Musings at the Manger

And so, he arrives...

Nine months of waiting.
Gabriel made the announcements, then had to wait.
Mary accepted the assignment, then had to wait.
Joseph listened to the dream, then had to wait.
The townspeople refused to believe her, then waited to see what would become of her.

The time of waiting drug on. The nursery was painted. The crib was assembled.
None of it would get used.
Caesar intervened, called a census, caused a trip.
Bethlehem.
House of Bread.
City of David.
Birthplace of kings.
But that was in the past.
Bethlehem now was a sleepy village.
There were no tourists.
No sign that said, "King David was born here."
Just quiet, ordinary life
in the shadow of Jerusalem.

Pain!
Incredible pain!
The baby is coming, Joseph!
He's about to arrive!
Bedded down in his father's house, in the stable
Joseph kept a lonely vigil.
The baby would be born tonight
And everything would change.
What would he look like? Who would he look like?
Joseph stood by, about to see the face of God enfleshed.
How could he be a father to this child?

Weeping. Joy. Weariness.
Joseph placed the baby in Mary's arms
And together they gently stroked his face.
Generations later, someone would say the baby did not cry that holy night.
But those two, that night, knew that was not true.
He cried. He wailed. He woke up in a world that he had made
but also a world that had been unmade by those he created.
And yet there were loving arms surrounding him.
Tender fingers stroking his cheek.
"Sleep, baby, sleep. It's all right. You're safe and warm.
You're home."

Joseph leaned against the wall, exhausted.
Bone-tired.
Yet he could not sleep.
What did this night mean? What had happened?
What would this boy become?
"Jesus," he whispered wearily. "His name...
His name is Jesus."
And as he drifted off to sleep
Joseph prayed.
"Lord, make me a good father.
Help me raise your son well.
I don't know that I can live up to what you've entrusted me with,
but I will try, dear Lord. I will try."

The baby is tired, too.
And Mary, still swaddling him,
watches as he drifts off to sleep,
listens as he gently breathes in and out.
"Jesus, my son," she whispers,
"I am so glad you are here.
I pray that I am the mother you need,
and that I have the strength to endure what must come."

Gabriel smiles.
All is well. All is right with the world.
This night, the hopes and dreams of the last nine months
Have been fulfilled in Bethlehem.
But, there is much to be done.
And so he goes to tune up the choir.
There's a song that must be sung over the fields outside Bethlehem.

Merry Christmas!