Imagining We Are There

We have celebrated the Nativity of our Lord with joy and thanksgiving, shaping our celebration by the story of the birth as recounted in the Gospel of St Luke.  A young woman has been delivered of her baby, the baby lies in a manger, angels announce the birth to shepherds guarding their sheep at night, and the shepherds come to the manger to adore the child. 

Over the centuries the story has been enhanced by art, poetry and music, and we have used those gifts to increase our sense of awe and wonder.  And so we should; for who can be unmoved by the sight of a new-born child, and why should we not allow that emotion to warm and gratify our hearts?

Our response to the birth has been shaped also, of course, by our knowledge of what followed as the child grew to maturity, showed us the likeness of God, taught us the way to God, and as a result was tortured and crucified.  This was true even for the author of the Gospel, for the story was written down some one hundred years after the event.  Thus it has continued now for two thousand years. 

But what about those people who were actually there at the time and did not have the benefit of hindsight?  They did not know what we now know.  What did they, the inhabitants of the small town of Bethlehem, think was going on at the time?  Can we imagine that we were there, as they were there?  Let’s try!

A young pregnant girl has arrived in town after travelling over several days in the middle of winter from another province located some 100 Km to the north.  She is accompanied by an older man to whom she is engaged but not married.  He is not the father of her child.

There is nowhere for them to stay and for the moment they are homeless.  The girl can feel labour pains coming and the situation is becoming desperate.  Fortunately, as her contractions begin, they find rough shelter in a stable.  There is no maternity ward, no obstetrician, no midwife, and not even a woman friend to help her.  She must lie there in the stable and allow events to take their course, as the animals look on. 

Is the birth easy – relatively easy, that is to say, for every birth is an assault on the body of the mother – or is it difficult?  Does the man help and comfort her?  We would like to think that he does, but what can a man do in these circumstances?  But happily, the child is safely born, and the mother nurses him and then lies him down to sleep in some hay while she herself recovers from her first pregnancy and first childbirth.  

Meanwhile, half a dozen Bethlehemites working on the edge of town in the middle of the night are intrigued by strange lights in the sky, and they go to investigate.  The lights draw them to the stable, and they enter to find a new-born child.  We can imagine how amazed they are by what they see.

The young mother wonders what is going on, especially as, in the morning, the news spreads.  How do all those other Bethlehemites react?  The Gospel writer says that they too are amazed. 

Would you and I be amazed if we were to walk out on to a Vancouver street early tomorrow morning to find a young unmarried mother and her partner lying under covers in a shop doorway with her new-born child lying between them in a cardboard box?