Okay, so I know that this is not what Mary said when she found out she was pregnant with Jesus. That would be completely too modern – perhaps it went more like this: “God, you hath created me as Thy vessel for Thy child but perhaps you might have chosen a less litigious blessing?”All right, maybe not. But can you really imagine her saying this: “Behold, I am the handmaid of the Lord. May it be done to me according to your word,” (Luke 1: 38, New American Bible)? I mean, an angel (AN ANGEL!!!) had just appeared to her and, I do not know about back then, but angels are pretty scarce around these parts. Not to mention, she had never had sex with anyone (I am guessing, since she states this [Lk 1:34], that she understands the basic biology behind baby-making). Let me tell you, if someone, let alone an angel, had come up to me and said “Oh yeah, by the way, you are going to have a baby even though you are still a virgin… And it is going to be the child of God, some dude you have always heard about but never seen,” (kind of like Charlie in Charlie’s Angels), I would have flipped him the bird and checked myself into the local psychiatric hospital. That kind of thing just does not happen everyday.
And then, matters get worse. Say I can get past the whole baby thing, or at least come to accept that something is happening because I am getting fat and having some extremely odd cravings, then it is a census year and I have to travel 70 miles from Nazareth to Bethlehem on a donkey (A FREAKIN’ DONKEY!!) going about 15 miles per day (a donkey can walk up to 25 kilometers per day according to http://www.naturalhoof.co.nz/); this means the trip would last about 5 days. Add to this trial a very bumpy terrain and crazy pregnancy hormones… I would have killed Joseph long before I got to Bethlehem.
Of course, when we arrive in Bethlehem, Joseph has forgotten that Bethlehem during a census year is like Green Bay when the Packers play at Lambeau Field: absolutely swarmed. Every room is booked and I have to sleep in a barn. Then I go into labor and Joseph has to attend me – we all know he has no idea what he is doing (that is what midwives are for). The animals stink, the hay is cold, and I just want my mom.
Then this tiny squalling thing emerges and, really, would not God’s son be a little quieter? I cannot sleep. People keep talking about a bright star but all I notice is that when Jesus is actually sleeping, it is too bright outside for me to do the same. Some shepherds come and all I can think about is all the horrible creepy-crawly things those sheep must have in their fur. Then these kings come to visit from who knows where and bring me the most unusable gifts – can I just get some diapers and a few burp cloths, please? I am on my last robe and I think Jesus spit up in my hair the last time I burped him. And, by the way, why am I still in a barn? JOSEPH!!
But Mary, oh Mary, thank goodness she was not me or this world would be doomed. Even knowing things would be difficult (how do you even explain this to people?), she shouts to whoever will listen: “My soul proclaims the greatness of the Lord; my spirit rejoices in God my savior. For he has looked upon his handmaid’s lowliness; behold, from now on will all ages call me blessed” (Lk 1:46-48).
And then, matters get worse. Say I can get past the whole baby thing, or at least come to accept that something is happening because I am getting fat and having some extremely odd cravings, then it is a census year and I have to travel 70 miles from Nazareth to Bethlehem on a donkey (A FREAKIN’ DONKEY!!) going about 15 miles per day (a donkey can walk up to 25 kilometers per day according to http://www.naturalhoof.co.nz/); this means the trip would last about 5 days. Add to this trial a very bumpy terrain and crazy pregnancy hormones… I would have killed Joseph long before I got to Bethlehem.
Of course, when we arrive in Bethlehem, Joseph has forgotten that Bethlehem during a census year is like Green Bay when the Packers play at Lambeau Field: absolutely swarmed. Every room is booked and I have to sleep in a barn. Then I go into labor and Joseph has to attend me – we all know he has no idea what he is doing (that is what midwives are for). The animals stink, the hay is cold, and I just want my mom.
Then this tiny squalling thing emerges and, really, would not God’s son be a little quieter? I cannot sleep. People keep talking about a bright star but all I notice is that when Jesus is actually sleeping, it is too bright outside for me to do the same. Some shepherds come and all I can think about is all the horrible creepy-crawly things those sheep must have in their fur. Then these kings come to visit from who knows where and bring me the most unusable gifts – can I just get some diapers and a few burp cloths, please? I am on my last robe and I think Jesus spit up in my hair the last time I burped him. And, by the way, why am I still in a barn? JOSEPH!!
But Mary, oh Mary, thank goodness she was not me or this world would be doomed. Even knowing things would be difficult (how do you even explain this to people?), she shouts to whoever will listen: “My soul proclaims the greatness of the Lord; my spirit rejoices in God my savior. For he has looked upon his handmaid’s lowliness; behold, from now on will all ages call me blessed” (Lk 1:46-48).
Can you imagine? So many times at Christmas we focus on fighting those holiday crowds at the mall and forget that at this same time so many hundreds of years ago, a terribly young woman was terrified and alone and pregnant with the baby that would save the world. The next time I complain about how much money Christmas costs or how I hate driving to Chicago in the winter, I am going to think about Mary: the Mary who had so little money and yet thanked God to be blessed with His child, the Mary who rode on a donkey when she was in her third trimester. The next time I complain about Christmas, I am going to remember that without Mary’s perseverance and trust in God, I would have nothing to complain about.
No comments:
Post a Comment