George Diek was having a stressful Christmas night. "Complain," he said. "Write to the Latin Patriarch. There are too many tickets. Every year it's the same problem. We do not know what is happening. They don't tell us."
George, in his puttees, light brown uniform, red epaulettes, tassels and insignia, belongs to the scout troop in Terra Sancta Franciscan school in Bethlehem. It was his unhappy duty to block the entrance to St Catherine's Church in Manger Square and admit midnight Mass-goers one or two at a time from a queue of over 1,000.
By the time I got to George and his fellow scouts it was 10 minutes to midnight and the Mass had begun. It had taken me 21/4 hours to move less than 100 yards from a narrow laneway at the north-eastern end of Manger Square to the small door of the church.
All the other entrances were closed and guarded by Palestinian soldiers and police. President Yasser Arafat and his wife, Suha, were already inside, their presence unavoidably altering the religious and political atmosphere.
Bethlehem is one of the parcels of land handed over to the Palestinian Authority under the Oslo Accords and is a keystone of the Palestinian economy.
"It's an opportunity to make Palestine a serious tourist destination," says Dr Ibrahim Abu Lughod, a Palestinian political scientist who has returned after 30 years' teaching at Princeton in the US. Because he is a US citizen, Ibrahim is one of the few Palestinians who can travel freely between the areas handed over to the Palestinian Authority, all of which are encircled by Israeli-held territory.
Tourists travelling the six miles south from Jerusalem to Bethlehem mostly arrive in Israeli tour buses and make only a quick tour of the reputed site of the Nativity, a cave beneath the Church of the Nativity, before returning to Jerusalem.
Bethlehem hopes to make itself a base for tourists by building hotels and refurbishing the town for the millennium. This Bethlehem 2000 project is being financed by the Palestinian Authority (which gets US and EU money) and the government of Sweden. Manger Square is crisscrossed with shallow trenches where paving is being relaid.
But on Christmas Eve, tables and chairs and a stage were set out in Manger Square, and the population watched and listened to choirs from all over the world. When I arrived in the square a Chinese choir was singing O Holy Night, and three tall Christmas trees, dripping with lights, swayed softly in the light cold wind.
Midnight Mass is organised by the Latin Patriarch, Patriarch Michel Sabah, and the Franciscan Order. However, the town celebrations are organised by the Palestinian Authority. I had walked to the square through a town ablaze with Christmas lights. Fireworks shot into the night sky and showered the crowds in the square with coloured stars.
The illuminations began just beyond the Israeli checkpoint near the entrance to the town. They swung across the narrow streets of the old town. Jesus, Mary and Joseph, their figures picked out in lights, hung above the entrance to Manger Square.
The streets and the square were packed with young Palestinian men. This was now their town, and they were out for the night, greeting friends, throwing firecrackers, eating corn on the cob, falafel and freshly-made pastries from street vendors. There seemed to be very few tourists. But that was because the church was blocked off from the rest of the square, and the tourists were queueing for Mass, almost unnoticed by a crowd celebrating freedom as much as Christmas.
Wild cheers had greeted Mr Arafat's arrival and greeting by the Greek Orthodox bishop just before 9 p.m. Three churches share the Nativity site. The Orthodox Church and the Armenian Church are in the Basilica of the Nativity, founded by St Helena in the 4th century. St Catherine's Roman Catholic Church was built by the Franciscans in the 19th century.
The Anglican Church of St George in Jerusalem had advertised a carol service at 9 p.m. in the courtyard of the Greek Orthodox monastery. I had come to Jerusalem in time to attend this service before going to midnight Mass. But armed Palestinian soldiers guarded the locked door to the courtyard because Mr Arafat was inside. I waited with a small group of Palestinian Anglicans, but the door remained locked and there was no sound of carolling in the courtyard beyond.
Tofik Canavati's souvenir shop is directly opposite the courtyard. Mr Canavati, a Catholic, commiserated and offered me a glass of Christmas wine. His shop window displayed an array of plaster infant Jesuses, the biggest the size of a 10lb baby. Mr Canavati is hoping the Palestinian Authority will bring tourists back to the town after the worst season ever. President Arafat means publicity. When finally I got into the packed Church of St Catherine, the Patriarch was reading the Gospel. It was clear the president and his wife were as much the focus of attention as the altar. They sat in the front one of the few rows of chairs in the central aisle. For the rest of us it was standing room only. Pilgrims stood on tip-toe to get a glimpse of the guest of honour and his entourage.
During the sermon, read by the Patriarch first in Arabic and repeated in French, one of the entourage rose and began to walk out of the church. Heads turned, the Patriarch paused, the darksuited guest keeled over in a dead faint. He was not the only casualty of the evening. At least two other Mass-goers were overcome by heat, or by the occasion.
It was a long Mass, concelebrated in Latin, French and Arabic. It was difficult to see much over the heads of the crowds. Prayers for peace were said in more than a dozen languages. It seemed a moment worth waiting for as Balinese, Koreans, Scots, Belgians, Indians, Japanese and Palestinians - my companions during the long hours of queueing - offered each other the sign of peace and wished each other a Happy Christmas.
President Arafat shook hands and left the church before Communion. Heads turned again as he made his way out. His wife left shortly afterwards. The crowds diminished. Holy Communion was distributed.
When I looked up, there was a large baby in a manger on the altar, just like the baby Jesus in Mr Canavati's window. The Mass was ended. The Patriarch carried Jesus in the manger out into Manger Square and the Christmas bells of Bethlehem began to ring.
"I haven't seen very much, but I'm glad I was here," said James Mohan, from Newcastle-upon-Tyne.
Stephen McCormack, from Glasgow, was less certain. "They were more interested in Arafat than the Mass," he said, disappointed. "I felt it should have been about Jesus. But when Jesus was on the altar they were all looking the other way."