He was a Galilean – you can always tell – but this one was different from the others trying to barter with my husband. He looked very troubled, and with more than just the worry of where to sleep.
He noticed me noticing him and rushed forward – “please madam, is this your inn?” he inquired
“It’s my husband’s, but there’re no rooms if that’s what your next question’s going to be” I was very matter of fact, there was absolutely nothing we could do to make any space.
“Is there truly nothing?” he pleaded “It’s not me, you see, it’s my wife. We’ve travelled all the way from Bethlehem, it’s taken us over a week, and I think, well, I think our baby might be coming”
Well this was new, none of the others who’d tried to convince us to give them a room had tried this tactic…but then I followed his gaze, into the street and for the first time I noticed his wife. She’d managed to climb down from the donkey (which must have borne her for the journey) and was now crouched on the ground. She winced and held her stomach.
I knew that look, that wince. I’ve carried 6 babies and that was without question a woman in early labour.
Well I couldn’t leave her there, by the look of how young she was it was probably her first – no girl should have to birth her first child in those circumstances, but what could I do? There was literally nowhere – even the roof had people sleeping on it!
But it was then that a thought struck me – divine inspiration you might say- most of my recent midwifery experience was with the lambs and calves we kept out back. A bed of straw was a better option than the filthy roadside.
I touched my husband’s arm to get his attention away from the latest group of travellers he was disappointing. I gestured towards the girl “it’s her time Lazar” – he understood my meaning - “But what can we do” he replied” “I can’t magic up a bed, not even for her!”
“The outhouse” I said - he looked at me, utterly puzzled. “It’s got a roof and clean straw, and, in the circumstances, I don’t think we have a choice!”
He nodded in agreement “Do what you need to Hanna”
I grabbed a lamp – it was dark out back and I knew the light would help. “Follow me” I instructed the man “help your wife, it’s not far”
I shewed the animals from the outhouse into the yard, quickly swept aside the used straw and laid some fresh from a bale stored nearby. The man helped his wife into the small stone building and helped her lie down.
“Tell me your name child” I asked the girl
“M- Mary” she managed between contractions
“and you?” I inquired of her husband
“Joseph” he responded
“and I’m Hanna, so now we’re all friends”
“What do we do?” Joseph pleaded
“Well, son, you stay close by, and if I need you, I’ll tell you”
“Don’t be afraid Mary” I told her, gently “I’m not going anywhere”
And I didn’t – I stayed through it all, helped her know what to do. I did what my mother had done for me, what I’d done for my sisters and daughters. What generations of woman had done for each other since Eve.
The labour was quick, surprisingly quick, and the baby looked healthy – a healthy boy! God be praised. I wrapped him in my shawl and passed him to his father for approval. The joy which radiated from his eyes made my heart full – such love in the man’s eyes.
And the child – so oddly peaceful for a newborn, so content – almost radiant! I must have been getting tired and my emotions were getting the best of me.
The man passed the baby to the girl and her face seemed as radiant as his – the rush of love almost palpable.
I showed her how to help him latch on – he was hungry! I warned her she may be sore, but it passes.
I’ve no idea how much time had passed when the spell was broken by a dirty faced child appearing in the yard – he was holding a lamb around his shoulders, and it wasn’t one of ours. I took in his appearance – he was one of those filthy shepherds from the outskirts of town – and dear lord there were more of them behind him!
“Miss” the boy addressed the girl “miss – we…we were told not to be afraid, we were told to come” and the whole group of them knelt before the mother and child as if he were royalty! The boy lifted the lamb and presented it to them like a gift.
Now, I know I needed some sleep – but what was this? What on earth was happening here in my back yard?! Who were this man and woman – and who on earth was this child? The three of them sat there in the straw, radiating love and joy and contentment the like of which I had never seen.
Then, I don’t know from where, but words appeared in my head – I’d heard them before, the words of one of the prophets, probably shouted at me by a preacher in the market square.
“But you, Bethlehem... out of you will come forth for Me one to be ruler over Israel, whose origins are of old, from ancient times”
I looked down at that child, I saw and felt pure and unconditional love for maybe the first time in my life, and I thought maybe, just maybe – stranger things have happened!
And so I stood there, straw clinging to my skirts, lamp flickering in my hand, watching this tiny family in my outhouse — and I realised something. The Messiah hadn’t arrived in the palace as the men who debated in the temple imagined, or even in the temple itself where we thought holiness lived. He’d come to us — to the ordinary, the overlooked, the tired, the overcrowded, the unprepared. To a woman who had nothing to offer but clean straw and a willing pair of hands.
And perhaps that’s the point.
Perhaps the Messiah still comes to us in the same way — quietly, vulnerably, without fanfare — asking only whether we’ll make room. Not a perfect room, not a tidy room, not a “ready” room… just room.
As we gather this Christmas, may we remember that outhouse. May we remember that holiness can be born in the most unlikely corners of our lives. And may we dare to believe that even in our mess, our exhaustion, our crowded hearts, God still chooses to arrive — bringing love that radiates, hope that surprises, and light that no darkness can overcome.
Amen.
