BETHLEHEM, West Bank (AP) - Praying every day, Father Ibrahim Faltas shepherded an unusual flock of 200 people, most of them Muslims and many of them armed, through a 39-day siege of the Church of the Nativity, warding off hunger and tension while dodging gunfire from Israeli troops outside and Palestinians inside.
Faltas, a 38-year-old Franciscan, is in charge of the 4th-century shrine marking the traditional birthplace of Jesus, the focus of Bethlehem's once-thriving tourist trade and of Christmas celebrations, both stifled by 20 months of Mideast violence.
On April 2, the church became the focus of a tense standoff when dozens of Palestinians, several of them militiamen wanted by Israel, fled inside ahead of invading Israeli forces. Israeli troops surrounded the church and demanded the gunmen surrender, but they refused.
The siege finally ended Friday with a deal worked out following intervention by the Vatican, the European Union and United States. Thirteen of the gunmen were exiled to Cyprus, 26 others were taken to the Gaza Strip and the rest were released.
Faltas led two morning Masses on Sunday, when nearly 1,000 people flocked to Greek Orthodox and Roman Catholic services for the first time since the standoff. Each made the sign of the cross as they entered and surveyed the damage, some gazing at bullet holes scarring the outer walls.
Candles burned at the entrance to Jesus' birth grotto, and visitors knelt and kissed the star meant to mark the spot where Christ was born.
"When I entered, I felt joy in the eyes of the people praying again in the basilica," said Alberta Katan, 65.
Volunteers had spent Saturday furiously cleaning, and the church smelled pleasantly of incense as worshippers streamed in. When the ordeal ended Friday, the place had reeked of urine and was filled with garbage, dirty dishes and cigarette butts.
During the standoff, Faltas emerged once from the basilica to conduct Sunday services at a nearby church and then returned, saying that was his way of refuting charges that the armed Palestinians were holding about 60 clerics hostage.
But it was anything but pleasant inside the besieged shrine, Faltas said in an interview with The Associated Press. "Sometimes we had hope that the standoff would end in hours, but suddenly everything would collapse and we would be depressed," he said.
Sometimes the dangers were concrete. One day he got up in the morning and opened the window in his room, making some noise, he said. "(Israeli) soldiers had taken positions under my window and they opened fire," he said. "The bullets passed very near to me."
During the siege, Israeli forces opened fire several times at men in the church compound. The Israelis said the gunmen either shot first or appeared to be threatening them; Palestinians said the Israelis initiated the exchanges.
Often the Israelis turned off the electricity and prevented food from getting to the church, the Palestinians said, though Israel claimed that it was the Palestinians who refused Israeli assistance.
Either way, deprivation was the norm for five weeks. Monks subsisted on one meal a day. There were no working toilets in the church, and many feared crossing the courtyard to other parts of the complex because of Israeli snipers perched on overlooking rooftops.
In addition to conversations with the people inside, Faltas said "the other part of my day was to get out and meet with the Israelis, to speak about issues of food, beverages, electricity and water, or to participate in evacuating wounded or dead people."
Seven Palestinians were killed during the siege.
"The people inside were most affected when someone was injured or killed," Faltas said. "They were very angry. They prepared their weapons and wanted to go out and avenge them, but after we evacuated (the dead or wounded), they would calm down."
Faltas, a black-haired, bespectacled priest born near Alexandria, Egypt and educated in Cairo, rose to a role he had not imagined. "I had never found myself in a crisis before," he said, "and I decided to take responsibility, cooperating with all the people around me to end it peacefully."
When the gunmen left, he said, "their last words to all the priests and monks were, 'Thanks, father, and we are sorry for everything that has happened.'"
Looking back, Faltas was able to point to a positive aspect of the tense standoff. The ancient church is divided into fiefdoms ruled by often competing Christian denominations. Disputes over schedules and sites have turned violent in the past. For now, at least, that is all over.
"We were all living together wonderfully," he said. "We became brothers united in this crisis," he said.
Now, Faltas has higher hopes. "I hope there will be peace between the two peoples, Palestinians and Israelis," he said.