Holidays - Seasons Greetings!

The road out of bethany threw a tawny girdle around the hill they called the Mount of Olives and the little parties came up slowly out of the east leading asses with dainty dark feet toward the splendor of Jerusalem. They came up all year long from Jericho and the Salt Sea and the Mountains of Moab and the north country of Samaria and Galilee in a never-ending procession to the great temple of Solomon. It was a spiritual spawning; a coming home; a communion with God at his appointed house.

Joseph had never seen such awesome beauty. The elders in Nazareth had described it as a rare white jewel set in the green valley between Kidron and Golgotha and he had asked questions about it but the elders-and his father too- seemed to lose themselves in arm waving and superlatives. Now he would see it. He reached the rise of the road, his feet tired and dirty from ninety miles of walking, and he unconsciously pulled the jackass a little faster.

“Are you quiet?” he said. His bride, called Miriam in the Aramean tongue, and Mary in others, jogged sideways on the little animal, and said that she was quiet. She felt no pain. This was the fifth day from Nazareth and, from hour to hour, she had progressed from tiredness to fatigue to weariness to the deep anesthesia of exhaustion. She felt nothing. She no longer noticed the chafe of the goatskin against her leg, nor the sway of the food bag on the other side of the animal. Her veiled head hung and she saw millions of pebbles on the road moving by her brown eyes in a blur, pausing, and moving by again with each step of the animal.

Sometimes she felt ill at ease and fatigued, but she swallowed this feeling and concentrated on what a beautiful baby she was about to have and kept thinking about it, the bathing, the oils, the feeding, the tender pressing of the tiny body against her breast-and the sickness went away. Sometimes she murmured the ancient prayers and, for the moment, there was no road and no pebbles and she dwelt on the wonder of God and saw him in a fleecy cloud at a windowless wall of an inn or a hummock of trees, walking backward in front of her husband, beckoning him on. God was everywhere. It gave Mary confidence to know that He was everywhere. She needed confidence. Mary was fifteen.

Most young ladies of the country were betrothed at thirteen and married at fourteen. A few were not joined in holiness until fifteen or sixteen and these seldom found a choice man and were content to be shepherds’ wives, living in caves in the sides of the hills, raising their children in loneliness, knowing only the great stars of the night lifting over the hills, and the whistle of the shepherd as he turned to lead his flock to a new pasture. Mary had married a carpenter. He had been apprenticed by his father at bar mitzvah. Now he was nineteen and had his own business.

I t wasn’t much of a business, even for the Galilean country. He was young and, even though he was earnest to the point of being humorless, he was untried and was prone to mistakes in his calculations. In all of Judea there was little lumber. Some stately cedars grew in the powdery alkaline soil, but, other than date palms and fig trees and some fruit orchards, it was a bald, hilly country. Carpentry was a poor choice.

A rich priest might afford a house of wood, but most of the people used the substance only to decorate the interior. The houses were of stone, cut from big deposits eighteen inches under the topsoil. It was soft, when first exposed to air, and could be cut with wooden saws into cubes. These were staggered in courses to make a wall. “Windows were small and placed high on each wall, so that, daily, squares of sunlight walked slowly across the earthen floor. Mary’s house, like the average, was small and set against a hill in Nazareth. At the front, there was a stone doorsill. Over it hung a cloth drape. To enter, the drape was pushed aside.

The interior consisted of two rooms. The front one was Joseph’s shop. In it were the workbench, the saws, the auger, the awl and hammers. There were clean-smelling boards and blond curls of shavings on the floor. In the back room there was an earthen oven to the left, three feet wide, six feet long and two feet high. The cooking was done in the stone-lined interior. The family slept on the earthen top of the oven. On chilly nights, the heat seeped through to warm the sleepers. To the right of the room was a table. There were no chairs because only rich Jews sat to eat, and they had learned this from traveling Greeks. Next to the table was a wooden tether for the ass. He was a member of the family, a most important member because he did the carrying of the raw lumber and the finished products, and he was also the sole means of transportation.

He was petted and loved and spoken to. On the tether, he watched Mary go about her duties. He flicked the flies from his ears and sometimes, when he tired of watching, his eyes closed and he locked his knees so that he would not fall, and he slept standing up. He was not a stubborn animal. He was most patient and he would stand while Joseph burdened him with a mound of objects. When the bridle strap was pulled by his master, the ass lowered his head, switched his tail against his flanks, and started off, the little hoofs making sounds like an inverted cup dropped in the mud.

In Rome, Caesar Augustus learned that many of his subjects were dishonest. He ruled the known world, but the amount of taxes was not commensurate with the number of subjects. He held a council in Rome, and his advisors told Caesar that he could not levy an equitable tax until he had an accurate idea of the populations of the several provinces.

Caesar issued an imperial rescript ordering all subjects, in the winter solstice, to return to the cities of their fathers and there be counted. This, of course, would work hardship on millions of people, and in a two-week period of migration would upset the economic balance as men left their work to travel to distant cities, but it had to be done. The census would be taken in many tongues, and in places along the Rhine River, the Danube, in North Africa, Portugal, Syria, Belgium, Egypt, Palestine and all along the north Mediterranean shore.

Many of the subject people chafed when the law was proclaimed. They said that Caesar was not a just king to do this to them. Even in a small town like Nazareth, which Caesar Augustus would not know by name, the Jews said that it was not fair. Joseph sought the local tax merchant and asked if women in advanced pregnancy could be excused and he was told that no one could be excused. Even the lame and the blind had to report to the cities of their fathers, and many would have to be carried on pallets.

Joseph consoled Mary by telling her that the ancient prophecy, in spite of their wishes, was coming true. She saw the truth of this and her murmurs of discontent died on her lips. Originally, she had protested that a long, rough journey would risk the life of the baby. On second thought, this appeared to be a ridiculous assumption because, if she had been graced by God to bear the messiah, then nothing could happen to the baby.

They started on the trip south, two young and solemn people with a short and slender jackass who bore the most exalted burden ever to honor an animal. Joseph lifted Mary’s spirits by reminding her that, if he paced the trip correctly, and they were not halted by heavy rains or sandstorms, she would see Jerusalem at sundown of the 5th day.

The final few miles were fatiguing. Joseph stumbled many times in the dark and, over his shoulder; he asked his wife if she was quiet. When they were two miles from Bethlehem, she said no. She felt uncomfortable, she said, but it was bearable and she had no complaint. She hoped that they would reach the inn in time.

The stretch of road into Bethlehem curved broadly and climbed steadily. To the left the valley was precipitous. Four hundred feet below, the whistle of shepherds could be heard and sometimes, in the deep silences, the shepherds could be heard exchanging greetings. It was a cool night with a fair breeze coming out of the south. In the darkness, the stars brightened and swelled so that, among the clusters of little blue ones, big ones winked coldly across the centuries of time.

Joseph leaned forward to pull the ass a little faster. He reached the city of David and found, to his dismay, that there were multitudes of people, some sleeping beside the road. He had not realized that there were so many who belonged to the House of David. His heart sank as he found that Bethlehem consisted of one main road running north and south, and two cross streets. The inn was to the left, built on a cliff of rocky soil overlooking the valley. Joseph went directly to the inn, knowing that he would find room there or he would find it nowhere.

He left Mary and the animal outside, and assured his wife that he would make arrangements. She too could see the crowds. Some families were sleeping outside the inn, against the wall. She said nothing. Joseph started to go inside, then stopped and returned.

“Under the law,” he said, “you must have a midwife at once. Let me first find one.”

She shook her head no. The important thing, she said, was privacy. She was not worried about assistance. God had promised to take care of her, and she needed no additional help.

Joseph went inside. The floor of the main room was full of people sleeping in their clothing, with bundles propped under their heads. The odors of the unwashed, and spiced foods, filled the place. The young man sought the proprietor. With supplication on his face, he begged for a small private place for his wife, who was with child. The owner listened and threw up both hands. Where, he asked? Where would you go for privacy? His own family had no room in which to sleep. Every cubit of space had been rented three days ago, and some of the transients were taking turns sleeping in one space.

My wife, said Joseph in a tone this side of begging, is outside. She will have her first-born in an hour or two. Can you not please find room? A little room? The owner became irritable. Every house, every field in Bethlehem was filled with people from all over Judea. Some of the regular caravans between Egypt and the upland country chose to continue their journeys at night rather than remain in this overcrowded place. Where then could a woman have a baby? Nowhere. Some people were even sleeping below in the valley, skirted by bleating sheep looking for grass.

The owner’s wife heard part of the plea. She called her husband aside and asked questions. The night was chill, she said. Look at the men outside the inn, sleeping with their cloaks over their noses. Why could not the young man take his wife to the cave below, the cave where the animals were kept?

The owner shrugged. If Joseph wanted privacy, he said, the only place left was down the side path to the cave where the asses and small animals were kept. The young man was welcome to it, if one wanted to bring a baby into the world in a place like that. Joseph inclined his head. “I am grateful,” he said. “I thank you.”

He dragged his feet returning to Mary. He told her the news. She was not vexatious; in fact, she seemed to be relieved. “Take me,” she said. “The time grows short.”

There were paths leading from both sides of the inn down the side of the cliff. In front, as on the bow of a big ship, there was an entrance to the cave, which had been carved out a long time ago. Joseph paused to light his small lamp, and then led the donkey inside. He turned to look at Mary, and, in the yellow rays, he saw that she was in deep fatigue. The chalk of the road had powdered her face. She removed her veil, shook out her hair, and slid down off the animal. Her bones ached.

Joseph apologized. He said that he was sorry that the Hospice of Chamaan had no room for her, but she could see the crowds of people. He was ashamed that he had failed her in this hour. He must confess that he had not been much of a husband; he hadn’t even found a midwife.

For a moment, Mary studied her husband. She brought a tender smile to her face. She told her husband that he had not failed her; he had been good and tender and lawful. He hung his head and listened. Mary looked around at the haltered cattle, the few lambs, some asses and a camel. If it is the will of God, she said, that His son should be born in a place like this; she would not question the wisdom of it.

At the age of fifteen, she would undergo this trial alone, just as, thirty-four years later; her son would undergo his trial alone. She asked Joseph to build a small fire on the path outside, and to fetch some water from the goatskin. Joseph did as she directed. He found an extra lamp hanging on a stable peg, he lit it and the stable brightened, and the animals watched in glistening-eyed silence, their breaths making small gray plumes in the gloom.

Joseph collected clean straw from the feed boxes, cleaned out a stall, and arranged the straw as a bed and placed his cloak over it. Then he looked for wood outside, and found none. He went back up to the hospice, and bought some charcoal from the owner. When the water was hot, he filled a jar, and brought it to Mary with some cloths. She was standing, hanging onto the wall of the stall with both hands.

Her head was down, and he could not see her face. In fear, he asked her to name what he could do. She said to go outside and tend the fire and heat more water and to remain there until she called him. The animals watched him go, and they watched impassively as Mary sank to the straw.

The fire outside burned brightly in the southerly breeze and little trains of ruddy sparks flew off into the dark night. Joseph sat beside it, heating the water and praying.

No one came down from the inn to ask how the young woman felt. If she prayed, no one heard except the animals, some of whom stopped chewing for a moment to watch; others of whom opened sleepy eyes to see. Time was slow; there was an infinity of silence; a timeless time when the future of mankind hung in empty space.

Joseph had run out of prayers and promises. His face was sick, his eyes listless. He looked up toward the east, and his dark eyes mirrored a strange thing: three stars, coming over the Mountains of Moab, were fused into one tremendously bright one. His eyes caught the glint of bright blue light, almost like a tiny moon, and he wondered about it and was still vaguely troubled by it when he heard a tiny, thin wail, a sound so slender that one had to listen again for it to make sure.

He wanted to rush inside at once. He got to his feet, and he moved no further. She would call him. He would wait. Joseph paced up and down, not realizing that men had done this thing for centuries before he was born, and would continue it for many centuries after he had gone.

Once the decision had come to Joseph, that Mary must travel up with him to Bethlehem, many things that had been perplexing and worrying him were suddenly made straight.

None in Nazareth, save only Mary and himself, knew of the coming of the Angel to Mary. The time was fast coming when the revelation would have to be told. And he knew how the gentle Mary shrank from the comment and the disbelief which she could foresee. In her first bewilderment and timidity she had fled away and hidden herself those three months. And though he knew that she was content in his knowledge and his protection, he was sure that the problem of the future of her Son was pressing heavily upon her.

Many times he had thought of leaving Nazareth and taking her to some distant village. He had even spoken of the plan to Mary. But always she had demurred. It seemed that she .was not willing that the coming of her King should even seem to be in any way affected by the ignorant thought of the world. In all of her own humility and lowliness of mind, she. was fiercely, adoringly proud for Him. And she had steadfastly insisted that they should wait upon the word of the Lord, until He should indicate to them that which He wished.

Now the coming of the command of Caesar, through Herod, had opened a way to him, which he believed was no less than a part of the design of God. And Mary, too, when he had talked with her, was ready to agree that a way was pointed out.

So Joseph sold the furnishings of his household and the heavier tools and the bench and frames of his trade, for he had a presentiment that he should not soon return to Nazareth. His trade was one that he could practice in almost any place, and he was not as those who are bound to the land. From the sale he had money with which to buy an ass, and support for the journey.

Now they could fare forth, to follow the will of God, with some provision for the wants of the way, and with a reason for their going that was patent to all men.

Thus, Joseph leading and Mary riding upon the little beast, with the finer tools of Joseph’s trade and the bags of food and clothing slung on either side, they took the road which Mary had taken in troubled flight in the days of the Spring.

It was a journey altogether different from that which Mary had made, for now the cold was come and it was necessary to seek fire and shelter for the night. Also, the road now was crowded with travelers; for the command of Herod had set all Israel upon the move. From one end of the country to the other men were journeying, singly and by families and groups, each up or down to his own city. And the excitement of the road was intense, for many, many of the young men had taken to the hills to join themselves into bands and live upon the travelers of the road.

Out of the protection and comparative security which she now enjoyed, Mary wondered how she had ever found courage for that lone and terrifying journey which she had made.

On a morning early they came in through the north gate of the holy city and made their way up to the temple, for Joseph was minded that the Lord was their protection and their guidance.

There was tumult in all the streets of the city, for the crowd of those who had come up to be enrolled was very great. And men talked strange tongues, and stranger thoughts, in all the byways of the streets. And as they came up the hill towards the temple the crowds were denser and their talk more wild, so that Mary was frightened and ready to beg that they should go upon their way. But Joseph went on, looking neither to the right nor to the left, nor speaking to any man.

On the very steps of the temple the tumult was terrible.

Men swore strange, wild oaths here, even in the gates of God. And priests of the temple harangued madly, calling curses upon Herod and upon his master in Rome, that they were daring to invade the rights of the temple.

In the Court of the Heathen, where they went together, the sights and sounds that met them were of a nature to sadden the hearts of these two faithful ones. Their lives were lived far from the temple where the noises and the bickerings and the desecration that went on within it were scarcely even imagined by them. To them, the very name of the temple must have brought the thought of the calm of God. They could think of it only as the dwelling place of the heart of the Lord, where peace and purity and the vision ineffable were over all.

That was the temple of their God, as their souls pictured it in their distant dreams.

This was the reality which fell upon their hearts. Because of the multitudes that were in the city, the stalls of the money changers had been thrown open and they plied their thieving trade across their tables even as in the days preceding the Passover.

The booths of the sellers of doves and pigeons to the women crowded half the floor of the great court. Signs directing the crowds to the right or the left were posted everywhere as in the busiest and most bewildering marts of the world. Filth and the hot, crowding presence of many men made the air of the place insufferable.

Officers of the temple stood at special stalls to receive the money from the people and to give them in return leaden checks with which alone purchases of offerings could be made. Thus the poor were put under a double imposition. Coming up from far-flung districts of the country where their only coins were the coins of the Greek and eastern merchants who visited them, they had first to deal with the money changers to get the lawful money of the temple. And this they must exchange for the checks of the officers of the temple who were in secret league with the purveyors of the articles for the offerings.

And above all there rose the high, angry clamor that ever accompanies every sort of traffic in the East; the angry cry of disappointed greed; the shrill wail of the miser forced to pay a price; the forlorn cry of the poor finding their all too little.

Joseph dealt with the money changers and coming gave Mary her portion, that she might not be shamed to enter the temple without her free gift to the temple treasure.

Then they went to their separate courts to pray before the Lord.

Meeting again in the outer court, the peace of God was upon them both. But they were not minded to linger. The scenes of this outer court of the temple and the noise of passion that filled the streets made them hunger for the open road and the solitude of communion in the Mystery that was with them.

And now there fell upon them both, on the slow road, in the winter sunshine, a vision and a sight that was of God. And they were no longer Mary and Joseph, two simple, wearied people of outcast Nazareth. For the light that shone upon them was the light of God’s unfolding Mystery. And they were two whom God had chosen out of all the creatures of His hand to be nearest to Him.

They were the spirit and the soul of Israel, of Abraham and of David. They were the soul of all those who walked with clean heart in the Law. And they were the spirit of all those unnumbered millions who would walk in a new and higher Law in all the world and in all the times of the world.

Upon Mary the light of the vision fell and she saw not the darkness of the days that had gone, nor felt the fatigue nor the shadow of anguish. But looked even upon the throne of the King, her Son, and was melted in the glory of her vision. And in that hour her soul went to all the women of earth who bear a man child so that for one flooding hour of glory they see, every one, their man child a king.

And upon Joseph the edge of the vision fell, so that in that hour he was not a weary man plodding a dusty road. He was a mighty, glorious protecting angel of strength and light and beauty, and his heart fell down and worshipped in the tenderness of mighty strength.

So, in the evening, they climbed the hill road to the well where David in the long ago had so thirsted to drink. And the gate of David’s blessed city, Bethlehem, the little, stood open to them.