A Birth in Bethlehem

Breathe in, breathe out.  Breathe in, breathe out.

Mary held onto the rough trunk of the date palm as she paused in her walking to take another labor pain.  They were still short and spaced far enough for her to take many steps in between them, so she knew her time wasn’t close yet.

Maybe tonight the baby would come. 

As the cramping deep in her body subsided, she took another breath, raised her head and looked down over the village.  The day was warm, but here on this little rise away from the main part of Bethlehem she could feel a breeze, and it cooled the perspiration on her face.  Even though she had enjoyed a hearty first meal of bread soaked in olive oil with some cheese provided by their host a couple of hours ago, she felt like she needed to eat something else to give her strength.  Looking high up into the tree, she noticed there were still plenty of dates left, in spite of the fact that the first harvest had already been made.  As they were far too high for her to reach she turned her gaze to the ground to search and see if some had recently fallen.  Sure enough, she quickly found several that were still firm and intact.

Sliding down to sit on the earth with her back supported against the tree trunk, she savored the pithy sweet flavor on her tongue as she slowly chewed and thought about all that had brought her to this place and this moment.

It had been a little later than this time last year in Nazareth when the visitor had come to see her. She had been alone inside her family’s home preparing food when- what she now knew was an angel – came inside, greeted her, and then sat down.  She almost jumped out of her skin at the irregularity of this bold entry and formal greeting of a stranger, but the angel quickly reassured her, and then gave her a message.  She was going to have a son.  Her mind went numb initially as this information hit hard up against the fact that she was a virgin. But when the angel said it would happen by the power of the Holy Spirit, inexplicably in that moment her heart opened and accepted the revelation as perfectly reasonable.  She had given the angel her word as the Lord’s servant that she was willing.

Later when recounting the event to her parents it had felt so much less real and reasonable, particularly when seeing their faces.  They didn’t say so out loud but it was clear they doubted her, even when she brought up the Messianic prophesies written by Isaiah that every Jew knew by heart, that said a virgin would birth the Messiah.  Her betrothed, Joseph, took it particularly hard when they passed the news to him.  He told her later he was ready to privately break their engagement, but then the angel came to him as well to confirm she had told the truth.  From that moment he had been on her side, and ready to defend her.

It was for this reason that he decided to take her with him when he had to come here to Bethlehem for the census. As unusual as it was to deliberately take such a long hard journey at the end of her pregnancy, she had felt at peace.  She remembered the words of the prophet Micah that mentioned Bethlehem as the birth place of the ruler over Israel.  As far-fetched as it appeared, it looked like Yaweh had ordained an entire Roman census just to get them to Bethlehem in time to fulfil this prophesy. If that was the case, the God of Abraham would surely protect them.

And He had.  They had joined a group of travelers also going south to their various birthplaces for the census.  It had been a somewhat large company and they had all walked together.  As she was not the only woman traveler, and there were also children among them, the pace was easy for Mary to keep up with even in her state, and they took frequent stops.  The weather was perfect, not too hot or too cold, and there were plenty of date trees along the way that they could gather fruit from to supplement their provisions.

Things had changed when it was time for the group to turn east toward the valley of Jordan that ran alongside the Jordan River in order to avoid going through Samaria.  This was the established Jewish custom, so much so that no one discussed it as they paused at the divide in the road to rest before continuing.  As Mary looked at Joseph’s face, she saw him gazing down the alternate road, straight south to Samaria.  With an intake of breath she instantly guessed what he was thinking.  They could save days by not veering east and taking the long way around.

Nervously she had glanced at the rest of the group as they picked up their belongings and started toward the Jordan valley, then looked back to Joseph.  Without speaking, he asked her with his eyes if she was willing to break tradition and go through Samaria.  As unthinkable as this was for Jews to even consider, it dawned on her that they were already so far beyond everything traditional, that one more thing wasn’t going to make it any stranger.  And God would surely protect His Son, no matter what road they took.  She took a deep breath and nodded.

And so, in spite of the vehement and incredulous protests of their fellow travelers, including some from the older men who pulled Joseph aside to try to reason with him, they had finally set off on their own toward Samaria. 

After it was just the two of them they had unconsciously walked more quickly.  The road was unfamiliar but well-trod, as plenty of Romans and Samaritans regularly used the route.  Soon Mary had forgotten her concerns about traveling alone (though she suspected Joseph remained fully alert) as they walked through a part of Israel they had never seen before.  As the days went by they noted the fertile soil and the abundance of grapes, olives and barley, all ready to harvest. As they finally made it to the top of one of the hills outside of the city and stopped to catch their breaths, she was shocked to see how large and wealthy the city of Samaria appeared.  When she asked Joseph about it he told her that King Herod had chosen to focus much of his lavish spending and elaborate building projects here in order to honor the Roman emperor Caesar Augustus.

How ironic, Mary thought, savoring the dates under the shade of the tree, as she thought back on her first view of the amazing city.  All that wealth spent by a Jewish king to build up a city most Jews would never see, to honor their Gentile oppressor, who taxed the poor Jews out of their prutahs.

As they carefully descended the hill toward the city, she had wondered where they would stay.  Before turning toward Samaria they had stayed with relatives, and since then they had been turning off the road at the end of the day and erecting simple shelters in groves of trees.  Normally once back in the villages or towns they would seek a relative’s home, but they had no known relatives here.

They had just decided to camp outside the city when they saw it.  Jacob’s well. There were rough inscriptions in Greek, Arabic and Hebrew and another script they couldn’t read on a large stone nearby identifying it. The spiritual significance of camping by the ancient well of their own patriarch was not lost on either of them, and they instinctively knew they would be safe there.  By then it was past the time for the evening water drawing, so the place was deserted.  They had quickly made a fire and settled down for the night.

As Mary pulled herself up from sitting under the palm tree and began to pace back and forth to get the circulation back into her legs, she pondered again the dream she had that night by the well in Samaria. In it, a Jewish man was standing by the well speaking to a Samaritan woman under a blazing noon sky.  In her dream she could only see the man from the back but he felt so familiar it was as if she had always known him. 

She hadn’t shared the dream with Joseph.  It felt very private and too holy to try to put into words, so she had tucked it away to think about in moments she was alone.

As she walked back and forth reviewing the dream again, she felt a shift inside her womb and then more pressure.  Although it was subtle, Mary decided it was time to head back down to their host’s home and perhaps have them send for the midwife.  She was glad Joseph had decided to go through Samaria, or they might still be traveling at this moment instead of having a couple of days to settle in to their relative’s home before the baby arrived.

Breathe in, breathe out.

It felt farther heading back down than it had when she walked up here over an hour ago, and the pains seemed to be lasting longer now.  As she slowly approached the home where they were staying on the edge of the village, she saw Joseph coming down the path from the other direction, followed by a motherly woman with a kind face.   Joseph’s expression went instantly from serious to relieved when he saw Mary.  He ran to her,  walked beside her for her final few steps, and then introduced her to the midwife, Anya.

Anya put a practiced hand on top of Mary’s womb, nodded at its firmness, then took her by arm and led her through the doorway.  Inside the tiny home both rooms were full of people, warmth, smells and sounds.  The guest room had already been occupied by another traveling family when Mary and Joseph arrived, so their host had insisted they share their own room, along with the animals who were stalled at the back with their own entrance.  Mary had initially hesitated, seeing how the family of four was moving themselves all to one pallet on the floor to make room for them, but the traditions of hospitality and family responsibility were unbreakable, and besides, she was tired and ready to make a little nest for her and the coming baby.  

Breathe in, breathe out.

Her hostess smiled and handed her a piece of dried fish.  “You must keep your strength up, Mary.  You have a long way to go yet.”

Mary accepted the fish gratefully and chewed as she made her way to the corner they had prepared for her, with layers of blankets on top of clean straw.  She lay down on her side as the midwife instructed, and closed her eyes for a minute.  She couldn’t tell if the pains had leveled out or if she was just getting used to them.

Breathe in, breathe out.

She must have dozed off although a part of her mind was aware that her pains kept going and that the daily activity in the room continued.  She was also dimly aware that Anya was quietly sitting at her feet, hemming the edges of what would be the baby’s swaddling clothes.

The late evening sun was streaming through the doorway when an intense pain brought Mary to full consciousness with a jerk.  She gasped and sat up.  Anya was still next to her and put a hand reassuringly on her leg and reminded her, “Breathe, Mary,” and then when her pain subsided it subsided, handed her a gourd of warm water mixed with herbs. 

“Drink this.  It will help your labor progress.”

Mary obediently drank the warm herbal blend.  It was comforting.

“Where is Joseph?”

“He is out in the field helping Malachai with the sheep.  He told me to call him when you woke up.” Anya’s brow furrowed.  “Do you want him inside when your time comes?  You know the men usually wait outside.”

Mary answered without hesitation.  “I do.”

Anya nodded thoughtfully.  “You are young and not in your own home so of course you will feel most safe with him nearby.”  As another strong pain gripped Mary, Anya became more alert. “I will call Salome now, so we will have all the help we need.”

The rest of the evening was a blur to Mary.  As the nighttime darkness crept into the tiny house and filled it up, her pains picked up their pace.  Joseph washed his hands and feet outside the door and quietly came in and lit the candles, while the other family members and guests considerately slipped out and went up to sit outside on the roof.  Anya got Joseph’s help to place a rope over the rafters to hang down in a loop of the right height for Mary to hold onto and squat down.  Salome kept the fire going in the small stone kiln and frequently brought warm water for Mary to sip on. The animals at the back of the room were restless, sensing something unusual.  The goats stamped and bleated, and the chickens clucked anxiously, unable to settle into their boxes with all the noise.

Breathe in, breathe out.

Mary was sweating now as the full force of advanced birth pains surged through her body with barely a break in between them.  She held onto the rope and swayed, trying to breathe instead of moan.  Anya came behind her and put pressure on her lower back, providing momentary relief. “It won’t be long now,” she murmured.  “Soon you will be pushing.”

Anya moved around to squat in front of Mary, and Joseph instinctively took her place behind Mary and put counter pressure on her back and hips.  As her labor pattern shifted into the final stage, Mary felt her body begin to push of its own accord.  Following Anya’s instructions, she held onto the rope and bore down hard, allowing her body to drop into a deep squat. She hung almost her entire weight from the rope, griping it tightly, feet flat on the hard packed dirt floor and pushed down through the pressure.  As the contraction eased, she stood up and gasped for air.  Salome slipped a spoonful of honey into her mouth, and said gently, “This will give you strength.”

Mary didn’t respond, but she swallowed the honey.  She felt like she was going through a dark cave in which it was difficult to comprehend what anyone was saying or see what they were doing.  All her consciousness was wrapped up in this child coming through her flesh.  Her mind reached out to find the words to hold onto, to give her strength to finish.

I am the Lord’s servant.

 “Push Mary!”

I am the Lord’s servant.

 “Now rest and breathe!”

Be it unto me according to Thy word.

“Push again!”

Be it unto to me according to Thy word.

“Deep breath, Mary!”

According to Thy word.

Suddenly there was a large splash of water, like a waterfall.  Joseph exclaimed in surprise.  Anya and Salome uttered joyful prayers of thanksgiving.  “Mary, your waters have broken.  Your baby is almost here!”

He shall be called the Son of the Highest.

 “Mary, stop pushing for a minute now, his head is coming!”

Of his kingdom there shall be no end.

 “Joseph, hold her up!”

 He shall be called the Son of God.

Mary felt burning, then more pressure.  “The head is out!” announced Anya.  “One more push for the shoulders, Mary!”

Joseph, his hands under her arms supporting her, uttered a prayer for strength and Mary breathed it in and pushed.  With a final gush of fluid, her child slipped out into the waiting hands of Anya.

The cave vanished and the room exploded into colors. Mary heard herself laughing and crying at the same time, along with Anya, Salome and Joseph.  Joseph, still behind her, guided her down to sit on the clean blanket on the hay. She fell back against his chest, took her baby from Anya and held him to her breast.  He gurgled and then cried loudly, and they all exclaimed in praise again at the sound.

The cheering was echoed up on the roof over their heads as the rest of the household responded to the welcome sound of new life with praises to Yaweh.

Mary took a minute just to hold her baby close, then pulled him back from her body to look at his face.  She had wondered over and over again, what would the Son of God as a baby look like?  Would he be angelic?  Would he look Jewish? 

Would he look like her?

The face that looked back up at her, was every bit as beautiful, and every bit as normal, as all the babies she had ever seen. The squished up ears and slightly cone shaped head did nothing but give the impression of any other freshly born baby.

Mary put him to the breast as Anya and Salome got the placenta out and cleaned up the room.  They brought her soup to eat that had been simmering for hours, and Joseph fed it to her as she continued to nurse.   

After the cord was cut, Anya rubbed the baby with salt, wrapped him in the freshly hemmed swaddling cloths and Joseph held him while the midwives gently bathed Mary, put a fresh robe on her and made her comfortable.  She felt such incredible peace and joy looking at her baby in Joseph’s arms that she thought she would burst, and she saw the same expression reflected back to her from Joseph. 

With a sigh, she lay down.  She was ready to sleep.  She asked Anya, “Where will the baby rest tonight?” She was worried in the small space that someone might step on him when the family came down to go to bed. 

Anya smiled.  “We have it all worked out.”  She showed Mary how she had prepared a makeshift bed in the manger that usually held the animals’ food.  “He can sleep here until he is ready to feed again.  I’m sure he will let you know when he is hungry.” She chuckled. “He has a strong voice.”

Mary closed her eyes.  In her mind she thought she heard singing, but maybe it was another dream.  God had kept His word.  God had been with her. 

As she drifted off to sleep the song became clearer as it floated through her dreams.

Glory to God in the Highest, and on earth peace, Good will to men.

 

 

Post script:  I have long wanted to write a fresh take on the birth of Jesus using a combination of Biblical, extra-Biblical, historical and cultural information, my knowledge as a midwife, and my own imagination while at the same time eliminating many of the well worn assumptions. This year I finally did it.  I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.