To the reader: This begins a five-part fictional series. Stay tuned ...
Rain had been falling for some time, even though the now cloudless sky and humid night air gave no sign of it. The heady smell of water-soaked hay gave proof to the ever-shifting temperament of the skies. Standing at the entrance to the barn, a man stared out into the heavens as if searching for a sign. It really was the smells that made this little barn alive. The damp hay was equally matched by the random aromas given off by the sweating animals as they shifted uneasily about the cramped space. A couple of cows nestled close together in one corner, a few timid sheep in another, and a solitary donkey walked amidst them all. The man contemplated these smells and these surroundings in silent thought as he maintained his position at the door. Certainly a strange place for a child to be born, he mused. But it was much more than that. He glanced back over his shoulder, surveying the whole interior without seeming to take in anything. His roving eye fell on one area near the center of the barn. He had heaped together a pile of hay over which a couple of blankets had been carefully placed. Lying on the makeshift bed was his wife.
The starlight lit up the area where she reclined, bathing her face in a soft, pure glow. Her face was flushed, tendrils of brown hair sticking to her forehead. Slow, ragged breaths caused her face to crease as though straining against some unseen burden. But for all the signs of weariness in her face, her eyes spoke much differently. They had the look of peace and hope that only one kind of person can ever truly appreciate. She gazed lovingly at the tiny bundle caught against her chest, her newborn babe.
“Joseph, how long will you stand at the door? Won’t you come and hold our baby?” Her voice was filled at once with the charity of love and the pride of motherhood.
Joseph left his place at the door and came to stand beside Mary. She held the little bundle up as it squirmed slightly and feebly. Nestling the baby in the crook of one arm, the father caressed the baby’s head, smoothing the tangles of hair into some kind of order. Mary smiled wanly and spoke again, this time more softly as if to herself, “It is just wonderful, Joseph. Everything is happening just as the angels told us. It was too hard to understand, but now that we have our baby, things are starting to make more sense.”
The mention of angels brought Joseph back from his silent reveries. Imprinted fixedly on his mind was the dream he had of the angel so long ago. Every word spoken weighed on his mind and heart like an everlasting chain fastened around his very soul. The angel had given him words of hope and despair. Yes, he inwardly sighed, everything is happening as was said. This child has a destiny far greater than we can ever know. Lord, please give me strength to raise your child. The streak of distress that passed his face did not go unnoticed by Mary. She knew his struggle and his sadness and, though she didn’t always condone it, she empathized with it. This was not his child….but it was hers.
Both of them were interrupted from their private thoughts by a scuffling of feet outside the door. Returning the baby gingerly to the welcoming arms of his mother, Joseph turned to face whoever had come to invade this haven of peace. The rugged, tear-streaked face of a young man peeked around the corner of the door. Joseph met the gaze of the intruder placidly, arms folded across his burly chest. The man’s eyes mirrored his soul; a soul tormented by fear and wonder. Joseph had never seen eyes like his. But after a moment, he was confronted by three more sets of eyes bearing the same mark. All four men were about the same age and similarly dressed, each as timid as a lamb, standing in the doorway with mouths gaping and eyes glistening. They were shepherds by their garb.
After some time of this silent face-off, the oldest looking of them found his tongue, stammering out in a half-yelp, half-groan, “We ... We ... We were told that this is, uh, is, uh, the place. We had ... we had to come.” He paused as though this explained everything and there was nothing more to say. However when Joseph did not respond, he continued, “Well, the angels ... you see ... the angels….how frightening they were ... beautiful. It was them. They ... they, ummm ... told us to come. We came to find him.” All four pairs of eyes left Joseph and roved the room freely, settling naturally at the mother and son in the middle of the room.
The speaker unconsciously stepped forward, the others leaning in close against his back. The first fell down with a clump to one knee and beseeched the mother, “Is this ... is this the Christ?”
These four men held such hope and fear that at first she found herself too abashed to speak. Her child was only just born and already these young men came seeking to rob her of her joy. She was infuriated. The color rushed to her cheeks at this abhorrent thought and she nearly sent them away in fury. But a still, small voice interrupted her rage, This is your child, but not only yours. From this day forth, you must share him with the rest of the world. This is your burden to bear. Rejoice in your burden, though heavy it may be; it is for the salvation of the world. The words of contempt she had prepared for the men caught in her throat at these thoughts. Closing her eyes against the terrible truth behind them, she sought inner peace. When she opened her eyes again, the thieves of her happiness were gone, replaced by the image of four lost and suffering souls in search of answers.
They appeared emaciated and old, mere skeletons deprived of life and purpose. They were horrid, but not in a way that to inspire revulsion but instead pity. Their parched lips longed for the quenching drink of hope to slake their inner thirst. Their hollow eyes pleaded to see just one glimpse of something truly beautiful, truly free of the deforming plague and crippling corruption that seized everything else in the world. Their ears despaired of hearing those few precious words, “There is Life!”
The vision shifted and now she saw them for who they really were. The only one who had spoken still knelt before her and all his life spanned before Mary’s eyes as the deep sea. He was not much older than the rest, but he was one who had lived life beyond his years; someone who had suffered through the utter monotony of sequential pain and disappointment that leads up to the one, inexorable fact: Nothing ever changes. This was his truth; he had never know anything else in his whole life.
Just behind him stood his brother, both hands tightly clenching the right shoulder of his elder sibling. Unlike his brother, this young man was filled with the fire and hope of youth. No height was unattainable, no obstacle insurmountable. He would search every hill and dale for a chance to better himself so that he could rise above his lot in life and declare, “I am of worth!” The calluses of toil had not yet hardened his hands and the rocky paths of destitution had not yet tamed his fiery spirit. Every new idea held a wealth of opportunity. The world was a thing to be conquered, and conquer it he fully intended to do.
The third youth was nothing more than a child, twelve years at the most. Yet those twelve years spoke volumes. He was a handsome child, complete with youth’s charming softness and maturity’s strength and character. One might even say he looked flawless, if not for the ugly purple bruise along his right cheek that marred his otherwise enchanting features. Of the four, his eyes glowed the most with hope. They were eyes that seemed to be seeing hope for the first time, making it even more appealing for its freshness and promise. Here was someone that desperately needed to believe that something better was on the horizon.
Unlike the others, the last of the shepherd was not so easily interpreted by Mary’s vision. There was a mystery that hid everything from sight. Whether it was darkness, fear, or confusion, she could not tell. Of the four, this one seemed to be the one with the most fear and his whole body trembled with it. He did not appear to be willfully here, more than half of his body was still outside the door as if preparing to bolt for freedom. Mary feared this man. Yet her inner eye finally awoke when she beheld his eyes. They were luminous and liquid, two hollow pools of light staring back out of a corner of a forgotten soul. All else spoke of shame, torment, and fear except for those two little pinpricks, gasping, wallowing, surging forward to some unbidden and uncertain freedom from the manacles of fate.
And Mary wept. Hot, flooding tears poured down her cheeks in a torrent of irrepressible emotion, alarming herself as much as it did the men. Even Joseph was frightened now. No, this child was not only hers. There would be times that he would need his mother, but she needed him more, and these men needed him with a blinding desperation. Mary closed her eyes against the vision before her, the life behind her, and the future in front of her. The road ahead would be fraught with difficulty and the ominous possibilities loomed up above her with disconcerting clarity. Now was the time to begin walking down that path with her burden in tow. With an effort, she subdued her tears and with a shudder, she realized it would not be the last time she would have to do that. She clutched the baby a little tighter, deriving her strength from his tiny, frail body. Her eyes opened and she spoke, “Welcome. This is Jesus.”
... to be continued.
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