A Little Magic in Bethlehem
By Karen Mahara
That cold spring morning, everything changed.
The galloping of hooves was their only warning. Roman soldiers with a message.
Joseph left Mary at home, insisting she eat,
while he braced himself for the news to follow. Roman soldiers in their village
was never a good sign, and when he caught sight of the large number of them—and
the official uniform of one in particular—he knew the news would be important;
life-changing.
The wrinkled-face official dismounted and
strode through the dusty streets until he reached Nazareth’s square. His eyes
were cold, his hands certainly calloused like Joseph’s, though what they
wielded was far different. Joseph worked with wood and nails; the soldiers
swords and shields.
A parchment unfolded, and the words that
followed cast a burden upon Joseph’s shoulders, heavier than one of his
crosses.
“His Imperial Majesty, Caesar Augustus, Emperor
of Rome, decrees for a census to be taken of the entire Roman world. Everyone
must report to the town of their birth to be counted.” The man continued on
with the time requirements and consequences for failing to do so, but the words
fell on deaf ears. Joseph had to pack up his pregnant wife, his shop, and
belongings to travel to Bethlehem. He didn’t know how long he’d need to be
gone, but the trip alone would take twenty days to get there and back.
Joseph stumbled back to his home and sank into
his chair at the table. Mary took one look at his face and ceased her bustling
around the kitchen. She joined him, her kind eyes large with worry. “What is
it, Joseph? What did they want?”
He ran his hand over hers before answering.
“Caesar August has issued a decree that a census be taken. Since I was born in Bethlehem, I must make preparations to leave.” He couldn’t help it. He heaved
a heavy sigh and rested his head in his hands.
Mary didn’t answer right away; it was something
he loved about her. After a couple clarifying questions, she smiled. “We have
time. It will be okay.”
“And if you go into labor on the road or while
we’re there?”
“God will provide for us.”
Mary said it so matter-of-fact. Joseph could
only blink at her. He had faith; he believed. But not like Mary.
#
There were several families also from
Bethlehem, so Joseph arranged to travel together. For eight days, they walked
along the rocky terrain, gritting their teeth against the biting wind and
aching feet and muscles. As Joseph predicted, the arduous journey jostled her
womb, starting some early contractions. What felt like leather belts tightened
around her waist, stretching back towards her spine. After a minute, the
pressure eased, but with each mile, the pains grew closer together and lasted
longer. Bethlehem appeared in the distance, as Mary struggled to breathe during
the contractions.
When they crossed through the city gates, Joseph
rushed immediately to the nearest inn. They didn’t have time to roam from place
to place. He returned after only a few minutes. Shadows hung beneath his eyes.
“There’s no room.”
“We knew that would happen. Did you ask about
others?”
“There is no room. Anywhere.”
A heavy weight sank in her heart. What would
they do? There were other alternatives—Joseph had brought enough coin—but there
was no time. Mary squeezed her eyes shut as another contraction rolled over
her. A thin sheet of sweat coated her forehead. God. Will. Provide. She chanted the words silently, over and over.
When it passed, Mary opened her eyes. Joseph
was gone. She swallowed past the lump in her throat, wanting only to slide off
the smelly donkey and collapse in a bed. Tears sprang to her eyes, and she
hurriedly wiped them away. She didn’t want Joseph to see her like this, weak
and emotional.
It did no good. Her entire body shuddered as
sobs wracked her swollen form.
This was how Joseph found her, and he wasn’t
alone. A short, lean man stood beside him, dressed in freshly pressed clothes.
His long beard was peppered with gray. “It’s not a room,” his husky voice said.
“I have no rooms, nor does anyone in town. But I have a safe place for the
night.” The man strode away, and Joseph wasted no time in following.
They led Mary and her donkey past the inn and
down a stony path around the back. Tufts of grass sprang up amongst the dirt
and pebbles. Sloping rock hugged the landscape, and in its large mouth were
bales of hay and animals. Mary couldn’t help but smile. Meager conditions,
maybe, but it would be warm and comfortable.
The innkeeper chased away a few chickens and
nudged a reluctant donkey out of the way, leading the couple to a warm space
sheltered from the wind. Lanterns cast a golden glow and warmed the chilly
walls and floor. “My wife will send a servant with some food. If you should
need anything else, let them know.”
Mary’s heart swelled with gratitude. “Thank
you, sir.” Then another contraction hit, causing the world around her to grow
hazy as she fought to breathe through the pain. When the pain was over, she found
they were alone.
“They’re getting closer together,” Joseph said.
She nodded. A manger full of hay sat not far
from where she lay, and the animals had vanished, most likely enjoying the fair
weather. Joseph put a hand on her forehead, his eyes wide with worry. Mary took
it in hers. “It’s going to be okay. People have babies everyday.”
“But we don’t. Not without a midwife. Not in a
stable with animals.”
Mary took a long drink from their water canteen.
Joseph had a point. But she couldn’t worry about that now. She only had only a short
rest before the next contraction.
#
Joseph wanted to believe Mary; he tried to imitate
her positive attitude.
It was impossible.
They were in a new city, staying in a stable
with animals for companions and hay for a bed. His wife suffered through pain
after pain, and there was nothing he could do.
But then something happened; something small
yet magical.
A young girl appeared outside, arms full. She
handed them warm bread and chunks of cheese. It warmed his stomach and calmed
his nerves. Color returned to Mary’s face and strength to her body.
The servant turned to leave. “It’s too busy to
send a midwife, but I will have a word with your wife, so she’ll know what to
do.”
After a few whispered words, the girl vanished
as quickly as she came.
Lord,
what do I do?
Whatever Mary asked for, he’d get it. Whatever she
needed, he’d find a way to make it happen. But bringing babies into the world—in Bethlehem? God may
as well ask him to walk on water.
A thought sliced through his fear, calming him.
Even if he knew nothing about babies or labor, Mary did. She’d helped aunts and
cousins, Elizabeth, for example. Most importantly, she had faith in God. He’d already done the
impossible—created a child in a virgin’s womb. Certainly He could handle
delivering that child.
“God will provide,” Mary had said.
Her soft voice cut into his thoughts. “Joseph?
It’s time.”
Joseph turned back to Mary. It was time. Oh, God! It’s time. He couldn’t swallow.
His heart rammed against his ribs.
Mary took his hands and sank to her knees as if
she were praying. And before he knew it, a baby’s cry pierced the silence of
the cave. Mary curled on her side into the soft hay, the baby clutched against
her chest.
Joseph stared in wonder. This squalling, dark-haired
child was the Savior of the World. “Jesus,” Joseph whispered.
A dazzling smile lit Mary’s face. “Our
Messiah.”
Joseph rose and removed the swaddling fabric he
wore beneath his clothing. He handed it to Mary, and she wrapped the thin gauze
around the baby. Jesus grew quiet, his wails fading to soft cooing. He stared
up at Mary and Joseph for a moment, eyes open.
Jesus was a miracle—his conception, his
delivery, and when he grew, miracles of all shapes and sizes would bless their
people.
After nursing him, Mary lay Baby Jesus in the
manger. Joseph raked away the soiled hay and spread fresh straw in its stead.
He lay their blankets down and drew Mary close. As she fell asleep, he thanked
God Mary was right.
God always provided.
