Christmas Evening

by Tim Frankovich

Joseph’s head nods, then jerks back up. He blinks. Mary and the baby are finally asleep. What a horrible night it has been, he thinks, but at last it’s over. He tries to find a more comfortable position to sleep, but his attempt is abruptly interrupted by voices outside the stable.

Irritated, Joseph hurries to the entrance. In the dark, he sees a group of men milling about, talking among themselves. “Please,” he calls. “Could you go somewhere else? My wife has just given birth...”

One of the men almost leaps forward. “She has? Is... is it... a boy?” The murmuring of the other men grows louder.

“Yeeesss,” Joseph answers slowly, perplexed.

The spokesman becomes even more agitated. “And... and... the baby? Have you...” He looks around excitedly. “Is he... lying in... in a manger?”

“Yes, but how...”

“This is it!” the spokesman cries to the other men, his voice piercing the still night air. From inside the stable, there comes another piercing cry ­ that of an awakened infant.

The crowd of men presses forward, some of them getting past Joseph, who grabs the spokesman. “What is going on?!” he demands.

In an excited, nervous and broken narrative, the shepherd tells his story - about angels, glory, and the sign of the manger. Joseph releases his hold and the shepherd hurries into the stable with the others. The angels again. Joseph slowly follows the crowd.

The stable is a mess. Bloodstains, hastily covered with more hay, mix with the other unsavory debris on the floor. The odor is pungent and uncomfortable. Joseph has never been in a more disgusting and pathetic situation.

Mary is comforting the baby. She looks up at him with an exhausted, bewildered and slightly accusatory stare. “Angels,” Joseph says. Her eyes widen and she nods imperceptibly.

The shepherds crowd around, speaking excitedly in slightly more hushed tones. “Messiah...” “The Savior...” “So small...” “Wonderful...”

Joseph leans heavily against the wall. Worn out from traveling and the birth ordeal, he can barely stay conscious, much less understand all that is going on. Maybe it will make more sense in the morning.

One of the shepherds moves excitedly toward the door, saying something about his wife. His absence opens Joseph’s view of the baby’s face. As tired as he is, Joseph can’t help being fascinated by the sight of that face. Tiny eyelids droop, as the child begins to doze again. It’s his boy. His son. No, not yours, a voice whispers in his ear, he will never be yours.

The other shepherds hurry out as Joseph shakes his head. Mary places baby Jesus back in the manger, and Joseph smiles at last. For now, whatever his destiny, this baby is his son. Maybe this night isn’t so horrible after all.

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Did Joseph understand? Did he grasp that the infant Mary laid in the manger had laid the foundations of the earth? The One who had conceived the genetic structure of all life on the planet had conceived Himself in a virgin’s womb. The One whose words had created the universe was now the Word incarnate... and unable to utter a single word.

Infinity as an infant. Omnipotence wrapped in rags. This Christmas... think about the contradictions, the sheer audacity of it all... and remember the Wonder.