I’ve already seen the first of what will probably be many posts over the next few months saying that the government hasn’t ‘cancelled’ Christmas because it’s not about commercialism but the birth of Christ. And my initial reaction was that yes, that’s true, but in context it’s an unhelpful oversimplification and does nothing to either promote Christ’s message or to pastorally care for those mourning what may be the only time of year they get to be with family or who may have to spend that time being lonely (including perhaps the newly bereaved).
(Social media isn’t good at nuance and I’m sure the person posting meant well- it just didn’t come across brilliantly).
And I briefly considered writing something to say all that, and to suggest that anyone wanting to criticise instead turned their energies to planning how their church will celebrate Christmas in an inclusive, lockdown-proof, hybrid digital/ physical manner that meets the needs of congregation and community; but then I decided to write this instead.
I’m pretty sure someone else will do it (better) before December, but maybe there’s a virtue in being first. Anyone fancy starring in a zoom nativity play?
Joseph knocked on the first door he came to. Mary wasn’t going to be able to go much further and the donkey had had enough too. If they didn’t find shelter soon he was going to be delivering the child on his own in the street, and he didn’t think that was what God had had in mind for the birth of His son.
The door opened just as he remembered to move back two metres.
“Yes?” said a suspicious face, or rather, pair of eyes. The mouth and nose were covered.
“Please,” Joseph said. “My wife is close to giving birth, and we’ve had to travel all the way from Nazareth. We need somewhere to stay- can you help?”
“Sorry,” said the man, but his eyes showed that he wasn’t sorry. “It’s just too dangerous. How do I know you won’t bring in the plague? You should be quarantined for two weeks before they let you in.” He shut the door, and Joseph looked at Mary with despair.
On to the next door. It took a long time to open. An elderly lady, half hiding behind the door, asked what they wanted.
“Please,” Joseph said. “My wife is close to giving birth, and we’ve had to travel all the way from Nazareth. We need somewhere to stay- can you help?”
“Oh,” said the old lady. “Of course, you must come in. I’m sorry, I haven’t much to offer though- I’m all on my own and I’ve been shielding, as they call it. My grandchildren are so scared they will bring the plague, they want to protect me, but it’s hard for them, and for me. They leave me food on the doorstep, but I don’t have much, I’m afraid. But you must come in- you can’t stay out there.”
Joseph looked at Mary, and Mary at Joseph.
“Thank you, dear lady, but we can’t put you at risk,” Mary said. “We’ll find somewhere else, won’t we Joseph?”
“Of course. But thank you, and I hope you keep well.”
The old lady shut the door. Just then two men passed them on the other side of the street, and Joseph called out.
“Hey friend, do you know where we might find somewhere to stay? My wife is close to giving birth, and we’ve had to travel all the way from Nazareth.”
The men turned to them. One had a mask, but for some reason it covered only his chin. Seeing Mary staring at him, he pulled it up to cover his mouth, but his nose was still free.
“Well,” the masked man said. “We’re pretty full at the moment, what with my wife and our three kids and my wife’s brother and his kids and my mother and her sister and her daughter’s kids, but I’m sure we can find a corner for you somewhere.”
Mary looked at Joseph again. “I thought there was supposed to be a limit of six people at any gathering?”
“Well, so they say, but who’s going to check?”
“It’s all a hoax anyway,” said the other man, who had remained silent until now. He wasn’t wearing a mask at all. “It’s all a scam so they can force us to give up our rights and make us wear muzzles, and dose us with what they call medicine that will actually let them mind control us.”
Mary looked at Joseph in a meaningful way.
“Thank you for your offer,” Joseph said. “But we’ll keep looking.”
“Well, good luck,” the first man said. “You won’t get a better offer.”
By now Joseph had despaired of finding a house and was looking for a sheltered corner where they could bed down and accept the worst. But Mary, evidently in pain, pointed to one last house. “Try there,” she said. And so Joseph did.
“Well,” said the woman who answered the door, “There are six of us here already, so legally we can’t have you in the house. But I’d like to help. There’s an outbuilding there- would that be all right? I’ll find bedding and food and bring them across.”
“Thank you, thank you so much,” Mary said. Joseph was so relieved he cried.
“I wish I was allowed to give you a hug,” their host said.
Of course, when all the shepherds and so on turned up, there was a bit of a queue because of social distancing, but no one seemed to mind. The angels were careful to sing behind a perspex screen- of course they counted as professionals, so it didn’t matter that there were more than six of them, and anyway, worship was exempt.
By then they were much more concerned with the presence of the one who would bring healing, both physical and spiritual, and an end to all suffering and mourning. Not just yet though. Mary knew there was much more to come before that could happen. Tonight was just the start.
