simply asked me to carry the story. And I do.
These are the descendants of the first disciples of peace. They have no armies. They wield no political power. But they remain, carving hope into wood, offering hospitality to strangers, and refusing to let the story be forgotten.
And in this, they live the truth we too often forget:
Peace is not a feeling; it is a calling. The Ashrof family, descendants of Bethlehem’s shepherds, keep that calling alive, shaping olive wood into witness and offering it to the world with open hands.
Journey with us this Advent beyond Christmas nostalgia into the living story of Bethlehem, where Christ still comes, and His peace still finds room in open hearts.
An excerpt from the book, “Bethlehem is not a Storybook, Learning to Listen: A Journey Toward Peace” by Lani Lanchester to be published in 2026.
Website: Journey to Faith & Desert Beauty Itinerary
Facebook: Lani Lanchester Instagram: @lanilanchester
Learning to Listen to Palestine
