In February of this year, a group of dedicated Embrace supporters made their way to Israel and Palestine after two years of travel restrictions. The group was led by Rt Revd Rachel Treweek, Bishop of Gloucester. This Easter time, Bishop Rachel reflects on the need for us to tear down our own barriers and let in the love of Christ.

The process of leaving the UK and entering Israel was not stress-free, but there was a great sense of joy once we received the news that all 26 of us had negative results from our PCR tests administered on arrival at Tel Aviv. Finally, after two years of viral pandemic, we were free to enter Israel-Palestine and embark on our long-awaited Encounter pilgrimage in the Holy Land. Those themes of land, leaving, and entering, grew in significance as we visited places where Jesus Christ had walked on earth, and as we immersed ourselves in the stories of individuals and communities both in scripture and in the current day. In it all, the issue of difference and those who are seen as ‘other’ grew ever more prominent.

It was therefore particularly poignant that the news of Putin’s invasion of Ukraine came soon after our return to the UK. As I write this, we are all acutely aware of people fleeing homes and places in Ukraine, seeking to cross borders and enter other lands, and yet remembering too that this is the experience of so many people in places of conflict, and that the issue of contested land is nothing new.

Amid all of this I keep returning to the symbol of the key, which is so powerful in the Palestinian story, and which we saw reflected in artwork and pictures in the Palestinian refugee camp which we had the privilege to visit. When many Palestinians were driven from their homes in 1947/48, they took their keys with them, and they remain significant as families tell their story of no longer having access to land and buildings they identify as home.

There would also have been many relatives of Israeli Jews who clutched keys in Europe when they and people labelled ‘other’, were forcibly removed from homes and neighbourhoods by the Nazis in the late 1930s/early 1940s.

And so it is that as I look back on our tour, I have found myself reflecting on keys and opening and closing, entering and barring, doors and gateways, and borders and walls.

During our visit we marvelled and rejoiced at so many doors of entry: the beautiful doors on the Church of the Annunciation; the gates of the doorways into Jerusalem; the doorways of the first century house at Capernaum, the entrance to the Church of the Holy Sepulchre and the narrow entrance into the crypt at the Church of the Nativity. We were inspired by Father Kevin seeking to re-open the Anglican church of St Peter’s in Jaffa (the place to which Jonah fled in order to leave and escape); and as we visited the Palestinian Bible Society in Jericho, we were welcomed through the doors of their newly renovated building and heard about the work with young people regarding leadership, not least encouraging and enabling young Christians to stay rather than depart. We were inspired too by Julieann Sewell from the Princess Basma Centre in Jerusalem (another partner with Embrace), who open their doors to welcome families with disabled children.

Yet amid all of these places and inspiring stories of entry and open doors, our delight resided alongside our lament and tears. Not only was it sad to see so many doors of shops locked and closed, presumably hit hard by the lack of tourism during the pandemic, but there were also the strong emotions and thoughts within us regarding entry and barring. Points of entry can indeed be about welcome and hospitality but they can also be about keeping out ‘the other’.

This was stark as we waited at the checkpoint to enter and leave Bethlehem, observing an ever-lengthening wall, and more roads and land open to some and not to ‘others’. This included the continually emerging Israeli settlements appearing on land where entry has not been invited.

The rejection and keeping out of the other was also present in the pictures and stories of the Holocaust History Museum of Yad Vashem. Vivid words and images of people seen as ’other’ driven out from homes and communities before entering the terror of the concentration camps and being met with torture and horrific death.

I am sure that for many of us our fairly impromptu cup of tea with Sara (not her real name) was something we will never forget. We were welcomed into her home and shop surrounded by the wall and were struck by her determination to stay and shine Christ’s light. The nativity crib I purchased there will be treasured, not least because it has been crafted with a wall between Bethlehem and the visitors to the manger.

Earlier that day we had gone through the narrow entrance into the tomb space at the Garden Tomb. Likewise, the day before we had stooped low to enter the Holy Sepulchre though a small doorway. Who knows which, if either, of these places was actually the site of Christ’s burial in the tomb belonging to Joseph of Arimathea, but either way there was a sense for me of entering a small physical space which actually represented a gateway to spacious freedom, life and love where ‘othering’ has no place.

As I remember the different entrances we encountered on our tour, rooted in the stories of people and place, and as I look at people fleeing their homes in Ukraine, and barricades being built on street corners to prevent entry, I not only cry yet more loudly ‘Lord have mercy’ but I also give thanks for the people who are committed to being gateways of welcome and hospitality, and who desire not only to let in the light of Christ, but who seek to tear down metaphorical walls and unlock love and hope. Thank you Embrace and all those you partner with who are being and doing just that.

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