(This is not original with me; I hope you will be blessed by it as I was)
“And it came to pass in those days, that there went out a decree from Caesar Augustus, that all the world should be taxed. (And this taxing was first made when Cyrenius was governor of Syria). And all went to be taxed, everyone into his own city. And Joseph went up from Galilee, out of the city of Nazareth, into Judea, unto the city of David, which is called Bethlehem, (because he was of the house and lineage of David) to be taxed with Mary his espoused wife, being great with child.
And so it was, that, while they were there, the days were accomplished that she should be delivered. And she brought forth her firstborn son, and wrapped Him in swaddling clothes, and laid Him in a manger; because there was no room for them in the inn.”
For this taxing census, the royal family has to travel eighty-five miles. Joseph walks, while Mary, nine months pregnant, either rides sidesaddle on a donkey, or walks, feeling every jolt, every rut, and every rock in the road. By the time they arrive, the small hamlet of Bethlehem is swollen from an influx of travelers, all there for the same reason. The inn is booked full and people felt fortunate if they were able to negotiate even a small space on the floor.
And now it is late, everyone is asleep, and there is no room. But fortunately, the innkeeper is not all shekels and mites. Even though his stable is crowded with his guests’ animals, he offered them a spot there for a little privacy. Joseph looks over at Mary, whose attention is concentrated on fighting a contraction. “We’ll take it,” he tells the innkeeper without hesitation.
The night is still when Joseph creaks open the stable door. As he does, a chorus of barn animals makes a discordant note in the intrusion. The stench is pungent and humid, as there have not been enough hours in the day to tend to the guests, let alone the livestock.
A small oil lamp, lent them by the innkeeper, flickers to the dancing shadows on the cold walls—a disquieting place for a woman in the throes of childbirth.
Did she wish for her mother to be there at this special moment? Did she long for her Dad to be standing by and assuring her? Was she glad to be out of Nazareth where people on the street looked at her and whispered about the unwed pregnant teenager in town? Now, she is far from what she had expected for her firstborn.
But Mary doesn’t complain. It is such a relief to just get off her feet. She leans back against the wall, her feet swollen, back aching, contractions growing stronger and closer together.
Joseph’s eyes dart around the stable. Not a minute to lose. Quickly. A feeding trough would have to make do for a crib. Used hay would have to serve as a mattress. Blankets? Blankets? Ah, his robe. That would do. And, those rags hung out to dry would help.
A gripping contraction doubles Mary over and sends Joseph racing for a bucket of water. This birth is not going to be easy, either for the mother or the child. The royal privileges for this child ended at conception.
Mary screams through the calm of that silent night. Joseph returns, breathless, water sloshing from the wooden bucket. The top of the baby’s head has already pushed its way into the world. Sweat pours from Mary’s contorted face as Joseph, the most unlikely midwife in all Judea, rushes to her side. The involuntary contractions are not enough, and Mary has to push with all her strength, almost as if God were refusing to come into the world without her help.
Joseph places a garment beneath her, and with a final push and long sigh, her labor is over—the Messiah has arrived!
Elongated head from the constricting journey through the birth canal. Light skin, as the pigment would take days or even weeks to surface. Mucus in His ears and nostrils. Wet and slippery from the amniotic fluid. The Son of the most High God is umbilically tied to a lowly Jewish girl. The baby chokes and coughs. Joseph instinctively turns Him over and clears His throat. Then He cries. Mary takes the shivering baby to her breast for His first feeding. She lays Him on her chest and His cries subside. His tiny head bobs around the unfamiliar terrain. This will be the first thing the infant-king will learn. As she nurses, Mary can feel his racing heartbeat. Deity nursing from a young maiden’s breast. Could anything be more puzzling—or more profound?
Joseph sits exhausted, silent, full of wonder. The baby finishes and sighs, the Divine Word reduced to a few unintelligible sounds.
Then, for the first time, His eyes fix on His mother’s. Deity straining to focus. The Light of the world squinting. Tears pool in her eyes. She touches His tiny hand. And the hand that once sculpted mountain ranges clings to her finger.
She no longer cares what the people of Nazareth think of her or where she is at the moment in time. She looks at Joseph and through a watery veil, their souls touch. He crowds closer, cheek to cheek with his betrothed. Together they stare in awe at the baby Jesus, whose heavy eyelids begin to close. It has been a long journey. The King is tired. And so, with barely a ripple of notice, God stepped into the warm lake of humanity. Without protocol and without pretention. Where you would have expected angels, there were flies. Where you would have expected heads of state, there were only donkeys, a few haltered cows, and nervous ball of sheep, a tethered camel, and a scurry of curious little barn mice. Except for Joseph, there was no one to share Mary’s pain. Or her joy.
Yes, there were angels announcing the birth of the Savior’s arrival, but only to a band of shepherds in the field.
And thus, in the little town of Bethlehem, that one silent night…the royal birth of God’s Son tiptoed quietly by—as the world slept. (Author Unknown)
YOU and GOD 