Christmas for Mary and Joseph

Luke 2:1-7; Isaiah 9:6-7

Mary, what is it? Are you all right?

Oh, I’m okay, Joseph. It’s just my back – it’s killing me. I’m not sure what’s worse – the bumpy donkey ride or trying to walk on these rocky roads. Either way, it seems, my back aches so badly. But at least the baby hasn’t come yet. That’s been my biggest concern since we started the trip – having our baby alongside the road – out here in the middle of nowhere!

Honey, I’m so sorry. We should be there soon. I promise I’ll get the warmest, most comfortable room I can afford so you can rest well after this two-day journey. It’s about over. You’ve done great.

That sounds wonderful, Joseph, but don’t forget to check the rooms for cleanliness most of all. My baby is going to be born soon, I think, and I don’t want to expose Him to unclean surroundings at birth.

I’ll do my best, Mary, and I’m sure God will take care of us – after all, you’re carrying His Son, right? Surely God will provide a very special place for the birth of His Son. Maybe a rich merchant will let us use his guestroom. Or perhaps the local synagogue ruler will use his influence to get us a nice place in Bethlehem while you rest for awhile. I could tell him you’re a virgin about to give birth. That would impress him . . .

Joseph!

Naw, maybe not.

I know you’re right, Joseph. God will provide, but I have a funny feeling about this trip. Ever since I told the angel that I would be the handmaiden of the Lord and accept whatever He gave me, nothing has gone like I thought it would. Instead of great joy and excitement, I’ve had to deal with the hurt and confusion my pregnancy caused you and our parents, the gossip of the neighbors and now this trip. What incredibly bad timing for a 70-mile journey: right before I give birth. It’s all so different from what I expected. I wonder what else will go wrong. I sure wish that angel would show up again; I’ve got a few hard questions for him about all this.

Now, now, Mary. Relax. Everything will be okay. Remember how the wood looks when I first start shaping it into furniture. It’s all cut up, slices of wood sticking up here and there, splinters everywhere. Bark, sawdust and wood chips are all over the floor and me. But days later a beautiful piece of furniture emerges from all that mess. God’s doing something god. We just don’t see it yet.

I guess you’re right, Joseph, but I’m beginning to think that this Messiah I’m bearing may not be exactly as our people always expected – a great, conquering hero clothed in royal majesty like King David was in his prime. So far, God hasn’t treated us too royally. I just wonder what it all means.

Well wonder no more, Mary, we’re here! See the lights up ahead? That’s Bethlehem. Sure are a lot of people in town. I didn’t know David had so many descendants who needed to register here for the new taxes. Look at all those donkeys, would you? Maybe someday our son, Jesus, will have his own donkey to ride into Jerusalem on and He . . .

Oh no, Joseph!

What, Mary?

He’s coming . . . the baby is coming. I can feel the contractions now. Hurry, we don’t have much time!

Okay, okay. Hang on, Mary. We’ll be there in just a few minutes. Don’t worry, honey. Pretty soon we’ll be tucked away in a nice cozy place like the Holyday Inns they have in Jerusalem.

Joseph!!

What, Mary? What is it?

My water just broke. I’m all wet and (gasp) the pain is terrible! I’ve got to get off of this donkey and into a room quickly. Please, hurry, Joseph!

O God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob. O King of Israel – help us now. Lead us to where you want your Son to be born. Help Mary and me now, Lord. Amen.

(A few frantic minutes later after an exhausting run for Joseph and a pounding ride for Mary:)

Oh, innkeeper – have you any rooms left?

Sorry, no, try the inn next door.

Knock, knock – Mr. Innkeeper – do you have any rooms – even a little one left? It’s urgent! My wife is about to give birth to our son!

(Sleepily) Son? But how would you know . . . never mind! (Yawning) Sorry sir, we’re full. The census has packed out the town with travelers. All the inns are full. There’ no room in any inn in Bethlehem tonight, I’m afraid. Jerusalem is only 7 miles away . . .

Jerusalem!!

Joseph! Joseph! I can’t ride anymore. The contractions are getting much stronger and coming every few minutes. We have only a short time before He comes. We have to have a room! This is insane! I left my parents’ home in Nazareth, traveled two exhausting days and now my son, - God’s Son, has no place to lay his head. How can this be? Maybe I didn’t see an angel. Maybe I’m going insane. Joseph, Joseph – I can’t take it much longer . . .

O God, how can You do this to us? What have we done to deserve this? What is our sin that causes You to punish us like this? How can You treat us like this? Your angel said Mary was full of grace in Your sight. He said the Lord is with her. Is this how you treat your favored ones? Is this the reward of those the Lord is with?

Forgive me, O God, but even sinners get better treatment than this when their babies are born. The godless are born in soft, warm tents or homes close to family and friends. Here I am – a descendant of David, and here’s Mary – carrying Your child – conceived by Your Holy Spirit. And now must we live like animals, crouching in the bushes, delivering our baby on the muddy, wet ground? O God, don’t you realize that what you are doing will make your own son suffer, too.

Surely this is not how you want to treat Israel’s long-awaited Messiah! He should be born in a castle, surrounded by adoring followers and instead you’re starting his life like one despised and rejected of men – like a man of sorrows, one familiar with grief. How can this be Your will? Eli, Eli, Lamasabthani. My God, My God, – why have You forsaken me?

Joseph bows his head, embraces Mary and sobs deeply, his tears mingling with the sweat on Mary’s brow as her body convulses again and again in strong birth contractions.

Baa, Baa, Baa.

Joseph – sheep. Perhaps there’s some clean straw nearby. Take me there, Joseph, quickly! They’re out there, I think. See that bright star? Oh, it’s so lovely. The sheep are in that direction. I think I see a stable or something.

A stable! Oh, Mary, not there! Is this the Son of God or the Lamb of God? Let’s try another inn. No? Okay – hold on, Mary, you can have your little lamb there if you want. King David started out his life with sheep, too. But our’ son’s going to learn carpentry. Someday we’re going to return here and build some more inns. They sure need ‘em. Hang on, honey. Maybe after this our life will be more “stable.”

Oh Joseph...

Later in a cold, dark, smelly stable, the cry of a newborn babe pierced the still night air – yet it was a cry heard throughout the universe – a cry sending billions of angels cartwheeling, clapping and singing for joy as heaven exploded in celebration and expectation. “Happy Birthday, Jesus,” they sang. “Glory to God in the highest!” Never was there such a party.

It was also a cry that rumbled through the slimy pits of hell like a gigantic shockwave flattening demons against the floor and walls, holding their claws over their ears to deaden the torment that wracked their filthy bodies. “Cursed be the name of Jesus,” they wheezed. “The lake of fire awaits.” Never was there such a dirge.

But, it was a cry all creation longed for. The universe gave a huge sigh of relief. Human history was changed forever: B.C. became A.D.

It was a cry that announced the good news of great joy, for that night in the city of David, A Savior, Jesus Christ, King of Kings, Lord of Lords, Wonderful Counselor, Almighty God and Prince of Peace, was born ... in a stable.