[But nowhere was the feeling of undaunted joy more evident than in a ramshackle maze of alleys in the capital known as One Hundred Quarters. It is one of the informal urban “Christian colonies” where many Pakistani Christians of modest means live and work — along alleys, beneath pigeon coops and amid yards piled with scavenged tin, glass and plastic to be sorted and resold by the kilo.]
By
Pamela Constable
 |
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Christians in Islamabad
put the final touches on a Christmas tree in a Christian
neighborhood in the city
on Sunday. (Anjum Naveed/AP)
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ISLAMABAD, Pakistan — One week before
Christmas, more than 400 people were crowded into a worship service at Bethel
Memorial Methodist Church in the southwestern city of Quetta when two suicide
bombers attacked. Chaos erupted. Screaming children in white robes fled,
escorted by police with assault rifles. Nine people died in the Dec. 17
bombing, and at least 57 were injured.
Yet after a week of funerals, protests,
official condemnation and alarmist editorials about the growing persecution of
religious minorities, the Christmas spirit seemed to shine with unusual
brightness in this Islamic republic of 207 million — about 3 million of whom are
Christian.
The collective rebuke was palpable. Across
Pakistan, church volunteers got busy decorating trees and placing wreaths on
pews, some posing for TV news cameras. Urban bazaars that had been lit up Dec.
1 to celebrate the birthday of the prophet Muhammad glowed with Christmas
lights, illuminating displays of plastic fir trees and tinsel imported from
China.
Politicians attended traditional Christmas
cake-cutting ceremonies Saturday, condemning the Quetta attack and noting the
important role that Christian-run hospitals and schools have played in the
nation’s development. Police were deployed to guard historic cathedrals in
Karachi and Lahore. More than 500 Christian prisoners were given a sentence
reduction in time to go home for the holiday.
But nowhere was the feeling of undaunted joy
more evident than in a ramshackle maze of alleys in the capital known as One
Hundred Quarters. It is one of the informal urban “Christian colonies” where
many Pakistani Christians of modest means live and work — along alleys, beneath
pigeon coops and amid yards piled with scavenged tin, glass and plastic to be
sorted and resold by the kilo.
Everyone in the little community was acutely
aware of what had happened in Quetta. The bombing, claimed by the Islamic State,
was the latest deadly attack on Christian targets — a pattern that has emerged
with the rise of violent Islamist extremism, sectarian militancy and organized
fervor over anti-Muslim blasphemy.
On Easter Sunday in 2016, Taliban suicide
bombers killed 72 people and wounded more than 300 at a park in Lahore. In
September 2013, a suicide attack at All Saints Church in Peshawar, also claimed
by the Taliban, left 80 people dead. In March 2011, Shahbaz Bhatti, a Christian
and federal minister for religious minority affairs, was assassinated by gunmen
outside his home in the capital.
“Targeting minorities is strictly forbidden
in Islam. Those involved in it want to create bad blood among different
religions and sects. It will be disastrous for all of us if extremism is not
done away with,” said Tahir Naveed Chaudhry, chairman of the Pakistan
Minorities Alliance. “But the authorities are doing nothing to curb this
hatred. Today, no church or temple is safe.”
But One Hundred Quarters was humming with
excitement and purpose all weekend, and everyone seemed too busy to worry. Men
and boys worked covering poles with straw to create life-size reproductions of
the manger in Bethlehem and a fantasy topiary of straw stars, thrones and fir
trees. Others painted wall scenes of Santa’s sleigh and reindeer.
“There is no meaning to Christmas without the
manger,” said Sharoon Massih, 17, who was stringing lights on trees. “We
celebrate Eid with the same fervor as Muslims, and we welcome everyone to
celebrate Christmas with us. Those who want Christianity to be eliminated in
Pakistan will never succeed. We are many, and God is with us.”
In an alley, Timotheus Gil, 25, had set up a
Christmas emporium with tiny plastic trees and cheap ornaments. He was also
selling stacks of old Christmas cards for 10 cents apiece showing scenes of
baby Jesus in a basket of straw.
Around the corner was a small brick church
painted bright pink, with a plaque saying it had been donated by the Salvation
Army in 2014 “to the glory of God and to serve the people of 100 Quarters.” At
the top of a narrow stone stairway was a room with a smaller plaque designating
it an “All-Nations Mission Church.” Inside was a wooden cross and a stack of
tattered Bibles wrapped in newsprint.
“Our message this Christmas is tolerance,”
said George Inayat, the gray-haired pastor of the tiny Protestant church. “No
one can stop terrorists if they are determined to die, but we can pray that God
will guide them on the right path. All this hatred and intolerance are giving
Pakistan a bad name, but we must keep sending out a message of peace and
brotherhood to all.”
Inayat said community leaders had met with
local police officials after the Quetta bombing and that they had promised to
provide extra security during the holiday festivities there.
After night fell on Christmas Eve, the
run-down community was transformed into a wonderland, with twinkling lights and
Nativity tableaux at every turn. A dusty parking lot had become a fairy-tale
display of reindeer and electric candles, leading to a creche where parents led
in their small children and knelt on the straw, pointing out the figures in a
delicate Nativity painting.
Suhail Akhtar Bhatti, 48, an architectural
draftsman, surveyed the scene with satisfaction. He and several other residents
of One Hundred Quarters started the manger tradition 22 years ago. He said the
straw came from fruit-packing crates, the lights were rented, and the leafy
green border hedges had been cut from plants in the nearby Margalla Hills.
Shortly before 10 p.m., a lilting carol in
Urdu wafted from a church loudspeaker, beckoning worshipers to Christmas Eve
services. A few Muslims joined the stream of visitors, both to pay their
respects and out of curiosity about Christmas. Bhatti greeted each one,
explaining about the birth of Jesus and the meaning of the pageant.
“This is our milad, just like the milad for
the prophet,” he told one man, referring to the recent birthday celebration for
Muhammad. “Jesus was simple; he was born in a manger with the animals, so that
is what we present here.” The man shook his hand and thanked him.
“You are most welcome any time,” Bhatti said.
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