The Nativity in Bethlehem, Between Its Yesterday and Its Today

Here is a hill the color of ash, looking down on us with somber rocks over which a handful of houses is scattered, like embers whose glow is about to leave them — that is Bethlehem!

This modest hill, lost among thousands of hills, would never have dreamed of fame had not fate singled it out, on one of December's bitter nights twenty centuries ago, with a unique event that raised it to the summits of glory.

One day in that distant age it occurs to the Roman governor of Palestine — that haughty man with his passion for counting — to take a census of the children of Israel. How easily orders and decrees are issued, yet how far they are from being carried out with the same ease! The people set forth, one and all, making for their birthplaces, their tongues busy with curses: had they not learned of the authorities that such an administrative step is always the forerunner of tax collection?

Here is the inn of Bethlehem all but bursting with its guests when there comes knocking at its door a man from Nazareth, and with him a woman on a donkey. What can the innkeeper do but place what courtesy and kindness he can muster at their service? On the morrow someone comes to inform the innkeeper that the two Nazarenes passed the night in a stable, and that the woman, upon the fodder trough, gave birth to a boy... He shrugged his shoulders, unconcerned, and went back to his pack-saddles... Yet had he known that that night would be a turning point in the course of the days, and that from that moment onward events would be dated according to a trifling incident — the birth of a child in a cattle manger — had the innkeeper known all this, astonishment would have seized him — utter astonishment.

Palestine is to this day the oasis of the nomads: on the tops of the hills the black tents of the Bedouin look out, standing fast against the winds; and in an air where the bleating of sheep and goats mingles with the camels', the children sleep with the bare earth for their bed.

On the night of the Nativity a band of shepherds had pitched their tents close by Bethlehem when the angel of the Lord woke them and sent them forth to seek the newborn. Such was

the will of God: for the glory and exaltation of His Son He chose these lowly witnesses.

To them we owe the grottoes of our traditional churches, for it was they who, in their artless way, described this wretched stable sunk into the rock, and they who saw the camel and the beasts breathe upon the child to warm him.

The Virgin's Gospel

The Gospels draw a curtain over the details... As for the popular accounts, the Church has not denied them, but has refrained from mentioning them. Yet the credit belongs to them — to those ancient texts which the people preserved — for without them the most beautiful face in the New Testament would have remained in shadow: the face of the Virgin Mary!

For the Gospels are extremely reticent, whether from modesty or from protectiveness, in what concerns the Mother of God. It is the popular accounts that acquaint us with the names of her parents, Anne and Joachim, and with the circumstances in which she came into the world: a miracle that caused the barren mother, in her latter days, to bear a little girl.

These same texts also teach us that Mary walked in her sixth month, and that in her second year she entered the Temple of Jerusalem alone, without any dread seizing her at the awesomeness of the place.

Nazareth was the stage of her childhood: a village crouched upon a hillside, looking out over a valley green with fertility, its furrows red of soil. One might well say that Nazareth has not changed to any degree worth mentioning since the Virgin's day. These narrow, rugged lanes, the dim shops, and the low houses like faded white cubes have been what they are for a long age. Indeed, if you wander through Nazareth it is not in the least hard for you to picture the Virgin abiding in a humble dwelling sunk into the flank of the hill, dressed in white garments, preparing food and observing, in the making of it, the religious rites to the letter.

And when Mary reaches the age of marriage, the texts give us a sweet tale for the occasion — describing men from every corner of Palestine, young men and old, making their way up to Jerusalem — each one grasping a staff in his hand, all ignorant of the priests' purpose in summoning them to the Temple.

The Priests Await a Miracle

For the priests of the Temple had resolved to find a husband worthy of Mary, the pure maiden.

The candidates set down their staffs in the Temple, to receive them again on the morrow of that day. And how their hopes were dashed, for no miracle came to pass — save that one of them did not return to claim his staff. So the priests sent someone to trace him through the taverns, until they found him at the gates of Nazareth; he had wasted no great hope on being the favored one. And when the priests gave him his staff, and he made to take it, there fluttered up from between his fingers a dove of purest white...

The days of betrothal drew out long, as is the custom among the Hebrews, in the town of Nazareth, which in summer wakes from its daily slumber only at dusk, when the women and girls come down to draw water.

At the Well's Edge

One day some household tasks keep Mary from drawing water. She reaches the well late, when the smoke of the hearths has begun to rise into the twilight. The girl bends over the edge of the well, and behold, a dazzling light blinds her; she draws back to see before her an angel with folded wings, who says:

Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus Christ.

Wonder takes hold of the girl, and she cries out in the angel's face that this is empty talk, so long as she is still a virgin. Then the angel tells her that God has wrought a miracle for her sake, and that she will become a mother without sin defiling her...

Mary is close upon her delivery when the Roman authorities issue the order for the census of the Jews... So Joseph must needs go from Galilee to Bethlehem, his birthplace, in the land of Judah. The carpenter saddles his beast in readiness for the journey, and Mary expresses her wish to accompany him, fearing she might give birth in his absence. The man consents; Mary mounts the donkey, Joseph takes hold of its halter, and they set out.

Today, if you travel from the land of Galilee to the land of Judah, you are stunned by the vast difference between the nature of the two lands — between the green land of Galilee and the barren waste of Judah!

In Palestine the ancient memorial

scenes may captivate you and move you, yet your admiration is bound to receive a shock if you pause over certain details:

For the Grotto of the Nativity is ringed with a halo of gold and marble, so that in this atmosphere of luxury it is hard for you to picture that dark retreat to which two lost wayfarers fled on one of the cold nights.

But if you wish to dream of that tremendous event, you have nothing for it but the scene of one of Palestine's nights, with its star-strewn sky. Anything there — the faintest sound or stir, or a scent — will set the atmosphere for you better than the finest paintings can, to recall the simple figures of that divine night: the shepherds and their lambs, the farmers with their rough hands, the three Magi and their gifts...

While the child Jesus was seeing the light, thousands of kilometers away from Bethlehem, three Magi in the heart of Asia Minor were consulting the stars about the future.

The Magi Follow the Star

That night a strange portent caught their eyes: they saw in the sky a star of which they had not the slightest knowledge. What could it be, this fiery flame moving toward the East? Let them follow it — it might lead them to the discovery of a great secret. Nor did they forget, before setting out, to furnish themselves with gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh, such as might turn aside from them the assaults of highwaymen.

They journeyed long until they came to Jerusalem, across pale mountains where the scenery scarcely changes, with no guide but this wondrous star.

And Jerusalem remains to this day, despite all the horrors it has endured, one of the first six cities of the world, together with New York, London, Paris, Rome, and Peking.

And when you catch sight of it, pale, crouched upon its rocky base, you grasp the essence of this hidden, secluded town.

In the days of the Magi this city, folded in upon itself, was under the rule of Herod: an aged king who refused to admit the wasting of his powers, and lived in constant fear of death.

And fate would have it that the Magi should pass by him and disclose to him the purpose of their journey; for they had seen in a dream that this star would guide them to a child who would afterward become king of the world.

Herod listened to them with attention, but hid from them the alarm and fear that had come over him, and contented himself with pressing them to call upon him on their return and inform him of the child's whereabouts.

Herod Slays the Innocents

The three Magi promised him this and continued their march to Bethlehem, which lay but ten kilometers from Jerusalem. And behold, the star stands still above the stable; they enter the lowly place, and there, amid heaps of straw upon the ground and the tools of tillage, they fall prostrate at the child's feet and spread out their gifts before him...

As for Herod, his waiting grew long, for the Magi changed their road on the way back — an inner intuition had prompted them to it. Herod thought ill of the Magi's failure to return, and issued an order to slay all the children still in swaddling clothes. But!... this time too the angel proved a faithful guardian: he appears to Joseph and commands him to take Mary and the child and flee with them to Egypt.

Under other circumstances the family crosses this desert a second time, in the direction of Galilee, but with a tranquil heart, for Herod had departed this life.

If Judah is the land of the Old Testament, Galilee is the land of the Gospels. It is not that pretty spot of gay colors, as certain artists have imagined it — no! Rather it draws its magic from the harmony of its muted colors and their variety, and from that singular sweetness which reigns over it, so that at every turn of the road you feel the murmurings of divine mercy.

In Nazareth, Jesus lived thirty whole years apart from fame.

And here again we return to the old popular texts to learn something of the tidings of his childhood: they picture him for us as a child frolicking among his playfellows, showing himself in the guise of the son of God only rarely — when he would knead sparrows out of clay and then grant them life with a breath from his mouth, in full view of his companions. The time had not yet come for him to address his words to the multitudes — words for which immortality was written... Walk today along the shores of the Lake of Tiberias, and you fancy you hear the whisperings of those exquisite verses.

Nothing has changed since then. The waters of the lake are the waters of the miraculous catch, and the boats dancing upon its surface are the boats of Saints Peter, Mark, and Luke — and should the winds blow up from the deserts of Jordan and stir the deeps of Tiberias, then take your fill of delight in one of the storms of the Gospels.

And above your head rises a hill of gentle slope... upon its quiet grass the fates contended over the destiny of the world.

From this world of beatitude Jesus uttered his sayings, which opened wide, to the wretched, the needy, and the afflicted, the doors of hope...