Mary’s “yes” to God, her willingness to become the mother of Jesus, set her on a journey she could never have expected. She put her complete trust in God’s love and mercy through all the trials of her life. And her trials were many, including the Nativity.
Mary must have been profoundly relieved when Joseph welcomed her into his home. God revealed to Joseph the miraculous origins of her child, so Joseph did not abandon her. God did not abandon her. She no doubt looked forward to a smooth delivery at home. Surely the birth of God’s only son would go smoothly?
Not quite. First came the news that she and Joseph would have to travel to Bethlehem right as she was nearing the time to give birth, due to the whims of a foreign ruler. The distance from Nazareth to Bethlehem is about ninety miles over hilly terrain, which would have been about a nine days journey for Mary and Joseph. Now, I have never ridden on a donkey, much less all day long for nine days straight. And I have never been nine months pregnant. But I have to imagine the journey for Mary was a little uncomfortable.
It was also dangerous. The journey took them through the forests of the Jordan River valley, home to wild boars, bears and lions. Bandits and robbers preyed on travelers along major routes.
Faced with much smaller problems than this, I’m still inclined to complain (“Why me, Lord?”), ignoring all my blessings in the process. Holy Mary, I’m sure, never complained. But she must have wondered why God seemed to be making things so difficult.
Surely she looked forward to arriving in Bethlehem, finding a nice inn, and getting a good night’s rest in a clean bed. And we know how that worked out.
While modern nativity scenes depict the manger like a barn, in reality it was more of cave used for housing animals, donkeys and perhaps sheep. Considerably less hospitable than the manger scenes we’ve seen so many times.
Again, Mary had to wonder where God was in all of this, why everything was so difficult for her. What had she signed up for when she said yes to him?
And then, in the humblest of places, her son was born. All her troubles and all her pain vanished in that instant when she heard his first cry. Just as all the sin and pain and death in the world would be conquered by his death and resurrection. Imagine her joy as she held the son of God in her hands for the first time.
And as unexpected as the hardships of the journey were, imagine her wonder when the shepherds visited, relaying the vision of Heaven they had seen concerning her child. Imagine her surprise at the vision of the Magi, wise men from the far reaches of the earth, bringing riches the likes of which she had never seen, bowing down to worship her tiny baby.
At the Nativity, Mary could have been no more prepared for the richness of God’s blessings than she was for the trials she suffered along the way. And these were but a foretaste of the greater trials, and richer joys, to come.
In imagining these scenes, it is both easy and difficult to realize the joy Mary and Joseph felt when holding little Jesus. Easy, because any parent will remember the moment in the hospital when their child was born, when they held their baby for the first time. Difficult, because they were holding not just a baby, but the Eternal Word come down from Heaven, who from the beginning was with God, and who was God. (John 1:1) Could they comprehend (can we?) that the tiny hands that grasped theirs, that the little eyes adjusting to the light, were those of the Redeemer of Man? They couldn’t have fully grasped what was happening, but their feelings of joy and wonder must have been extraordinary.
Now consider the supreme blessing we receive each week at mass when we too are able to hold Jesus, body and blood, soul and divinity, in our hands. Truly blessed are those called to the supper of the Lamb! Of course we can’t fully grasp what is happening either, and we risk glossing over the incredible gift we are receiving because our senses are dulled by routine. The Eucharist should never be routine. Think of Mary and Joseph, holding the trembling, helpless Savior of the World in their hands, the next time you hold Jesus in yours.
