Alright, here it is: the Holy Mother of God Church of Bethlehem-known by locals as the Upper Bethlehem Church, not to be confused with, well, actual Bethlehem! Take a look at those weathered stones: this spot holds tales of faith, stubbornness, and a dash of high drama, as if it’s auditioning for a historical soap opera.
Picture this neighborhood in the 18th century: priests in flowing robes, thick accents echoing in the alleyways, big thoughts about god and gold. The original chapel? That was started by a priest named Gregory, who unfortunately didn’t quite see the finish line-in fact, he’s buried right here. His grandson, Barsegh, had to roll up his sleeves and finish granddad’s work. Family projects-gotta love ’em.
Down the road, things only get spicier. The upper portions you see, those dark stones, were put in by Agha-Meliq Bebutyan-a guy so bold he joined Nadir Shah’s Indian crusade. He brought two nuns from Persia’s St. Yekaterina Monastery, which is like flying in consultants from Paris, but for holy matters. His son fenced the place in tight-I’m guessing “keep out” was written in three languages.
Stories here turn downright cinematic. In the late 1700s, the archpriest-a fellow named Mkhitar-stood his ground when a Persian conqueror demanded the church’s treasures. Mkhitar wouldn’t squeal, so he paid the ultimate price. If Sunday sermons ever feel dull, just remember: some priests here literally risked it all.
Today, the church looks Georgian Orthodox, but its bones are Armenian. Think of it as Tbilisi’s spiritual lasagna-history layered on history.
Alright legend, onward! Ready for Kartlis deda
