23/12/2025
WALKING INTO BETHLEHEM
(I wrote this in the late 1990s while on a Franciscan retreat)
I have a story to tell. You’ve all heard this story before, but what you don’t know is that I was there too. I don’t get a mention in any of the official versions – I guess I’m unimportant. But that’s not how they made me feel.
I was making my way to Bethlehem for Augustus’ census, trudging along those dusty Judean country roads, when I met a young couple travelling slowly in the same direction. It wasn’t long before we got into conversation, in the way that travelers do.
“My name is Joseph,” he said, “and this is Mary. And you?”
“Oh my name is Samuel. Pleased to meet you, Joseph, and you too Mary.” She smiled at me but said nothing.
“Are you also going to Bethlehem, Samuel?”
“Yes. I guess that must mean we’re distant cousins.”
“Why don’t you travel with us?” said Joseph. “If you don’t mind being a little slower, that is. My – Mary is very pregnant” (I could see that) “and this journey is pretty uncomfortable for her. But if you don’t mind, we’d enjoy your company.”
“I’d be very glad of that, thank you. I must admit I find the road a bit lonely sometimes.”
We walked on in the mid-afternoon light, through olive groves and alongside ordered fields, exchanging small talk – those ritual necessities of meeting that we help to to ease our way into the company of those we don’t yet know. They seemed genuinely interested to know about me, and I soon found myself feeling loquacious, telling them stories of my life, my travels.
“Do you have family living in Bethlehem, Samuel?” asked Mary, speaking, I suddenly realized, for the first time.
“No. My grandparents used to. But they left there a long time ago. I’ve scarcely ever been there myself, until now.”
“Do you know anyone there? People you can stay with?” she went on.
“No. Nobody like that. I suppose I’ll just hunt around and find a room to rent."
“You’re welcome to spend the night with us, if you’d like,” she said, smiling shyly, “though we don’t yet have accommodation ourselves. That would be alright, wouldn’t it Joe?” she looked at her partner fondly.
“Oh, yes, that’s a good idea. Why don’t you, Samuel? You’d be welcome. We could probably get somewhere cheaper between the three of us as well.”
I had been on my own for some time and company would be nice. I felt touched by their warmth.
“Yeah, that’d be great. Thanks a lot.”
When we entered the town it soon became clear that finding a bed wouldn’t be easy. The place was teeming with tourists – I’d never imagined it’d be so busy. We stood in the market square, hemmed in by barrows and trestles, jostled by milling sight-seers and hagglers, gazing uncertainly around. Mary, I noticed, was looking decidedly pale.
“Is she ok?” I whispered to Joseph, a little embarrassed.
“Oh yes, sorry Samuel,” he answered distractedly. “It’s just that her contractions have begun; I think the baby is going to come very soon.” Joseph put an arm around Mary’s shoulders.
“Well we’ve got to get you a place to stay right away,” I said.
I decided to try and hustle – without success, I have to say – a few of the local publicans into giving them a room. For the next half-hour I went door to door, but everybody was full already.
Joseph and Mary, however, were amazingly unfazed about it all. “I’m sure we’ll be looked after, Samuel. After all, God wants us here, so he’ll take care of us.”
“It’s not God, it’s Ceasar who wants you here,” I fired back, starting to feel irritated on their behalf, “And I bet he’s not going to lift a finger to find you a bed.”
“Oh Ceasar,” said Mary, “No, he’s just a man. But God has bigger plans than Ceasar does.”
“Well, I obviously shouldn’t stay with you now. I’ll only be in the way. The two – ah, three – of you’ll find a room much easier if I’m not tagging along. Besides, you need your privacy at a time like this.”
Mary stretched out her hand and took mine and said, “Don’t go. This is going to be really special. You wouldn’t want to miss it.”
It’s really weird, but at that moment I felt something very deep and warm welling up inside me, and I almost had tears. “Come on,” said Joseph, patting me on the back, “Let’s go see what we can find.”
At last we got a place, but it was only a lean-to shelter behind a pub, where a pony was tethered.
“This is no good! You can’t have your baby here, Mary! It’s filthy and smelly and – oh it’s just not right!” I complained.
“It’ll be fine,” said Joseph evenly. “Could you give me a hand cleaning things up a bit?” I couldn’t believe they were taking it so calmly.
So, anyway, he and I set about cleaning up and making it sort of habitable. I found this an oddly satisfying task; tethering the pony outside, sweeping out the dust and bugs, spreading fresh straw across the earth floor, pile of clothing and blankets for a bed, a candle stuck in the mouth of a broken jar – quite homely, really, in a curious way.
Mary’s labor was in full flight now, and I could see that she was in a lot of pain.
“Joseph. Mary. I really think it’d be better if I just leave you to it, now. I’m sure I can find a place to spend the night...”
But again she reached out – prone and propped on the saddle-bags as she was – took my hand and said the same words as before. I didn’t know what to say, and besides, I knew I really did want to be there. I didn’t want to leave them.
So I spent the night settling and restraining the pony when Mary cried out, fetching hot water from the pub kitchen, and holding Mary’s hand as she bit down on a towel and pushed. Joseph, and a motherly woman named Esther who came down from a guesthouse next door, helped her to deliver. I averted my eyes as much as I could, but there was no time to be embarrassed or prudish now!
And then, quite suddenly, there was the baby.
“Samuel,” said Joseph, “could you just hold him for a moment please?”
I fumblingly took hold of the warm, slippery, crying little thing for a few seconds so Joseph could tenderly ease blankets over Mary’s hips and shoulders while Esther bit through the umbilical cord. Mother and father hugged, kissed, laughed, and I felt strangely happy to be there with them, a guest at the celebration of their joy.
They smiled at me, too. “Just look at him!” beamed Joseph. “Look at him!”
Then, after Mary nursed him (he’s definitely a boy, by the way) and she’d drifted into sleep, Joseph said, “Would you mind holding the baby again?”
“Oh, no, of course not. I’d love to.” I was really surprised at myself. Before that night babies were little aliens – they’d always made me nervous.
I sat with this tiny person crooked in my arm, wiping away specks of blood and mucus from his screwed up face (as gently as a clumsy guy can) with a rag, rocking him ever so slightly and whispering a half-remembered lullaby incantation against the crown of his head. I stayed that way for a long time.
