Under Olive Trees

I did not want to pick up three year old Sudie who had wet herself in her excitement over the eggs; a dark stain spead across her long corduroy overalls. The front of her navy blue jacket was stained with pink dye, as was her face. She was wearing a scarf over her hair, which stuck out at odd angles from under it. She was a sight and I wished that Christian churchs , like mosques, had a handy source of water just outside for washing. We lagged behind the others, walking more slowly down the aisle, Sudie having difficulty with her wet pants. As we walked, I tried to explain to her that we were in the church that marked Jesus's birth. "Do you remember Christmas?" I asked her as a prelude to telling her that it was the day we celebrated Jesus's birth. "Na'am" she said, "Yes, Baba Noel." Just as she said Papa Noel, we passed the two steps leading up to the altar. We both glanced up at the pageantry on it. Across from us sat the Greek Orthodox archbishop of Jerusalem, magnificent in his long white and gold robes, his white bearded face clear under his miter, holding in his hand the long shepherd's crook, the staff of his office. "Baba Noel," called Sudie, who scuttled up the two steps before I could gather my wits about me. She was halfway across the altar before I glanced at the archbishop in horror at her actions. He waved me back, knelt down from his thronelike chair facing us, and opened his arms. Sudie dashed into them, jabbering at him words I could not hear over the chanting of the priests who seemed to take the unusual sight of a little girl scurrying across the altar and into the open arms of the archbishop as an everyday occurrence. Sudie hugged the archbishop and turned around to walk back across the altar to me. I looked at the archibishop gratefully, mouthing a thank-you to him, and noticed that his white beard had a smudge of pink on it. I did not dare look at his magnificent robes. "Baba Noel, hone," announced Sudie on her reurn to me. "Father Noel is here. He lives here." She had satisfied her theological questions. From then on, she understood the relationship between Father Christmas and Jesus. Father Christmas lived where Jesus was born; you could see one, but you could not see the other.