Great with child. Don’t you like the old King James Version?

About this time each year I get a little melancholy. I try to rip all the pretty Christmas wrap off the Jesus story. Do you know what I mean? Those persistent idyllic Christmas card scenes of Mary and Joseph and the sweet little donkey making their merry way by starlight to the manger–a manger which will be lit up by Jesus’ shiny halo. Even the cows seem to have smiles on their faces as they peer into the glowing straw at baby Jesus who no crying he makes. Even the sheep don’t stink. Amazing.

Why did Joseph take Mary to Bethlehem? She wasn’t required by law to go. Were Joseph and Mary married yet? Scholars still debate that question. And even if they were married, why would Joseph take a young wife “great with child” on so rough a trip? We aren’t talking SUV with leather bucket seats and AC. We’re talking a very pregnant woman either walking or riding a clunking-along-animal of some sort. Can we talk? Lots of potty breaks on that trip. My wife gave birth to four daughters and my (two) married daughters have each given birth to three. I know (about) pregnancies. The Christmas Carol should sing, “and Mary, no crying she makes.”

Why, Joseph? Why did you bring Mary along to Bethlehem?

I imagine Joseph saying with a sigh, “To protect her from searing rejection and deep shame. If she gave birth while just espoused to me, the village gossipers would chew her up. If she gave birth so quickly even after a legal marriage, those gossipers would spit her out. I love that girl and we both believe that God is up to something really big. I want her with me. I understand this culture very well. I know how shame is used to shred women who are in Mary’s condition to pieces. I struggled with these things myself and God sent an angel to help me along. The least I can do is help Mary.”

In the dark, dung-smelling stable cave, Mary’s water broke, her body convulsed in pain, she dilated and, squatting as was custom, pushed a baby boy out followed by the placenta. No halo. Maybe firelight. Joseph comforts his beloved. Mary cleans her newborn and wraps him in swaddling clothes. Crying he makes. No sterile cloths, no fussy nurses, no vicodin for Mary, no “It’s a boy!” cigars from Joseph. In the dark in a cave, a new father and mother and a wiggling infant, a real first family, try to get some rest. They feel no shame.

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