N
o one along the road seemed to notice what was happening. No one stopped to help. No one paid attention to the young woman on the ass, leaning against her husband lest she fall. No family, no aunts or uncles, no grandparents, not even a supportive friend. No one to hold them up. No one to sustain them. Mary and Joseph were alone, lost in a world of humanity scurrying about their own concerns. She began to weep. “Please, God?” she whimpered. Joseph was no veteran father. He too, was young and inexperienced in these things. He was not much help. Slowly, the instruction of Elizabeth came seeping through the walls of pain and loneliness. “Joseph, we must find a place for me to lie down. Now!” Her dazed husband looked at her again, as if wondering how she could be rational at a time like this.
“An inn!” Joseph’s reason asserted itself. “I must find an inn.” He reeled forward, yanking the reins of the ass to make it walk faster. Mary lurched, but held on.
As it is in so many towns and cities, places to stay the night were erected near the perimeter of the city. One of the first structures they approached happened to be an inn. Joseph entered the door and found an innkeeper sitting at a table pushing around tablets and looking stressed. “I need a room for the night,” said Joseph, “My wife is . . .”
“You will not find a room in this town tonight, young man. Can’t you see Bethlehem is flooded with travelers? This is David’s city. Everybody wants to be of the house and lineage of David,” he went on with practiced disdain. The shock on Joseph’s face did not register with the innkeeper, bewildered and stupified by the question, What to do!?
“My wife,” he stammered, “My wife is with child.” Then urgency gripped him. “Please,” he implored the innkeeper, “My wife is giving birth to a baby. She is in pain. My God, man, isn’t there something you can do?”
The innkeeper sobered thoughtfully, not a heartless man, but what could he do? “Already I am overcrowded. I cannot take away someone’s room who has already paid. I’m sorry, there is not much I can do for you.” An embarrassed pause. “I don’t know what to say.” Resignation. He hoped Joseph could comprehend the obvious.
“You have nothing? Nothing at all?” This cannot be happening, thought Joseph anxious and panicked.
“Not unless you want the stable,” responded the innkeeper lifting his hands, shrugging his shoulders as if explaining an absurdity. Joseph saw no absurdity at all.
“Yes!” he said in relief, “Yes! The stable! How much?” The innkeeper just stared at Joseph. It was only a few seconds but to Joseph, it seemed longer. “How much?” he demanded.
“Keep your money,” from the innkeeper. “You can stay there for nothing.” He rose from the table shaking his head, “Follow me.” Joseph did as instructed. He plodded through the door and around the corner of the building, Joseph in his train. A low structure loomed in the darkness. For all the troubling features of this scene, the innkeeper felt a satisfying sense of warmth. God help them, a prayer of thought.
