What if Bethlehem hospitality was not quite as we pictured it?
Welcome, Mary!
The spare room is full with your kin—
Come to the hearth, we’ve a fire kindled
And bread for your strength.
Welcome, midwives!
Even you, with your sly glance of doubt,
Attending the doorway of heaven—
Come and be healed.
Welcome, mighty one!
We’ve made the manger bed—
Come, cloud of glory,
Fill the tent of his new lungs.
Welcome, merrymakers!
Angel-graced, star-placed,
Sing the child and his lusty cry—
Come, be at home with us.
Was Jesus born in a stable? A cave? The animal-friendly family room of a first century home, as some scholars suggest? The Scriptures are silent on many points we fill in with tradition or imagination. In some ways, it doesn’t matter—the manger was filled. Our nativity scenes are icons of theological truth, not mere historical reenactments, and the story is larger than any one setting. But this poem considers the possibility that Bethlehem did extend a sweet, if not rugged, hospitality, to the holy family.
Christ comes to our imperfect homes and makeshift beds, amidst hovering aunts and mumbling midwives, midnight guests and foreigners at the door. Into the squeezing and confusion and not-enough-ness, there’s always room for one more humble heart. There’s always healing. There’s always home—because he is here.
Merry Christmas!
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