An angel appears in a cave near Bethlehem, and an ordinary night is ordinary no longer
The tools of his trade were unremarkable: a wide-bladed chisel, a small handsaw whose handle and teeth both were pounded from the same piece of iron, a couple of gouges. Upon a small earthen table jutting from one wall of his square, earthen home in Nazareth lay a large draw knife, some axes, and a couple of heavy, iron-headed hammers.
As he labored in the small dwelling, notching sockets into an oak beam that soon would be plowing a nearby field, the carpenter paused to take a long drink
of water from a large clay cup. Joseph’s eyes narrowed as he stood appraising his work, deep in thought. He was not at all happy about the trip he would be making in the morning. It couldn’t have come at a worse time…
In those days a decree went out from Caesar Augustus that the whole world shall be enrolled. This was the first enrollment, when Qurinius was governor of Syria. So all went to be enrolled, each to his own town. And Joseph too went up from Galilee from the town of Nazareth to Judea, to the city of David that is called Bethlehem, because he was of the house and family of David, to be enrolled with Mary, his betrothed, who was with child. (Luke 2:1 – 5)
Though the census to which Luke refers in his Gospel is believed to have occurred before Christ’s time, there is little doubt that some kind of Roman roll call did bring Joseph and Mary to Bethlehem at the time of Jesus’s birth. And, in those days, it was no inconsequential undertaking to get from Nazareth to Bethlehem. Smack in the middle of Palestine lay Samaria, and the enmity between Judeans and Samaritans — in spite of their worshiping the same God — dated back to the days of Solomon’s reign. A trip to Bethlehem from Nazareth, then, required a circuitous detour around Samaria, east almost as far as the Sea of Galilee, then down to Jericho and back to Jerusalem before turning southward to Bethlehem. All told, it was a journey of some 150 miles. At a rate ten to fifteen miles a day, with a pregnant woman no less, Joseph had his work cut out for him.
Just before dawn on the morning of the trip, he probably strapped a goatskin filled with water with a splash of wine to the donkey, just behind the homespun woolen blankets where Mary would sit. When she grew weary, he reasoned, she could lie back on it and doze. A spare pair of sandals for each of them would be tucked away in the donkey’s rucksacks. Such footgear was simply made and easily repaired: leather cutouts with thonged fasteners were held together by tiny hobnails about the sizes of heavy-duty staples. Their food for the journey was basic fare, the same items they’d ordinarily eat at home in Nazareth: flatbread made with either wheat or barley flour, some olives, plump figs, perhaps a bit of fish — dried so it wouldn’t spoil during the trip.
A hollow, dried gourd dangled from the donkey’s rigging, at the ready to pull up fresh water from the next village well. They likely set out on a Sunday to avoid being delayed by the Sabbath rest, which confined Jews in those days to journeys of about a mile. Joseph carried a staff for self-defense, lest they be caught on the road after dark, waylaid by bandits from the hills.
They would plod along this way, following well-traveled roads busy with merchants astride camels, tourists on foot and on donkeys, grim-faced Roman soldiers, traders driving ox carts — and still other travelers, like themselves, complying with the census edict. Day after day, regardless of weather, the journey continued in almost meditative, swaying monotony. Joseph no doubt felt a great urgency to get his little family to Bethlehem before Mary delivered the baby. As they walked, they may well have shared their concerns with one another, he seeking to reassure that all would be well.
The rainy season was just ending as they set out, and the journey was mercifully dustless and no doubt a picturesque one: junipers sprouting fresh and fragrant; oak trees of every imaginable sort, some as tall as 65 feet high, majestically showing new leaves. Carobs, cypress, and terebinths, however, began to dot the landscape as they moved ever closer to the Dead Sea. As the wilderness broke, grassy plains appeared, filled with brushwood and olive trees, vineyards and scrubby herbs that lushly spread their foliage across the rich reddish brown soil. As the couple approached Jericho, they surely found sweet calamus, fig and pomegranate trees in abundance. It was a potentially cheering sight, such was its beauty.
And so the donkey’s measured footsteps covered the miles. More than a week passed. On about the ninth or tenth day, heading westward on the main road to Jerusalem — built of large 
rectangular quarry stones, some three foot by two foot in dimension, stacked end to end, mile after mile — the couple could sense that the time was drawing near with each click of the donkey’s hooves on the wide stone road. Mary’s labor pains probably began as they left the main road and turned south, somewhere between Jerusalem and Bethlehem, a distance of about 5 miles. No wonder, then, that Joseph was so eager to find them a place at the inn.
Now there were shepherds in that region living in their fields and keeping night watch over their flock. Luke (2:8)
Even today the Bedouin camp in the rocky caves that occupy the verdant foothills rolling in Bethlehem’s shadow. In those days, their flocks teemed with fat-tailed sheep, nimble goats, and an occasional donkey. Fescue, couch grass, and even dandelions kept the animals well-fed while the shepherds gathered in the caves playing their flutes, discussing herbal remedies, telling stories, and sharing meals. As night fell, a scratching of flint marked the lighting of small bowl-like lamps with rounded wick holders — Herodian lamps — which illumined the cave. Inside the little clay vessels was olive oil garnished with a pinch of salt, to keep the oil from smoking.
One of these rocky outcroppings, or caves, is larger than the others and still exists in modern times. It contains multiple, adjoining caverns, traditionally called “rooms” by the Bedouin. Here, the shepherds gathered as their flocks grazed in the surrounding verdant meadows and shared a nearby waterhole. They slept in its connecting caverns, but dined and socialized in a much larger, central cavern. This cave, they called “the kitchen.” One enters the kitchen’s large entry way with a slight stoop. On turning around, a glance up the hill reveals a picturesque view of Bethlehem.
And so this particular night was not, initially, different from any other. As night descended on the kitchen, the shepherds herded their animals, bleating and butting, into the smaller “stables”, much smaller caverns within the cave. Their livestock safely tucked away from prowling wolves, lynx, and even leopards, they began to relax, squatting and reclining in the kitchen on hand-woven reed mats, savoring repasts of tart goat cheese, flour-dusted flat bread, salted olives, and sweet dates. Perhaps they passed among them a fat, sweating goatskin of water or wine
The angel of the Lord appeared to them and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were struck with great fear. The angel said to them, “Do not be afraid; for behold, I bring to you good news of great joy that will be for all people. For today in the city of David a savior has been born for you who is Messiah and Lord. (Luke2:9 – 11)
The radiance of the heavenly host lit up the kitchen, and the shepherds gasped in fear and wonder. A storyteller may well have stopped short in mid-sentence. Supper surely was forgotten. All were rapt in their attention, and for these herders of the plains, the message was incredibly specific: A child anointed by God had been born just down the road and up the hill, a hill visible from where they sat, bread and cheese in hand, eyes wide, mouths agape. The word Messiah, in this time and place, carried great import. For these shepherds, it meant that a royal leader, a descendant of King David himself, had arrived to deliver them. Yet, any expectation of an impending imperial reception quickly was suspended.
And this will be a sign for you: You will find an infant wrapped in swaddling clothes and lying in a manger. (Luke 2:12)
Still, it’s unlikely that the shepherds were disappointed by what happened next.
And suddenly there was a multitude of the heavenly host with the angel, praising God and saying: “Glory to God in the highest…” (Luke 2:13 – 14)
The silence that filled the immense indigo sky stretching far above the caves the moment that otherworldly chorale ceased its singing was sonorous. Only silent, blinking stars remained in answer to the shepherd’s many questions. For their part, the angels must have put on quite a show since the Gospels indicate no disagreement or quibbling among the shepherds as to the import of the message they’d just received.
When the angels went away from them to heaven, the shepherds said to one another, “Let us go, then, to Bethlehem to see this thing which the Lord has made known to us. So they went in haste and found Mary and Joseph, and the infant lying in the manger.
The shepherds hastened up the hill, arriving breathless and full of excitement some 15 to 20 minutes later. Hurried inquiries would have enabled them, in due time, to track Joseph and Mary down. Having moved from inn to inn, perhaps even house to house, begging a spare room for a woman in labor, Joseph caused a bit of a stir in town that night. It’s implausible, though, that Joseph actually was shooed from any shelter by the irascible innkeepers of traditional lore. Because of the census, there was a shortage of rooms for hire in Bethlehem that night. However, Jewish hospitality, both acclaimed and advocated in the Talmud, frowned upon such insensitivity. To be sure, a woman on the verge of giving birth would have been embraced by the townspeople rather than rejected. Indeed, it’s probably for this reason that Joseph and Mary were hastily ensconced in an adjoining room of a larger house, albeit a “stable”.
Like other homes in the region, the dwelling where Jesus was born in Bethlehem would have been one connected to about a half-dozen others — all forming a large multi-dwelling square, a smaller version of today’s city block. It wasn’t unusual for extended families to occupy one block of dwellings, nor for these homes to have more than one story. The walls of the buildings were made of earthen plasters, the roofs and ceilings covered with palm fronds or reeds, held together with layers of sand, mud, or limestone plaster. Most nuclear families lived in one or two large rooms; a smaller, side room held the animals.
As the Bedouin shepherds entered the apartments where Jesus lay on that Christmas night, they were directed to a small chamber off the home’s main room. As they stooped to enter the stable, their shadows slanted diagonally against the earthen walls, cast by the light of the flickering oil lamps. There, in an animal’s grain trough, lay a baby wrapped in a long swath of wool, the proverbial swaddling clothes. This king, then, was to be one of them. Mary, resting nearby, was dressed in the clothing of the day, a long sleeveless, seamlessly woven tunic. She may have had an embroidered cloak draped over her shoulders. Joseph wore a felt cap, a two-piece tunic and a cloak which, in accordance with Talmudic proscription, had a tassel hanging from each corner. An appropriate greeting of the day, on the part of the shepherds, would have been a reverent “Peace Be With You”.
Clearly, the shepherds were deeply enthralled by what they found. So overcome were they that they simply could not contain the good news.
When they saw this, they made known the message that had been told them about this child. All who heard it were amazed by what had been told them by the shepherds. (Luke 2:15 – 18)
Given how crowded Bethlehem was that night, the shepherds didn’t have to go far to find people to tell. Probably the stable itself was crowded with well-wishers and curious townsfolk who had gotten word that a visitor to that place had just given birth. As Luke tells us, all shared word of the birth eagerly, and with great joy. And as the revelry spilled from the stable into the street, strains of the happy celebration drifted back inside. One weary yet exhilarated occupant, in particular, was warmed and gladdened by their revelry.
And Mary kept all these things, reflecting on them in her heart…
Photo by Waiting For The Word 
