There is some evidence in the Bible that the first Christmas may have included those kinds of feelings, as well as the joy and peace we focus on and sing about.
Scriptures are often written esoterically—the authors of the Bible assumed their audience would be familiar with certain facts. The New Testament was originally handwritten on expensive animal skins, parchment. To save space, one could assume that audience members understood various implications, or were aware of certain facts (see Matt. 24:15; Rev. 13:18). If you heard that a group traveled from Phoenix to Denver in one day, you would assume they used modern conventions, that they flew on a jet, or drove in a car. But no one alive at the time of Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John would make those assumptions. Our modern ways would be foreign to them. Similarly, many of their old ways are unfamiliar to us. They skipped detailed descriptions of things they assumed were common knowledge. Learning some of those things helps modern readers better understand, appreciate, and visualize what they wrote. Reading between the lines for those forgotten conventions they took for granted can improve our modern conceptualization of the Christmas story. A few resulting tweaks of our mental picture can go a long way.
We often treat Mary the way we treat her figurine in the classical Nativity creche. We take her out once a year, selectively focus on the easy, sweet, and good surrounding her experience, feel nostalgia and warmth, and then store her memory in a small box the rest of the year. But if we peer around the curtain of our own preconceptions and warm feelings, we can catch a glimpse of what she, and those closest to her, might have actually experienced.
The name "Mary" comes from the Aramaic Maryam, which comes from the Hebrew Miriam. There is some confusion about the literal meaning. "Sea of bitterness," "wished-for child," or even "their rebelliousness" are possible translations. All those meanings can have dire, somber implications. "Bitterness" accords with Simeon's prophecy to her at the Temple: "Yea, a sword shall pierce through thy own soul also..." (Luke 2:35). A "wished-for child" might mean Jesus, but less obvious is the empty cry of so many childless women throughout the scriptures—"Give me children, or else I die" (Gen. 30:1). Other possible meanings of her name are "excellence," and (in Egyptian) "beloved."
When Gabriel talked with her in Luke 2, Mary was not just agreeing to be a single mother (a concern she voiced). She was agreeing to risk her reputation, and possibly her life. To be pregnant without a husband in Judea at that time was punishable by death (remember the woman taken in adultery and brought before Jesus; His intervention saved her from stoning). Mary accepted the responsibility and the risk.
No wonder Zacharias was stricken for his disbelief. The angel told him he and his wife would have a child with no risk to their reputation. They would receive the acclaim of following Father Abraham and Sarah in having a miraculous old-age birth. Mary would be "overshadowed" by the Spirit, and give birth with no husband. There was a possibility of her death, ostracism by friends and parents, or being cut off by Joseph, her fiance, at least. On top of facing the physical stress and discomfort associated with any pregnancy, she also exhibited faith and courage to buck strict social rules and obey God instead.
Mary learned of her relative Elizabeth's blessing; the community knew she and Zacharias had been blessed with a miracle pregnancy in their old age. He had been rendered unable to speak, and then was miraculously healed at John's birth. Elizabeth knew, apparently by revelation from God, that Mary was chosen to give birth to the Messiah. But what sign could Mary present to everyone else to verify the righteous nature of her pregnancy? Joseph was told in a dream, and married her, but what could he say? By all outward appearances, he had merely absorbed the potential scandal and hushed things up for Mary's sake.
Along with intense social pressure, there we physical hardships for Mary. The distance from Nazareth to Bethlehem was about eighty miles; for a woman in the late stages of pregnancy to ride that distance on any animal would have been daunting and difficult.
We tend to romanticize, sanitize, and idealize the events surrounding the Nativity. Giving birth to any child (let alone the Messiah foretold by angels) near livestock would be a discomfort and an indignity. Genuine poor people might better conceive of the sorrow that may have afflicted Mary and Joseph at Jesus' birth. The lyrics of an anonymous English carol, "Jesu, Son Most Sweet and Dear," probably come closer to Mary's state of mind at the time:
Mean the bed you lie on here,
And that afflicts me sore,
For your cradle's like a bier,
Ox and ass are with you here,
And I must weep therefore.
Jesu, sweet one, show no wrath.
I have not the poorest cloth
To wrap you in its fold.
Not a rag in which to wrap,
Hold you safe upon my lap,
And shield you from the cold.
I have not the poorest cloth
To wrap you in its fold.
Not a rag in which to wrap,
Hold you safe upon my lap,
And shield you from the cold.
Jesus' swaddling clothes may have been strips of fabric with a family emblem or pattern, like a family flag. But the surroundings of His birth might also have seemed to detract from such attempts at dignity.
Jesus was born near animals, but it was likely not in a barn. We moderns imagine Joseph and Mary travelling with no one else, but travelers in ancient Palestine usually moved in large groups, caravans, for protection. This provided security against bands of marauders who prowled the wastelands between cities; the man in the parable of the Good Samaritan was a victim of such an attack. Perhaps Joseph slowed whatever beast Mary was riding to prevent dangerous jostling. Perhaps Mary was already going into labor as they neared their destination. (She may well have ridden a donkey; camels sway like ships at sea when they walk.) This means that they would have arrived behind everyone else in their caravan.
The phrase, "no room in the inn" might be better translated, "inns." The Greek word here suggests their intended resting place for the night was a caravansary. A caravansary is a place for travelers to stop for the night. It consists of a walled courtyard surrounded by alcoves (the "inns") in the walls. When the gate was shut, the animals would be corralled in the central courtyard for the night. Travelers would tie up and feed their animals in the open-air courtyard, and then bed down in the alcoves. The opening to each sleeping place faced into the courtyard. To check on their camels, horses, and other livestock, they merely had to roll over in bed and pull back a curtain.
The night sky would have been completely visible from the center of such a courtyard.
If Joseph slowed the animal Mary was riding as they approached the caravansary, all the alcoves, the inns, would have been occupied when they arrived. The other dusty, weary travelers would have already spread out their bedding, and been settled in for the night. Joseph would have left Mary standing in the middle of the courtyard with the animals, and gone running frantically from door to door on the periphery, begging everyone to let his wife give birth with some comfort and privacy. Everyone refused. She could not give birth in a sanitary, private, dignified place. By the time Joseph had troubled everyone else in the building to share their alcove, Mary was immobilized by labor pains anyway—she was going to have her baby right where she had dismounted, surrounded by livestock at the center of the courtyard. Instead of our depiction of farm animals like sheep, goats, and cows surrounding the Nativity scene, they were more likely animals used for transport, such as camels, horses, and asses. Thanks to Joseph's inquiry at every alcove, people who were too tired to make room might still have been curious enough to stay awake and watch.
The closest modern equivalent today for the setting of the Nativity would not be inside a barn. Instead, imagine a young married woman on a road trip giving birth in the middle of a motel parking lot, surrounded by RVs and SUVs. After the people in the motel refuse to share their rooms with the young woman, they all gather at their windows to watch her give birth on the pavement of the parking lot.
Jesus' first crib was a feedbox. We see this through the rosy haze of romantic hindsight; Mary lived it, and initially it was probably not something she was happy about.
Perhaps Mary wondered if she had failed, or if God was angry with her and Joseph. Maybe they even began to doubt their personal revelations. Perhaps she wondered if Gabriel might appear and request to have her child back because of their poor showing. "If you can't do better than this, we'll find someone more capable." Her excuse might have been the callous rejection of their entire caravan. Maybe they knew some gossip about Mary and Joseph, saw her pregnancy as unlawful, and were giving the couple the cold shoulder. These people may have even been Joseph's distant relatives returning to their ancestral home with him to be part of the imperial census. ("He came unto his own, and his own received him not" (John 1:11).) Even if that were not the case, Mary and Joseph would have felt particularly lonely at that moment.
The arrival of the shepherds, with their story of angels heralding the birth of the Messiah, and sending them to look for Jesus, would have dispelled any sense of failure they may have felt. Mary, Joseph, and the shepherds each had something in common—angelic ministrations. When the shepherds told them angels had sent them, Mary was probably excited because she had also seen an angel. We moderns tend to turn the message of the angelic choir to the shepherds into a chorus of universal celebration. But it would have carried a profound personal note for poor Mary and beleaguered Joseph. God knew where they were, and knew the details of their circumstances, right down to the bizarre choice of a cradle for their special child. This would have been a customized tender mercy for Mary. It confirmed the Lord's watchful concern for her, her child, and her husband. It would also vindicate Mary, and dispel any doubt that her claims about her Child's divine origins were true. Those who refused to share with Mary and Joseph would have felt less comfortable in their beds. In any case, they would have viewed Mary's little family with respect and awe from then on.
Their message not only conveyed God's concern for them and confirmed Mary's assertions. It also conveyed God's approval for what may have seemed to that point like poor performance.
We usually translate the angelic message to mean that everyone should be happy, which is partly correct; "Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people." But there is something extra for a specific group of people. Here is a literal rendering of the angelic message to the shepherds: "Glory in the highest to God, and on earth peace among men, with whom he is well pleased" (Luke 2:14, emphasis added). That is the modified Christmas message hiding between the lines—peace to those who are trying, because with them, God is pleased. Mary "kept all these things, and pondered them in her heart" (Luke 2:19). (This might have been Mary's great I-told-you-so moment, public vindication, but she did not rub it in or publicize anything.)
However we characterize the good news to all the world, it seems she took it personally. Joseph may have, too. God was pleased with them and their efforts in the given circumstances, and He let them know. This was private validation and approval, as well as a mighty call for the world to celebrate.
One last perhaps that sheds some light on the Christmas narrative:
Why the shepherds? Angels could have sent anyone to see the newborn Savior. Were they simply showing good manners by inviting the only people who were not asleep that night? There is a much more profound possibility. Bethlehem was the birthplace of Jesus, and it is very close to Jerusalem—to the Temple. It is possible that these shepherds were tending the flock of sheep used for sacrifices at the Temple of Herod. If so, their duties would have included checking newborn sheep to ensure that they met all the qualifications for sacrificial offerings (healthy, free from blemishes, no broken bones, etc.). It is possible the angels were sending them to perform their duty, only this time, the Lamb was not symbolic. It was the actually Lamb of God that all the other sacrifices prefigured. They were engaged in symbolic foreshadowing of the last sacrifice; the angels sent them to inspect the real thing.
In any case, the sleepy travelers at the caravansary were awakened twice—once by Joseph begging for admittance, and again by frantic shepherds asking where the new Messiah was located. Mary would have stopped worrying about Jesus' crib at that point, and it has been a badge of distinction for her ever since. Their visit impacted her. Their message is rightly shared with everyone, but especially those who are in less than ideal circumstances.
To all who are haunted by hardship at Christmas time, it should be noted that there is nothing ironic about that combination, however undesirable; there is a precedent for it, and an antidote.
The phrase, "no room in the inn" might be better translated, "inns." The Greek word here suggests their intended resting place for the night was a caravansary. A caravansary is a place for travelers to stop for the night. It consists of a walled courtyard surrounded by alcoves (the "inns") in the walls. When the gate was shut, the animals would be corralled in the central courtyard for the night. Travelers would tie up and feed their animals in the open-air courtyard, and then bed down in the alcoves. The opening to each sleeping place faced into the courtyard. To check on their camels, horses, and other livestock, they merely had to roll over in bed and pull back a curtain.
The night sky would have been completely visible from the center of such a courtyard.
If Joseph slowed the animal Mary was riding as they approached the caravansary, all the alcoves, the inns, would have been occupied when they arrived. The other dusty, weary travelers would have already spread out their bedding, and been settled in for the night. Joseph would have left Mary standing in the middle of the courtyard with the animals, and gone running frantically from door to door on the periphery, begging everyone to let his wife give birth with some comfort and privacy. Everyone refused. She could not give birth in a sanitary, private, dignified place. By the time Joseph had troubled everyone else in the building to share their alcove, Mary was immobilized by labor pains anyway—she was going to have her baby right where she had dismounted, surrounded by livestock at the center of the courtyard. Instead of our depiction of farm animals like sheep, goats, and cows surrounding the Nativity scene, they were more likely animals used for transport, such as camels, horses, and asses. Thanks to Joseph's inquiry at every alcove, people who were too tired to make room might still have been curious enough to stay awake and watch.
The closest modern equivalent today for the setting of the Nativity would not be inside a barn. Instead, imagine a young married woman on a road trip giving birth in the middle of a motel parking lot, surrounded by RVs and SUVs. After the people in the motel refuse to share their rooms with the young woman, they all gather at their windows to watch her give birth on the pavement of the parking lot.
Jesus' first crib was a feedbox. We see this through the rosy haze of romantic hindsight; Mary lived it, and initially it was probably not something she was happy about.
Perhaps Mary wondered if she had failed, or if God was angry with her and Joseph. Maybe they even began to doubt their personal revelations. Perhaps she wondered if Gabriel might appear and request to have her child back because of their poor showing. "If you can't do better than this, we'll find someone more capable." Her excuse might have been the callous rejection of their entire caravan. Maybe they knew some gossip about Mary and Joseph, saw her pregnancy as unlawful, and were giving the couple the cold shoulder. These people may have even been Joseph's distant relatives returning to their ancestral home with him to be part of the imperial census. ("He came unto his own, and his own received him not" (John 1:11).) Even if that were not the case, Mary and Joseph would have felt particularly lonely at that moment.
The arrival of the shepherds, with their story of angels heralding the birth of the Messiah, and sending them to look for Jesus, would have dispelled any sense of failure they may have felt. Mary, Joseph, and the shepherds each had something in common—angelic ministrations. When the shepherds told them angels had sent them, Mary was probably excited because she had also seen an angel. We moderns tend to turn the message of the angelic choir to the shepherds into a chorus of universal celebration. But it would have carried a profound personal note for poor Mary and beleaguered Joseph. God knew where they were, and knew the details of their circumstances, right down to the bizarre choice of a cradle for their special child. This would have been a customized tender mercy for Mary. It confirmed the Lord's watchful concern for her, her child, and her husband. It would also vindicate Mary, and dispel any doubt that her claims about her Child's divine origins were true. Those who refused to share with Mary and Joseph would have felt less comfortable in their beds. In any case, they would have viewed Mary's little family with respect and awe from then on.
Their message not only conveyed God's concern for them and confirmed Mary's assertions. It also conveyed God's approval for what may have seemed to that point like poor performance.
We usually translate the angelic message to mean that everyone should be happy, which is partly correct; "Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people." But there is something extra for a specific group of people. Here is a literal rendering of the angelic message to the shepherds: "Glory in the highest to God, and on earth peace among men, with whom he is well pleased" (Luke 2:14, emphasis added). That is the modified Christmas message hiding between the lines—peace to those who are trying, because with them, God is pleased. Mary "kept all these things, and pondered them in her heart" (Luke 2:19). (This might have been Mary's great I-told-you-so moment, public vindication, but she did not rub it in or publicize anything.)
However we characterize the good news to all the world, it seems she took it personally. Joseph may have, too. God was pleased with them and their efforts in the given circumstances, and He let them know. This was private validation and approval, as well as a mighty call for the world to celebrate.
One last perhaps that sheds some light on the Christmas narrative:
Why the shepherds? Angels could have sent anyone to see the newborn Savior. Were they simply showing good manners by inviting the only people who were not asleep that night? There is a much more profound possibility. Bethlehem was the birthplace of Jesus, and it is very close to Jerusalem—to the Temple. It is possible that these shepherds were tending the flock of sheep used for sacrifices at the Temple of Herod. If so, their duties would have included checking newborn sheep to ensure that they met all the qualifications for sacrificial offerings (healthy, free from blemishes, no broken bones, etc.). It is possible the angels were sending them to perform their duty, only this time, the Lamb was not symbolic. It was the actually Lamb of God that all the other sacrifices prefigured. They were engaged in symbolic foreshadowing of the last sacrifice; the angels sent them to inspect the real thing.
In any case, the sleepy travelers at the caravansary were awakened twice—once by Joseph begging for admittance, and again by frantic shepherds asking where the new Messiah was located. Mary would have stopped worrying about Jesus' crib at that point, and it has been a badge of distinction for her ever since. Their visit impacted her. Their message is rightly shared with everyone, but especially those who are in less than ideal circumstances.
To all who are haunted by hardship at Christmas time, it should be noted that there is nothing ironic about that combination, however undesirable; there is a precedent for it, and an antidote.
