Reading the story again 4

 Well, here's a how de do!  Plans made for Christmas - and now changed.  A bird ordered for Christmas Day, and now it's the wrong size.   Bubbles negotiated and now abandoned.  It's not fair!!!

This isn't the post I'd been planning all week which is totally appropriate because nothing that anyone has been planning all week will happen.  Boris has spoke and now we're all stuck, and some of us are more stuck than others.  I don't think it was a decision taken lightly and it's a decision which no-one wanted but it is necessary.

Overseas readers may not know that since yesterday we have new rules which mean that Christmas celebrations have to be very small (they weren't allowed to be big before yesterday but for some areas it's just one household now) and even in areas where we can meet it's just one day now, not the four days we had been planning.  Travelling is out for some areas and severely discouraged for others.

Mary and Joseph too must have had very different plans for their whole lives but both of them set aside their personal preferences for the good of all because God had asked them too.  They'd probably planned a quiet life in Nazareth pretty well the same sort of life as their parents and everybody else had.  They would probably have been quite glad not to have travelled first to Bethlehem and then to Egypt.

But it was not to be.  They had to go along with the divine plan and do what was necessary.  They seem to have done what was needed and to have done it graciously.

If you have had to change your plans, I really wish you had been able just to carry on.  The changes to my own plan are comparatively minor and my disappointment is correspondingly small.  I hope, however, that you will still be richly blessed this Christmas.   And if you are a carer or health worker, I thank you from the bottom of my heart that despite 67.000+ deaths, so many of us will still have some sort of a Christmas because of your heroic efforts.  May God bless you.  

Reading the story again 3

I think one of the most chilling things in the news this year has been something called "excess deaths".  What it means is the increase in the death rate this year.  It's not just covid but because people have delayed seeking medical help because they "didn't want to bother the doctor".  It's the result of delayed treatments because the hospital was dealing with too many corona cases.  And, of course, it does include covid cases.  My reading of the Christmas story reminded me of some deaths around the time of that first Christmas.  

When Herod saw that he had been tricked by the wise men, he was infuriated, and he sent and killed all the children in and around Bethlehem who were two years old or under, according to the time that he had learned from the wise men.  

Matthew goes on to talk of Rachel weeping for her children, the victims of an unjust king, children who were in the wrong place at the wrong time.

For some people Christmas is never a happy time of the year because it is the anniversary of the death of someone they love.  For many people this will be the first Christmas without the special someone who has lit up every Christmas until now.  The deaths they remember are all "excess" and the jollity often feels so hollow.  

I can't find the right words to say to you if you are in that group for the simple reason there are no right words.  I say that every year and every year I mean it.  We are all of us so very human and we wish we could say something to make it better but we can't.  Never feel though, that no-one cares. It is more likely that they care so much that they won't patronise you with platitudes.  

I'm joining in "Advent at Home" hosted by Ang at Tracing Rainbows

Reading the story again 2

 I'd always wanted a nativity set.  It couldn't be one of those where the characters are fixed in their places:  it had to be one where I could arrange the figures myself,  And the older I got, the fussier I was about what I wanted.

But several years ago I was in some sort of Christmas shop and I saw a set which had been pushed to one side.  They weren't particularly pretty figures, just black resin, but they had character and I felt sorry for them because they'd been put in a rubbishy place.   The price was about £25 and I didn't feel sorry enough to pay that!  

The shop owner saw me looking and she said, "If you want those you can have them for a fiver.  The donkey and one of the kings have disappeared so no-one wants them."  So I handed over £5 and she packed them.   "Just don't let the vicar see them if he comes for tea" she quipped.   

So I 'fessed up.  "I am a vicar".  You could have knocked her down with a feather. 

I went on to explain that there's no mention of a donkey in the Bible story and although there are three gifts from the Magi, nowhere does it say there were three of them.  So, as far as I am concerned, the set is true to Bible.  I wonder if she went home and looked again at the story?  Knowing the gospels had saved me £20!

This post isn't about saving money though: it's about reading the story.  Over the years there have been traditions attached to it as surely as decorations go on the tree.  Even a "religious" Christmas has its trimmings!  

I'm going to miss quite a few of those trimmings.  I shall miss the lights going out in church and the children singing "Away in a manger" by candle light.  I shall miss hearing Isaiah's great prophecies read in the strong, heavily-accented voice of a Lincolnshire farmer.  I shall miss eating mince pies and drinking mulled wine after a carol service.

All those things are good and normally I just take them for granted as part of Christmas just as surely as the shop owner took a donkey as part of the Christmas story.  This year my Christmas will be stripped of many of its religious customs just as surely as it will be stripped of many other things,  But nothing can strip away that one central truth, "The Word became flesh and lived among us, and we have seen his glory, the glory as of a father’s only son, full of grace and truth."

I'm joining in "Advent at Home" hosted by Ang at Tracing Rainbows

Reading the story again

I've started reading the Christmas story again and, as always, something new hit me this year.

Joseph and Mary travelled to Bethlehem because there was a census and everyone had to go back to the place the family called home so that they could be counted.  Everyone.

My Advent stable waits for its visitors

It should surely have been a family expedition.  And yet there is no mention of any of Joseph and Mary's family being around.   No aunts and uncles seem to have called in.  No cousins visited.  There were shepherds and angels and fancy chaps from the east but family visits?  None.

Was it that family visits were too insignificant for the gospel writers to have recorded?  Did everyone disapprove of the couple so much that they left them alone?  Did the rest of the family not bother to go to Bethlehem to be counted?  I'm sure scholars must have pondered this one over the years but it is this year that it has really struck me.  

For me Christmas Day will be the same as it has been these last eleven years since I retired.  I'll go to church (first time since March!) then it's home for a quiet day alone.  But for others it will be the year when they don't meet up with their extended family, when they have to see their grandchildren's faces on a screen.  We had our usual street meeting on Thursday and all the other households would normally be travelling to stay with their children and grandchildren but they all feel it would be too risky so we all got quite excited when we decided to have a street meet-up at 6pm Christmas Eve.  (I'm even planning to put jingle bells on my mobility scooter for the occasion!)  We're all valuing little things which would normally be very unimportant.  

But don't forget that little threesome who spent that first Christmas in Bethlehem.  Maybe they too were wishing that granny and grandad could have been around.

Don't forget to check Tracing Rainbows for other "Thoughts" in the "Advent at Home" 

Meeting a Prophet

Many years ago when I was still in my old parishes I took a Christingle service.  We always had Christingle on Christmas Eve and it was always very popular.  Parents wanted their children to hear the real meaning of Christmas and they wanted them to hear it from the vicar in church.  If the vicar was prepared to entertain their kids on Christmas Eve when they were as high as kites, most parents thought that was a brilliant idea.  And everybody wanted to join in singing “Away in a manger” by candlelight.  It was a high spot of Christmas for quite a few people.

All those of you who have been to a Christingle will know that although it’s a service which everybody enjoys, it’s really a service for children.  So I was a little concerned when a rather dishevelled man came in about three minute before the start, took off his shoes and socks and started to warm his feet in front of the gas fire.  These days strange men wandering in to children’s services are inevitably regarded with a certain amount of suspicion.  I went across to talk to him but he wasn’t in a mood for a chat so I started the service anyway.

He sat there throughout the service with his feet to the fire and his back to me.  Even when the children came forward to receive their Christingles and they were all standing in the aisles he didn’t want to move.  He sat there as families left and he sat there as people all around him chatted.  It was obvious that he would have stayed there all night so I had a word with a big strapping soldier on leave and asked if he would mind coming with me if I offered to take the chap to the shelter in Lincoln.  It was OK by him so I thought I’d solved the problem.

Except that the man didn’t want to go.

By this time all the children had gone but there were a lot of adults left in church, bless their hearts, because they didn’t want to leave me on my own with the man but I really hadn’t got a clue what to do next.  I’m a single woman living alone and I didn’t want to take him home with me.   I knew the churchwardens wouldn’t agree to leaving the man in church and nobody seemed to have any ideas at all.  Stalemate.

Then one of the men stepped forward and I was a bit surprised that he was in his shirt sleeves.  He’d taken off his jacket and he put it around the stranger’s shoulders saying, “That’ll keep you warm and there’s some cash in the pocket too.”  Then the floodgates opened and the pockets were filled with rather crackly gifts but after a few gifts the chap stopped us giving him more saying he’d got enough now.  He’d probably been given about £70 to £80 which is hardly a fortune. 

Somehow, though, the atmosphere relaxed.  One or two more people left the church and a woman prison officer had a word with the man and then took him home with her to have some hot soup.  Another man had a word and discovered that the man didn’t want to go to Lincoln but he’d got friends in Scunthorpe so he arranged to take him.  I breathed a sigh of relief, bade farewell to the stragglers and went home.

But the memory of that night will never leave me for that night I think I met a prophet.  Prophets aren’t fortune tellers.  They’re not really into predicting the future.  What prophets do is to make us look at the present and see it for what it really is and more important make us see ourselves for what we really are.

We’d all gone to church that night to celebrate the birth of Christ.  We were all good Christian folk and I’m pretty sure that all of us had made our charitable donations in the run up to Christmas.  We’d  all heard the bidding prayer which reminded us  that because this of all things would rejoice his heart, we should remember, in his name, the poor and helpless, the cold, the hungry, and the oppressed; the sick and them that mourn, the lonely and the unloved. 

We’d all heard that and we thought we were all good Christian people.  We’d done our bit and there are systems and charities in place to care for everybody.  It took a stranger to remind us that Christ did not come to bring systems but to bring love.  The stranger reminded us whilst Christ loves all humanity he also loves each human and asks us to love and care in his name.  He was pretty low down in the social heap but he had friends and he had preferences even if it was just to go to Scunthorpe not Lincoln and no, I didn’t know what was best for him

John the Baptist was a prophet in the wilderness of Judaea.  May we recognise God’s prophets wherever we find them. 

(I'm linking with Tracing Rainbows Pause in Advent.  Sorry I didn't post anything last week.)

Being prepared (Pause in Advent 1)

These days getting up is quite a leisurely affair.  I get out of bed fairly early sometime after 4am.  This morning I had a lie in to 5am but then I put on my dressing gown, settled down in my chair while snuggling under a throw and I read e mails and blogs, had some quiet time and roughly planned my day.  I'd have scrambled eggs for breakfast.   I would go to Caistor Church for the 10.15 service then come home and do some work on Christmas presents.  

But at a quarter to nine the phone rang.  One of the village clergy was ill and could I help out? 

Errr, yes.  Any vicar asking for help a mere two hours before a service should start is desperate!  Fortunately I've been in ministry for well over thirty years so I've got lots of material on file. I could easily pull up the readings and other materials for today.  I asked the vicar if I could read an extract from my book  instead of preaching and told her to rest and not worry.

As soon as I put the phone down I had a panic stricken word with the Almighty!  I found the propers (church term for the "proper" readings and prayers for the day) and printed them out along with a story from my book.  I had the planned scrambled eggs and still had space for a rather longer time of prayer.

And the service went well, thank God.  It was the usual small village congregation of about a dozen people and together we started Advent, the time of preparation for God's great gift of his Son.  We lit the first candle on the Advent wreath and remembered those people who long ago waited for Messiah.  I felt quite well prepared to lead worship.

The real purpose of Advent is looking toward the coming of Jesus, just as the patriarchs of long ago did and like Mary, pregnant as is the woman depicted in my statuette.  Each week in this season we hear the Old Testament promises and we look for his coming in our lives.

Thirty-odd years of ministry have left me well prepared to answer emergency calls for help like the one I had today.  These next few weeks are time for looking at my life and preparing to greet Jesus  whenever and wherever he comes.  It's unlikely to be in a manger in Bethlehem but he will be in everyone I meet whether it's a child, a homeless man, a lady with dementia, a sick vicar or anyone else for whom he came.

I'm joining in with Pause in Advent at Tracing Rainbows.  Usually I've had a theme when I've done this but I haven't a clue where my Pauses will go this year!

Closer to home

Last week's nativity set had come from far across the world, maybe from Peru, maybe from Ecuador but this week it is from very close to home, from a charity in my own small town, the Rock Foundation. 

The Rock Foundation provides services for young people and adults with learning disabilities.  They aim to help service users to develop skills and improve their quality of life.  I bought this simple nativity to support their work.

And that's what is what makes this scene special for this week.  We hear a lot of criticism of the commercialism of Christmas but commercialism has never managed to push out the message that Christmas is a special time for remembering those who are in need.  I noticed that the collection bin for items for the foodbank was full when I went to Tesco and was told it had been emptied already that day and that only happens in the run-up to Christmas.  "Caistor cares" is having its extra special tea party this afternoon.  Our local Lions are distributing hampers and they've already taken many older people to the panto.  Many people will have sent donations to charity

My prayers this week are based on words from the Service of Nine Lessons and Carols.

"And because this of all things would rejoice his heart, let us remember, in his name, the poor and helpless, the cold, the hungry, and the oppressed; the sick and them that mourn, the lonely and the unloved, the aged and the little children; all those who know not the Lord Jesus, or who love him not, or who by sin have grieved his heart of love."

From lands afar

I love nativity sets!  I used to have even more of them than I do now and even now I can display only a few each Christmas.  I haven't had this one out for several years and yet I think it is lovely.

Some time ago when I was blogging about the Christmas story someone commented that the characters I wrote about (angels, Mary, Joseph) were very British.  It wasn't a criticism: my commenter was saying that for her as an American I had brought a new dimension to the story and she was enjoying it.  It's also very true: Jesus was born thousands of years ago in a land thousands of miles from my home but he is born anew every year (every day!) in every land.  In my mind the lamb he is offered is a Lincoln Longwool but it could equally be a Pelibuey from South America.

So here is one of my nativity sets, this time from South America, Peru I think, and it is so different from all the others that I have.  These are definitely peasant figures from a country other than my own

And it's there to remind me not just of South America but of lands throughout the world where Christ's message of peace is heard and where there is need for it to be heard.  May Christ be born anew in every waiting heart, wherever that heart beats.

I'm joining in with Pause in Advent hosted by Tracing Rainbows.

Waiting

When I brought out my Advent calendar/stable yesterday, I also put out this figurine.  It's just a pregnant woman.  Any pregnant woman.  She's faceless but in her there is a sense of waiting, of anticipation.  She is Everywoman.  She comes out every Advent, the season which starts today (even though most Advent calendars started yesterday).  

On Friday I had lunch with a friend and as soon as we had ordered food she took out her phone and showed me photographs of her first grandchild, born last week.  Her heart was filled with love and pride.  This baby has been born from and into love.  Nuala will grow up secure and loved.

How did Mary feel? I really don't know. That's partly because I have never had children but it's also because her's was a unique pregnancy.  I think it may have been quite a lonely pregnancy too.  Eventually Joseph had his dream and so understood something of God's plan but Mary had disgraced herself in the eyes of most people around her.  Unwed and expectant, not a good combination in those days.  We call the coming of Jesus "good news" but I doubt if it was met with unmixed joy in that family.

Still today not all births in our world are anticipated with unmixed joy.  Sometimes there are just too many mouths to feed already.  Sometimes there is a high risk of birth defect or stillbirth.  Even today some pregnancies are hidden for shame.  Some women just don't want to be mothers.

My prayers this week are for all families in which a child will soon be born.  May they all know joy and wonder and love through their children.

I'm joining in with "Pause in Advent" hosted by Tracing Rainbows.  

Feeling excited

I haven't been around much in Blogland but I haven't been entirely idle.  I've had a crack at publishing on Kindle!  

You can find Teabreak in the Archangels' Restroom on Amazon.  I'd better come clean though - most of the material has been on this blog over the last few years.  I'm still quite excited though!

Mary's ponderings

I'm joining in with Pause for Advent hosted by Tracing rainbows.  This year I am looking at the events of Advent through the eyes of four people who saw them all those 2000 years ago.  I have thought about Ann (Jesus's granny, Mary's mum), Joseph and Elizabeth and today Mary is having her two pennorth.

I don’t know whether I’m on my head or my heels but I do know that I am very tired.  I’m so tired that I don’t know what to do with myself.

We’ve been on the road for three days now and it will be another four days at least until we reach Bethlehem.  We’ve got to go to Bethlehem because the emperor wants to count us.  Crazy!

These last nine months have been frightening.  I always thought it would be fantastic to be special to God but sometimes I’ve felt as though I was living through a nightmare.  It was OK all those months ago when that angel came. In fact it was more than OK, it was brilliant!  I suppose I was swept along by the moment but you know, even after everything that’s been happening, I’m still glad I said yes.  I was a bit scared but you can’t say no to God, can you?  But when the angel had gone reality set in.

The mornings were worst.  That’s when I was being sick.  At first I didn’t know why but before long I realised that the angel had been no dream.  I was expecting a baby.

I’ll never forget the day I told my mum about the baby.  It was awful.  She wept and she shouted at me and she pleaded with me to name the father but when I named The Father she wouldn’t believe me.  She hadn’t seen the angel so why should she?  She thought some man had been with me. 

Then she told my dad and that was even worse.  I think I’ve always been special to him and he was stunned.  He couldn’t speak to me or even look at me.  He was just so ashamed of me.

Then he had to tell Joseph.  I think he hoped that Joseph was the father but no-one knew better than Joe that he wasn’t.  My lovely Joe.  How could I hurt him so much?  He was distraught but he loves me so much that although he wouldn’t marry me he wouldn’t make a song and dance about it.

Then he had his dream and that changed everything.  At last someone believed me.  I wasn’t alone any longer.  Someone else was in on God’s plan.

He went to see my mum and dad again and told them he had changed his mind again and he wanted to marry me and he thought it would be a good idea if we were wed as soon as possible before people started to notice me so that’s what we did.  Then we went to see Elizabeth so I could help her while she had her baby.  Aunt Lizzie has always been a bit snooty and I knew she wouldn’t pass by on the opportunity to lord it over me.  Her baby was a special gift from God too as quite honestly she was past it.  Anyway, Joe came with me to hold my hand and help me face the music. 

You could have knocked me down with a feather when she came rushing out of the house shouting, “Who am I that the mother of my Lord should come and visit me?” 

And that changed me too.  When my angel had told me what was going to happen all I could say was, “OK, whatever God wants is fine by me”.  But went Aunt Lizzie was like that it suddenly seemed like it would be all right and I started shouting too,  "My soul glorifies the Lord and my spirit rejoices in God my Saviour”. 

I stayed with Aunt Lizzie for quite a few weeks.  We got really close and maybe when my baby is born he’ll be able to spend time with her boy.  Joe went home but came and fetched me back and we started our married life together.  My mum and dad don’t know what to make of it all but we’re happy, they’re happy.  Sort of.

But now we’ve got to go on this journey to Bethlehem and that’s where my baby will be born.  I’d hoped I could have been at home with my mum to help me but it will have to be with strangers.  Nothing seems to be easy when you are part of God’s plan but maybe he’s got it all worked out.

Getting it wrong

I'm joining in  with "A Pause in Advent" which being hosted by Tracing Rainbows and I am looking at the time of waiting for Jesus's birth through the eyes of four different people.  This week it's Elizabeth the mother of John the Baptist and you can read about her and Zechariah (her husband) in Luke 1.

It was a good job that Zechariah had been struck dumb before I told him that young Mary was coming to stay.  We’ve always been good godly people but ever since I got pregnant he’s had a bee in his bonnet about an angel telling him that our baby will be something a bit special.  It’s a miracle that I’m expecting at my age and that’s special enough for me but he’s gone a bit OTT.

Anyway when I said that Ann had suggested that Mary could come and give me a hand in my last few weeks before our baby is born you could see he was torn two ways.  On the one hand he thought that I needed a bit of help from another woman but he wasn’t happy about it being Mary.  She has persuaded Joseph to marry her but she was in the family way before that and the gossip is that it’s not Joe’s kid so our Mary isn’t the most respectable company a woman could have.  Fortunately, whilst I’ve been expecting Zechariah can’t say no to me, (in fact he can’t say anything) so Mary came.

Now I’ve got to be honest.  I’m not proud of this but I thought Mary would be easy to boss around a bit.  She always was an obliging sort of girl and I thought that she should be very grateful to me for taking her in.  After all, by the time she goes back to Nazareth the gossip will have died down and she can get on with married life with Joe, so really I’d be doing her a favour.  Or so I thought.  I thought she could do all the cleaning, washing and heavy stuff.  She could fetch the water.  She could wait on any guests who came to visit our baby.  She wouldn’t need paying and she should be grateful that we took her in.  The more I thought about it the more I liked the idea and you could see Zechariah coming round to my way of thinking.

So I was looking forward to her coming and kept watching out for her so the easier times could start.  Joseph was coming with her to make sure she was OK and I kept looking down the road for the first sight of them.  Eventually there she was, looking dusty and a bit dishevelled so I sat down ready to queen it over her.

I could never have expected what would come next.  The baby gave me an almighty kick like I’ve never known and suddenly I was filled with a huge sense that I’d been getting it wrong.  Somehow the baby let me know that he was excited and happy that Mary had come and even more he was over the moon about her baby.  Zechariah was struck dumb when he got his message from God but all I could do was shout out, “Who am I that the mother of my Lord has come to me?”  I couldn’t believe that I was saying that but I knew it was true.  He is Lord and who am I?   I’m excited about my baby but now I’m excited about Mary’s too.  Somehow I knew that it didn’t matter who I have been - her baby is extra-special and he's going to make me different.

Joe's dream

This year in Pause for Advent I'm looking at those few months before Jesus was born through the eyes of four people.  Unlike last weeks "observer", my thoughts are from a character who is in the Bible - Joseph.  

Dear Mary

I never thought I would ever write a letter like this but, will you marry me?  I know it looks as though I’ve just blurted that out, which I have, but I’ve never been more sure of anything than that I want to marry you.

These last few days have been a real roller coaster.  When I first heard your news I couldn’t believe it.  I thought I was the first in your heart, just as you are in mine and when you told me that you are pregnant I was beside myself but I knew I didn’t want you to have to face public shame  like Miriam did when Elihu found out she was going to have a baby.  I felt so hurt when you told me and then when you told me that crazy story about an angel all I could feel for you was contempt.  It seemed as though you wouldn’t trust me with the truth and you would just tell me fairy stories.

I went to see your dad.  He was so ashamed that he didn’t know what to say to me.  He understood completely that we wouldn’t be getting married and he was so grateful that I didn’t want to disgrace you.  He even thought I was the generous one!  Let’s face it; I thought I was the generous one.  Big hearted me, making things easier for sluttish you - Oh Mary, I’m sorry, how could I ever have thought that?

But last night I had a dream.  I’ve never been one for dreams.  I’ve always thought they were just indigestion but this one was amazing.  You had told me about your angel and I hadn’t believed you, but there was no disbelieving this one.  I can’t describe it but when I woke up I knew that what you had said about your angel was true.  I knew that I had to marry you.  In fact I knew there was nothing in the world I wanted more than to marry you.  Mary, will you marry me?  I’m sorry that I disbelieved you, that I said those terrible things to you.  My heart is filled with love like I’ve never known before.   All I want is to marry you.

I don’t know what will become of this.  The angel told me to call the child Jesus because he will save his people like Joshua did.  I’m not sure yet if I can believe that but let's call him Jesus anyway.  I thought your baby had brought the end to our love but he’s making me love like never before.  I’ll go and see your dad again today and see if we can get married really quickly.  People might still snigger about the shortest pregnancy on record but let them snigger: love is more important than that.  This baby is teaching me a new way of loving.

Mary, will you marry me?

Granny

I'm joining in with Pause for Advent at Tracing Rainbows and this year for Advent I want to look through the eyes of four different people.  We don’t actually know what any of them were doing for much of the time and we don’t really even know the name of today's person but we know that she must have existed for she is Mary’s mother, Jesus’s granny.  The Bible doesn’t mention her or her husband but there is an apocryphal gospel which says they were called Joachim and Ann so Ann seems as good a name as any and that’s the name I’m going to use during Advent.  Today it’s Ann’s thoughts from some time a few months before Jesus was born. 

  

Mary, my Mary, how could you?  I always thought that of all my children you were the least likely to bring disgrace on the family.  And now you have done the worst thing you could.  I can’t believe it of you.

And you have lied to me.  You who were always close to me and we always shared secrets.  I thought you would tell me everything.  I didn’t know that there was a man in your life apart from Joseph, and even now you won’t tell me his name.  You just give me some silly story about an angel.  Angels don’t appear to ordinary people like us and angels certainly don't put girls in the family way!  Did some man deceive you with a holy story?  Was that it? 

My first thought was that it was Joseph but he says it wasn’t.  Oh Mary, how much you have hurt him!  He’s a good man, he’d have been a good husband, but you can’t expect him to take on soiled goods and another man’s child.

Did we protect you too much?  I can’t think we did for you were always with the other girls of your age but their mothers won’t want them to be near you now.  I daren’t think what will happen to you.  There are plenty of men who will think you fair game and we can’t protect you for ever.

Your father is really upset and I can hardly get him to talk about it at all but Joseph came to see him yesterday.  Joe is such a good man, he’s trying to understand why you would betray him like this and he still loves you, despite everything.  He’s not going to expose you to public disgrace and make a fuss about breaking off the engagement but he’ll let it quietly drop.  That’s really kind of him and better than we could have hoped for.  But Mary, why won’t you tell us the truth about who it was?  The father should take responsibility.

I’ve been thinking.  You remember Elizabeth?  Well she’s expecting a baby too.  She’s only got a few weeks to go and I think she could probably do with a bit of help. You could go to her. No-one there will know you and you needn’t tell them you are an unmarried mother.  Elizabeth is a good woman and she’ll talk Zechariah round to letting you stay – he’s so excited that he’s going to be a dad after all these years she can twist him around her little finger!

Oh Mary, I’d always thought that becoming a granny would be so exciting and such a happy time, not like this.  I can’t forgive whoever did this to you.  He should be here with you.  It’s the father’s responsibility.

The shepherd who was late

Last week my American penfriend commented on the other blog that her grandaughter had broken a shepherd from the nativity set and although a new one had been ordered it meant that they were having a variation on the bible story because the shepherd would arrive after the magi.  I sent this story but as I did only three “pauses” during Advent I’ve decided to add this one.

The shepherd who was late

I was pretty cross that night.  First of all something woke me up.  I always feel a bit ratty when I get woken out of a deep sleep and whoever it was woke me also decided that it might be a good idea to sing to me.  They were wrong.  It was a bad idea.

And it wasn’t just one guy who was singing: it was a whole crowd of them and boy were they loud!  “Glory to God in the highest and peace, good will to all men.” 

Well, I suppose that was better than my brother's usual version of the dawn chorus but anything would be better than that.  Somehow though the light was even brighter than it usually is when I wake up and I really couldn’t look.  The singing went on and on and they were going on about a baby born in Bethlehem.  So what?  Babies are born every day.  And about this being the Saviour we’ve been waiting for.  Yeah, right.

Anyway, the light suddenly faded and the singing stopped and it was quiet again and I was ready to go to sleep but the others had obviously decided that it was a good time for a chat.  Idiots.  Then, would you believe it, they decided to go into Bethlehem to see this baby.  Oh wonderful – not!

No way was I going to get up and go down to Bethlehem.  Forget it.  I need my sleep. 

Anyway off they went to Bethlehem and off I went to sleep.

The next morning they were full of it.  They’d seen the baby and his mother and they were in a manger in a cave near the pub just like the voice had said.  They kept going on and on about it.  I got fed up and couldn’t stand it any longer so I went to watch the sheep.

But, you know, they had made me curious.  I didn’t want to know – but I did want to know.  Torn apart I was.

A couple of weeks later it was my day off and I decide to go to Bethlehem.  I needed to see a few people and when I’d finished I went to the Lamb and Flag for a pint.  Or five.

A few hours later I sort of rolled out of the pub and was about to go home when I saw a lantern burning in a field and I could hear voices.  It sounded as though it could be a party so I went over to check it out. 

You have never seen anything like it.  There were camels and pack mules and various servants hanging around and over near the cave there were some fancy looking chaps.  Well, you have to see what’s happening, don’t you?  So over I went and guess what?  They were looking at the baby too.  They’d brought some very fancy presents.  Gold (always acceptable), frankincense which will keep the flies away, and myrrh which will be very handy when the baby starts to cut his teeth.

And so I looked at what had made my mates drool, at what had made these strangers travel hundreds of miles and all there was - was a baby.  But you know what?  He looked at me and he smiled.

You know I think I am the luckiest man in the world.  I saw the strangers, the baby smiled at me, and I didn’t lose my sleep that night.  My mates saw the baby first, but I reckon I did pretty well too.

What on earth?

It’s over forty years ago now but I’ll never forget that night.

It’s pretty cold out in the fields at that time of year but somebody has to be out there keeping an eye on the sheep.  There’s always a wolf about and at that time there were hundreds of strangers about for that census.  I never trust strangers and I wouldn’t have put it past that lot to have nicked a sheep for supper.  Anyway there were just four of us; me, my brother Reuben, and Seth and Ben our cousins. 

It was just gone midnight so we’d got the sheep settled in the fold and we were all of us dozing by the fire.  In fact I think I’d actually nodded off.  Suddenly it was all very light.  Well sometimes you get a flare up of the fire but that would barely last a second and this was much brighter and it went on.  Then there was a voice and I was definitely awake with my hand to my stick ready to fight off any thief.

It was no thief.  I just couldn’t see what it was because the light was so bright but it would be a very odd thief who would sing “Glory to God in the highest and on earth peace, good will towards men”. 

Reuben wanted to take charge but he could hardly speak.  No, whoever had that voice was definitely in in charge.  And he’d brought his mates and they were singing so loud that Reuben wouldn’t have been heard anyway.  All we could do was cower and listen.  The voice went on about a baby being born down in Bethlehem and that this baby would become the Main Man promised by God.  We were supposed to go down into Bethlehem to see him and we’d find him in a manger.

Just as suddenly as the light had come, it went but by this time all four of us were wide awake.  For a while none of us could speak but somehow we all knew that the sheep were going to have to be left.  We had to go to Bethlehem. 

Anyway, off we went down the hill.  I have to admit that we felt better when we saw that the light had moved to just over the pub but as we got closer we realised that it wasn’t at the pub – it was behind the pub near a cave in a field.  Pity that, I think we could all have done with a bit of Dutch courage.

Anyway, we went to the cave and it was just like the voice had said.  Just a woman and her baby, curled up together in a manger.  Nothing remarkable.  Just a woman and her baby and the old man watching them.

And I know that this sounds daft but the remarkable thing is that it was so unremarkable.  Young women have babies every day.  Husbands look stunned when it’s happened.  It was the light outside which should have been so remarkable and to this day I can’t explain it.

But, you know, the light didn’t mean anything at all.  It was the baby.  So ordinary.  Nothing special.  But somehow I knew things would never be the same again for me.  I can’t explain it; you’ll just have to take my word for it.  Nothing has been the same since that night.

Time gentlemen please.

What is it about those Romans?  They can organise an Empire but can they organise a census?  Whose bright idea was it to say that everyone had to go to their own city?  Bethlehem is heaving with those who claim to be descended from King David.  Ye gods, the man had eight wives and heaven-knows-how-many concubines resulting in at least nineteen sons.  And that was a thousand years ago so there’s plenty of descendants.

And when I say heaving, I mean heaving.   There have been people arriving for days.  I keep the pub here and my rooms here are more than full and everyone’s had to double or treble up.  The little ’uns  have had to come in with me and Hagar, my old woman.  I sent the kids out to everyone I could think of trying to find extra rooms for the travellers.  Everyone’s been trying to help but it’s impossible. 

And then really late a couple came, “Have you got a room we could have?”  I just laughed in his face but Hagar came out while they were there and she took one look at the woman, well more of a girl really, and she dragged me on one side and she started on at me.  “What did I think I was doing?  Couldn’t I see that the lass was obviously near her time?” 

Of course I could see she was near her time but what could I do about it?  Every room is full, and really the girl could do with a bit of privacy.  Her old man doesn’t look too much use but if it’s his first he has my sympathy.  It’s only a couple of months since Hagar had Joel, our eighth and I know things get a bit tense.

Anyway, Hagar had a bright idea.  There’s a cave near the field where we keep our stock.  It’s not brilliant but it’s better than a bivouac.  Hagar got the kids to find some straw bales and they made a makeshift shelter just the other side of the manger.

And I’ve kept the bar running.  It was very busy as all the travellers came for a pint and a yarn.

My mind kept running to that cave though and that young lass.  What a way to have a baby!  Different from our Joel.  Our Joel will be all right.  He just needs to stay out of the way of the Romans and that puppet Herod. 

That lass will have her baby tonight, no doubt about that.  It’s definitely her time. 

When will it be our time?  When will we get a king as great as David?  One day he will come.  We’ve been promised. 

When will it truly be time, gentlemen, please?

Tea Break in the Archangels' Restroom

It was tea break in the archangels’ rest room and it’s no use you telling me that archangels don’t have tea breaks and they don’t have rest rooms.  This is my story and I’m telling you that it was tea break in the archangels’ rest room.  

As always Raphael was there first.  It wasn’t that Raphael was work shy and knocked off first; rather it was that Raphael was the caring sort and he liked to get the kettle on ready for the others to come.  That way he could listen to their problems as they came, soothe their brows and generally do what he was best at - healing.

There was a loud rustling of wings in the corridor, the door was flung open wide and there was Michael.  One glance was enough to tell Raphael that Michael wasn’t having a good day.  Michael had very few very good days.  He was in charge of the winged squadrons and some of those cherubs were enough to try the most patient angel’s patience and no-one could call Michael the most patient angel.  Hot tea with an extra sugar and one of those nice chocolate biscuits wrapped in silver paper was Raphael’s prescription. 

Michael flopped into one of the best armchairs, hugged the cuppa like his life depended on it, gave a deep sigh and closed his eyes.  “Heaven preserve me from cherubs.”  Raphael made suitably sympathetic noises and they settled into a companionable silence.    Nothing needed to be said and they could just contemplate the infinite, which they were quite good at, as you might guess.

After a while Michael asked where Gabriel was and Raphael said that he hadn’t poured his tea as he’d heard that Big G had sent Gabriel on a job and you just never knew how long Big G’s jobs would take.  Michael nodded and once again silence fell on the rest room as they just enjoyed each other’s company – well wouldn’t you enjoy the company of angels? 

And then Gabriel arrived.  He looked so pale that the other two didn’t speak.  Raphael pressed into his hands a cup of strong tea which somehow smelled a bit spiritual, if you get my drift.  He took a huge gulp and then he spoke.  “You’ll never guess what Big G has had me doing today.”  The other two didn’t even try as they knew from long experience that second guessing Big G was beyond anyone, even an archangel.

“He’s only sent me down to earth to tell a slip of a girl called Mary that she’s going to be the mother of his son.  She’s only fifteen.  She lives in first century Palestine.  And she really hasn’t a clue.”

Michael spoke first.  “Is she married?  First century Palestine – that’s occupied by the Romans isn’t it?  And is that creep Herod still on the throne?”

Raphael wasn’t far behind with his questions.  “There won’t be a proper hospital.  And if it’s her first she won’t know how to look after it.  And she won’t have anywhere to live.  Poor little thing.”

Gabriel answered as briefly as he could.  Not married.  Palestine. Roman occupied.  Herod is still the puppet king.  Her first kid.

Michael was the first to recover.  “Not again.  You know what Big G is like.  He dishes out the decrees but leaves us to sort out the details.  You remember when he wanted do part the Red Sea but left it to us to organise the fish tanks or we’d have had a lot of extinct fish that day.  Or sorting the supper for those lions as a thank you for not eating Daniel.  Well, this will give those cherubs something to do at last.  Should put some backbone in them.  I’ll get the winged squadrons in.  Kick the Romans out of Palestine.  Find a better king for Jerusalem.

Raphael had been thinking as well.  “We’d better build a very quick twenty first century hospital.  And organise parent craft classes.  And I’ll get a few cherubs to volunteer to clean a new house for her and set up the best nursery ever.”

By this time Gabriel was beginning to look a bit better.  Not good mind, but better.  “Don’t worry about the unmarried bit.  I’ll leave it for a week or two and then go and see this old man called Joseph and tell him to marry the girl.   He’s a bit old for her but I suppose he’ll take good care of her.  Better that than a toy boy, anyway.  And maybe I should get the kid’s name down for Eton whilst I’m at it”

And so the three archangels started to plan how to improve on Big G’s plan. 

But just then the golden telephone rang.  Gabriel was the nearest so he picked it up.  Immediately he was alert and very respectful.  “Oh yes, your Almightiness.  Yes, sir.  We were just talking.  . . .  Oh, you heard us.  Of course you did.  And we made plans.  Oh you made plans too.  And your plans weren’t like ours.  You want us to . . . . what?  You’re sure.  Well if you’re absolutely sure, sir.  Well, yes sir, you know best.  Thank you, sir.”

He turned to the other two.  “That was Big G.  He says we’re to forget organising a coup to get rid of the Romans and replace Herod.  We’re to withdraw the planning application for the hospital and stand down the cherubs from spring cleaning.  He says that his son is to be just as vulnerable as the poorest of them.  To have parents as inadequate as most of them are.  To be born among the poorest and to grow up among the commonest of them.  In fact he’s going to know suffering and grief like them.  That way, no matter what those humans go through they’ll know that God understands and is right there beside them.”