The Nativity

A meditation

Come in under the broken arch. There is no door here, so there is no need to knock — only a ruin of old brick, a few poles for a roof, and the rock going up behind. This is where they ended up. This is the best there was.

Look down before you look anywhere else. The child is on the ground. Not in straw, not in a manger — on the bare stone, laid on the hem of his mother's cloak, which is all the bed there is. He is so small. He is not crying. He is simply there, in the cold, looking at nothing, the way the newborn do.

Now look at Joseph, sitting on the ground to one side with his chin in his hand. He is worn through. Days on the road, doors shut in his face, and this at the end of it — a broken wall for shelter and a wife giving birth on stone. Let him sit. Do not ask him anything. He has done all he could, and it came to this, and still the child is here.

And she is kneeling. Hands together, nothing else — no fire, no cradle, no plan for tomorrow. She is looking at the child, and there is no worry in her face at all. She has arrived with empty hands, and she is not afraid.

Then look up, all the way up. The sky is crowded. Angels are pouring out of it, tumbling down through the air toward this poor place, and above them all the Father leans out of heaven to watch. The whole of glory has come to a stable with no roof, because it could not wait.

You came with nothing too. Kneel where she is kneeling. It was enough for him.