CBC News, Canada
April 27 2005
A Muslim holds the Christians’ key in Old Jerusalem
CBC News Viewpoint | April 27, 2005 | More from Julia Glover
Julia Glover is a freelance journalist currently working in
Jerusalem. Before moving to the Middle East, she worked in Canada and
the United Kingdom for both print and television media. She is
interested in covering all sides of the current conflict and is
especially keen to cover the personal stories behind the headlines.
This week Christians from around the world will gather at Jerusalem’s
Church of the Holy Sepulchre for the ceremony of Holy Fire. The
Orthodox tradition commemorates the resurrection of Christ, and light
filtering onto the tomb of Jesus is meant to be a miracle sent from
Heaven. Wajeeh Nuseibeh knows it is also the only way into the church
without a key.
Nuseibeh at the Church door
Nuseibeh is the custodian and doorkeeper of the church, one of the
most sacred sites in Christianity, where faithful attend regular
services as well as special masses like Easter blessings or prayers
for the Pope.
“It is a duty and I am proud to have a special job in one of the
holiest sites for Christians,” Nuseibeh says of the place where
Christians from around the world come to pray.
He arrives at the church every morning at 4 a.m. and uses a 30-cm
iron key to unlock its doors for worshippers. Until 8:30 in the
evening, 55-year-old Nuseibeh stays inside or near the church, then
he raps the iron doorknocker at the entrance to signal its closing.
He does this again at 8:45, and finally at 9 p.m. he shuts both heavy
wooden doors.
Before he leaves for the night, Nuseibeh makes sure there are no
candles burning, no thieves inside and nothing to cause harm. It’s a
routine he follows seven days a week, for which he receives $18.50
each month, occasionally supplementing his income with guided tours.
As a Muslim, he seems an unlikely candidate to be the custodian, but
only to those who don’t know the history of the church.
Faithful praying at the 13th station of the cross
According to Christian belief, the Via Dolorosa, or Way of the Cross,
is the path taken by Jesus from Pilate’s judgment hall to the site of
his crucifixion. It has been followed by millions of pilgrims and is
contained within the historic walls of Jerusalem’s Old City, which is
divided into Muslim, Christian, Armenian and Jewish quarters.
There are 14 Stations of the Cross, each commemorating an event on
that route. The last five are located at the Church of the Holy
Sepulchre.
Just outside the church is the 10th station, where Jesus is believed
to have had his clothes stripped from him. The 11th station, inside
the church, is where his body was nailed to the cross.
The 12th station marks where Jesus died. The 13th is where his body
was removed from the cross and anointed with oils in preparation for
his burial. Finally, the 14th station is his tomb.
With such significant points, it’s understandable that several
denominations have laid claim to the site. The church is officially
shared by the Roman Catholics, Greek Orthodox, Armenian Orthodox,
Syrian Orthodox, Ethiopians and Copts. Each division controls certain
areas and exercises its worship at different times of the day.
But in a region infamous for religious turf wars, the church is not
immune to conflict. Interdenominational wrangling has occurred over
everything from restoration work to the route of the Easter
procession and has, on occasion, turned violent.
So Nuseibeh’s role is as much about peacekeeping as it is about
guardianship.
At least since the time of Saladin, also known as the second Muslim
period (1187-1517), the Nuseibeh family has held the keys to the
church and the family views it as a symbol of solidarity between
Muslims and Christians.
The Church courtyard
Nuseibeh, who inherited the job from his father, expects to pass it
on to his son, or brother, or cousin. But, he admits, not everyone
believes the custom should continue.
“We are neutral here,” Nuseibeh announces, but he says some
Christians are surprised to discover his role and suggest the Muslim
custodian should be thrown out. “They don’t know that we are making
peace between the churches,” he says.
In the sunny courtyard of the church, some of the locals and tourists
are unaware of the tradition while others say it makes perfect sense.
“It’s a counter-witness to Jesus Christ that the churches could not
agree,” says Herbert, a pilgrim from Germany. “He prayed that they
could all be one, and here they are fighting.”
“But I think it’s a good thing that the Muslims are not excluded,”
adds his wife, Ute. “This way, they are one.”
An Israeli family visiting the area had not heard of the custom
before. “Everything is so mixed up here. This is the Christian
Quarter, but many people who live here are Muslims. Many are Greeks,
Arabs, there are even Jews here, so it makes sense, I think,” says
Shahar, who lives in the south of Israel.
Shahar points out that Jewish tradition also calls for
inter-religious harmony on important occasions, such as selling bread
to a non-Jew ahead of Passover.
Although overshadowed by the region’s violent reputation, peace is in
fact preached across Jerusalem in several different houses of
worship. And, in a place where daily lives can be dictated by the
Bible, the Koran and the Torah, faith isn’t just about religion. It’s
about trust.