By Stephen Bugno

Like Saul, I greatly anticipated my arrival to Damascus, an ancient city even in his day. I, however, was not coming to persecute Christians, but to retrace his important life-changing events that would prove to be the most important in Christianity after the life, death, and resurrection of Christ.

Shrine of Saint Paul on the Walls

As Saul approached the city, a light shown from heaven all around him and he fell to the ground. Saul was a Jew from Tarsus (in modern-day Turkey); on a mission to arrest new Christian converts in Damascus. As he lay on the ground blinded and confused, a voice spoke out: “Saul, Saul why are you persecuting me?” It was Jesus speaking to him.

Unable to see, his companions led him into Damascus to the house of Judas where he waited, having nothing to eat or drink for three days.

The Conversion of Saul

Meanwhile, a local disciple Ananias heard God in a vision tell him to go to the street called Straight, and enquire in the house of Judas for one called Saul.

So Ananias arrived and put his hands on Saul and carried out the Lord’s orders. Immediately scales fell from Saul’s eyes and restored his vision. Saul of Tarsus left the house as a baptized Paul and began proclaiming Jesus as the Son of God.

At the St. Ananias Chapel, a wall of illustrations takes me through these events of Paul’s conversion. The chapel, located deep in the Christian quarter of old Damascus, commemorates his conversion and baptism of Saul.

I follow the stairs down to the original Roman street level where the stone house stood in the time of Christ. The chapel is small with a few pews in front of an altar adorned with more depictions of the miracles. In a side shrine, the visitors before me have stuffed hand written petitions through a metal grate.

Escaping Damascus

The Chapel of Ananias photo: Stephen Bugno

Leaving the St. Ananias Chapel, I continue down the narrow lane to the biblical Straight Street and through the Bab Sharqi, or Eastern Gate, around the outside edge of the old city walls to the Shrine of Saint Paul on the walls. This is the place that most accurately marks where Paul escaped out of a window through the ancient gate, Bab Kisan. It lies in the southeastern part of Damascus, which even at that time was populated with Christians, close to the start of the Roman road that led to Jerusalem.

Inside the church, my travel companion, who was once in the seminary, enthusiastically explains the painted scenes that depicted Paul’s activity before, during and after his journey to Damascus. He reiterates just how crucial these places were, not only in Paul’s life, but for the whole of Christianity. If Saul had remained a Jewish rabbi, we wouldn’t have fourteen books of the New Testament.

My friend goes on to explain that after his conversion, Paul went on to preach the word of Christ in the synagogues around town and consequently the Jews quickly conceived a plot to kill him. So they stood guard around the city gates and as described in Acts, “the disciples took him by night, and let him down by the wall in a basket.” We gazed at the replica basket to help us imagine the events better.

Today, the church’s fortress-like appearance appropriately resembles a high city gate, its thick stones, including some originals, represent the barrier between Paul and his freedom, and consequently, the future of Christianity. As Ananias’ original house was destroyed and replaced by a mosque after the Arab conquest, so was the fate of the church which originally commemorated St. Paul’s escape.

The present shrine was finished in 1941 and in 2001 the site was visited by Pope John Paul II on his footsteps of St. Paul pilgrimage. Since 1964, the Melkite-Greek Catholic Church has maintained the site along with its adjacent orphanage and home for the elderly.

After leaving Damascus, Paul returned to Jerusalem before going abroad to become one of the church’s foremost evangelizers. Pope Benedict designated the Pauline year to run from June 28, 2008 to June 29, 2009, commemorating the approximate 2,000th anniversary of the saint’s birth.

We left Damascus in a more stress-free fashion than Paul did, surprised by the Christian presence that still thrives in this heavily Muslim country and by the friendliness and hospitality of both the Syrian Christians and Muslims alike.

If You Go

Damascus, one of the oldest cities in the world, is a magnificent place to visit, chock-full of history. Syria is safe for U.S. citizens to visit and a visa, available only at the Syrian embassy in Washington, DC, is required. If including Syria on a pilgrimage to the Holy Lands, remember to visit before traveling on to Israel because an Israeli stamp in your passport will bar your entry to Syria.

Stephen Bugno visited Damascus during a six-month overland journey from Istanbul to Cairo. His articles and essays have appeared in The San Francisco Chronicle, The Philadelphia Inquirer, The Seattle Times, and Transitions Abroad magazine. He edits the Gomad Nomad Travel Mag.

By Stephen Bugno

They told me the gunfire only rings out at night. But this morning, after sunrise, I woke up to loud clashes across town in the Al Ein refugee camp and the upheaval continued until 11am. Then we checked the internet for the story: Ma’an News reported that one Israeli soldier and an 18-year-old Palestinian youth were killed.  The Israelis blocked the entrances to the camp, so the Palestinian died before an ambulance could get inside.

Children in Nablus

The day before, on the bus ride from Ramallah, I was befriended by the man in the seat behind me. He pointed out all the Israeli settlements along the way.

“That’s my land,” he shouts. Mahmood is fuming, but somehow contains his anger.

The settlements are secure, self-contained towns, built of similar looking houses, usually located on the crest of the hills. Unlike Palestinian villages, settlements have priority access over water and electricity. The settlers also have their own newly-paved highways.

For an hour and a half we crawl over the decaying old roads in our aged, beat-up bus. We navigate around terraced, olive tree covered hills, passing Palestinian villages as well. They are older, employ more natural looking building materials and blend in with the rocky dry landscape of the Holy Land.

We get held up at each checkpoint. A single file line of cars, share taxis, and buses wait. These checkpoints and settlements are what infuriate the Palestinians most. But no one gets upset today, even as we sit sweating, the hot afternoon sun beating on us through the windows.

Finally we arrive at Hawara checkpoint, the last one before Nablus. One by one we walk through metal gates and show our passports, guns pointed directly at us. We are shuffled like cattle in a slaughterhouse. This is a twice daily routine here and can add up to two or three hours to an already long commute to work.

A Palestinian village in the West Bank

Nablus is located in the northern part of the West Bank and is contained inside of a zone called Area A. Here Palestinians have the privilege of administering and policing themselves. But because the checkpoints restrict access, it is basically an open-air prison.

Once in Nablus, I meet Hakim in a share taxi. A circus clown by trade, he had been performing in Jerusalem for the past few years. He tells me he’s now blacklisted and no longer allowed to leave Area A. His distant cousin has just been identified as a rebel by Israeli intelligence.

Nablus is a center of Palestinian resistance in the Occupied Territories and given the frequency of incursions by the Israeli Defense Force it is regarded by some as a dangerous place to live. But in reality it is most dangerous for insurgents or militia men or those unlucky enough to get caught in the crossfire in the refugee camps. A nighttime curfew helps to minimize casualties.

The nights in Nablus are quiet at first: a clear contrast from the typical bustle of Arab cities I witnessed in Egypt and Syria. No one here is out past midnight. I peer out from the third story window of our house. Nablus is built in a valley and stretches up onto both hills. From here I have a good vantage point to witness the stillness of night and the glow of the city under yellow street lamps.

Some nights there are incursions. When the gunfire starts, the dogs start barking, and the cocks start crowing.

Tonight I wake and rise from bed to watch the fireworks across the city: flashes startle my not-yet-adjusted eyes and tank blasts thunder my consciousness. After 15 minutes I can’t watch anymore and return to bed and lie awake.

My roommate, already here one week, has slept through the whole thing.

Stephen Bugno made his way from Istanbul to Cairo during a six-month overland trip in 2007, stopping for a month to volunteer in the West Bank. Since surviving these nights in Nablus, he has been living the life of a nomad: teaching abroad, traveling, and writing. His articles and essays have appeared in The San Francisco Chronicle, The Philadelphia Inquirer, and Transitions Abroad.