Khalil BassaOur College community was saddened to hear last Friday morning of the death of our friend, Khalil Bassa, the previous evening.

Khalil commenced his role as the head of housekeeping services for the College on 1 May 1990. When I made my first visit to the College later that month, I did not know that he was such a recent appointment. It was not until I was sitting with his family and friends in his home at Bethany last Friday afternoon that I realised that I had known this gentle and loving man for the whole of his time at the College.

On every visit to Jerusalem in the years since then I made my own pilgrimage to the College to share coffee and a conversation with this man who embodied our community’s mission of hospitality.

It was special delight for me a couple of years ago to stumble across a beautiful account of Khalil’s unassuming ministry of hospitality in chapter six of Ruth Everhart’s book, Chasing the Divine in the Holy Land (Eerdmans, 2012). I went back to that passage after hearing of Khalil’s death, and then I contacted Ruth to see if she could contribute something to this online tribute to our mutual friend.

Ruth has written the following piece, which I am pleased to share with you:

Christians travel to St. George’s in Jerusalem for many reasons — perhaps hoping to return to their faith roots, or to refresh their acquaintance with Jesus, or to experience firsthand this sacred navel of the world, where the three Abrahamic faiths forever circle each other.
When I was at St. George’s, one of the most precious things I learned was not on my original agenda, and I learned it from Khalil Bassa. I learned to look for Christ in the face of the Other.
It was the first day of my pilgrimage and I was still addled by jet lag. I wandered into the garden to clear my head. Khalil was on the path, so I asked him about the trees around us. He answered my questions, then plucked a pomegranate from a branch. He told me that the early Christians regarded this fruit — so many seeds held together by one flesh — as a symbol for the church. 
Then he sliced the fruit open with a knife and I ate the seeds while he smoked a cigarette. We talked about our jobs and our families. He told me about Bethany, his generational home. We collided a bit over my career as an ordained pastor, and gender roles. It was clear that we inhabited different worlds. Still, Khalil invited me to his daughter’s upcoming wedding. For a moment I imagined attending the celebration, in the village where Jesus so often ate with Mary, Martha, and Lazarus. That glimpse helped shift me from cerebral pastor to open-hearted pilgrim. Our talk did what we always hope interfaith conversation will do — it nudged our hearts toward greater openness. Our talk set the tone for a pilgrimage that transformed my faith, and I am grateful to him.
I am saddened to hear of Khalil’s passing. May his family and friends know the comfort of their faith. May Khalil rest in peace, and may he rise in glory.
We give thanks for the blessing that Khalil was to so many students and staff at St George’s College Jerusalem over more than twenty years, and we pray for his family and friends at this time of great loss.