The population of Christians in the Holy Land is right around one percent, mostly split between Catholic and Greek Orthodox believers. Of that one percent, about three-fourths of them are Arab Christians. I don't know what I expected, but I never really anticipated that fact.
While painting my mural in Beit Hanina, I stayed in the Saint James Monastery. The mission compound has housing for 400 families. Since Christians comprise such a small population of the Holy Land, this is a great place to find people of like mind. It was my first time to ever stay in a monastery, but I once stayed at a convent in Liberia when I had a bout of malaria. The four nuns took great care of me, just like everyone at this monastery.
Father Paulo was one of my best caretakers while in Beit Hanina. I was only there for ten days, but we had our little traditions. In the morning, before the day's chaos began, Paulo and I had morning espresso together. There was a very fancy coffee machine in the cafeteria, beyond my capabilities, but my favorite priest from Brazil managed it just fine.
Every day, when school was in session, Father Paulo wore his traditional Catholic robe for his job as principal of the Terra Sancta School. Now, I take all volunteers who want to participate when creating a mural. But, nobody wearing long flowing robes wants to take part in a project where kids splatter paint -- willingly or unwillingly. However, when the school day was over, and the kids were long gone, my friend changed into clothes more appropriate for muraling and joined me. I wore old clothing, splattered with paint, and eventually tossed in the trash before leaving the Holy Land. Paulo never got one drop of paint on his clothing.
Our third little tradition was sharing supper most evenings. There was an actual chef, Dimon, who worked at the mission. I never imagined eating so well at the monastery. Every meal was a delight, created by someone so very skilled in the kitchen. So, the food and the company were so very special at the end of the day.
My goal was to draw a portrait of a Muslim, Jew, and Christian from my travels in the Holy Land. I mentioned it to Father Paulo one night. "I want to photograph a Catholic priest in very beautiful robes for a portrait while I'm here." My friend suggested that I go to the Church of the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem. He didn't get my hint, and I told him that,
"You want me to be a model?" he asked in disbelief.
That would be yes.
So, after supper we went to the "sacristy". That was a new word for me. It's the special room where a priest prepares for the mass. It's also where all of their robes are stored. Father Paulo had a variety of robes to choose from. He let me select which one that I wanted for the portrait, so I picked the robe he wore when he was confirmed as a priest. (I'm not Catholic, and I'm not sure if "confirmed" is the right word. But, it's when it all became official for him.) Putting on the robe was much more complicated than I ever imagined. There were several layers of clothing required. But, the end result was so very elegant. And, I very happily got the photo that I wanted.
As I said, the population of Christians in the Holy Land is only about one percent. They all treated me so very well. But, from my time in Beit Hanina, my gracious host was certainly in the top one percent of that one percent.