Sabbath Devotional :: Journey to Bethlehem
There is so much that I love about the Christmas story. I love the humbleness and innocence, the inconvenience and chaos, the hope and promise. Such an unlikely gathering of people. Mary and Joseph alone in a stable with shepherds and angels in a nearby field and later three kings from a far away place.
Over the years, I have identified with many of the players in the story. I have been the new mother, tired and bewildered but in love with my infant. I have been the good shepherd, abiding with my little flock — feeding them, keeping them warm and safe and counting them every night. I have been the innkeeper trying to find a place for one more person in my overly crowded life. This year I feel a deep love for the three wise men and their journey.
When I think of these people and their camels journeying, I am awed. I know that hundreds of years ago, people were used to setting out without maps. I know they could read the stars and follow a familiar route. I know that they travelled long distances, but still I am impressed by this journey. They likely had other responsibilities that felt more pressing, but they went anyway. There are unwritten volumes about their trip from the East. Did they take enough supplies? Were the camels hearty? Did they find water along the way? Were there dust storms that hid the star? Did they get along with each other? I wonder.
One of my favorite parts of my family’s celebration of Christmas is our own nativity procession. On Christmas Eve, we set out fine china for a dinner of ham, twice-baked potatoes and warm rolls. We drink sparkling cider from long-stemmed glasses and finish with dessert of gingerbread cake topped with whipped cream. Before dinner, we light luminaries, paper bag lanterns, and place them along the sidewalk to mark a path to our front door. Through the windows we can see them twinkling in the darkness.
When the meal ends, we rustle through the dress up collection and pull out scarves, belts, capes and tunics. We adorn ourselves in a mix of bright colors and earthy tans. Then we fill in the gaps with white towels and bathrobes. Once our costumes are set and the last head gear is in place, we congregate in the living room for the walk to the family room couch. In earlier years, my children argued over who would be Mary and Joseph. One year, our son Peter was Baby Jesus in a carseat manger. The missionaries are usually the shepherds.
We open the Bible and the reader begins in Luke. “And it came to pass in those days, that there went out a decree from Caesar Augustus, that all the world should be taxed.” One by one the players process. First Mary and Joseph, often accompanied by our yellow lab. “And Joseph also went up from Galilee, out of the city of Nazareth, into Judea, unto the city of David, which is called Bethlehem. To be taxed with Mary his espoused wife, being great with child.” Then the shepherds begin, followed by and an angel or two.
The reader continues with familiar words, “And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David, a Savior, which is Christ the Lord.” At the end, the wise men arrive carrying painted boxes, gold, burgundy and green. The reader concludes, “And when they were come into the house, they saw the young child with Mary his mother, and fell down, and worshipped him: and when they had opened their treasures, they presented unto him gifts; gold, and frankincense and myrrh.” The wise men place the painted boxes before the baby doll Jesus. Finally, we are all together at the orange couch. We join our voices to sing Away in a Manger and I get teary.
The entire event lasts less than five minutes, but along the way something magical happens to me. We are not transported to Bethlehem. Our costumes are not transformed, but somehow I see the world differently when we are congregated together. My heart opens a little wider and I feel a rush of tenderness. For just a minute or two I am reminded of the parts we often play in each other’s lives as shepherds, angels and wise men and women.
I love that Christ came to us as an infant, much the same as any other baby. I love that his parents weren’t very well prepared, but he came anyway. It sounds like many delivery stories. No one is really prepared for a baby. Most of all, that night in Bethlehem reminds me of the many ways that we are all like Him. We arrive tiny and helpless with the same need for love and security, totally dependent on the goodness of those around us.
We are all travelers somewhere on the road to Bethlehem, some of us believers, some of us skeptics, many of us full of hope and faith. Sometimes we feel lost. Sometimes we can’t see the star, but still we press on.
Christmas is the celebration of our journey toward Bethlehem and the power of love and faith to lead us home. This Christmas I hope you feel the wonder and love that arrived the night that Christ was born in a stable in Bethlehem. I hope you will embrace those traveling with you on this journey. Above all, I hope you will remember that Jesus was born for you.
Stephanie Southwick Cahoon is a member of Mormon Women for Ethical Government
