Bethleham

We just returned from Bethleham. It was amazing. Actually, amazing doesn't even describe it. Phenominal. It felt like we were really there. Outdoors, shivering in the cold, lit by oil lanterns, candles, and firelight. When the blacksmith added coals to the fire, it lit up the whole village. I am so used to our safe, modern society. I almost backed into an oil-lamp torch and caught my hair on fire while trying to take a photo of my five year old son carefully following Ceaser's command to register using the old-fashioned feather-pen. Its a good thing my husband stopped me just in time. When I paused between two camels (for real!) I feared they would take side-steps and crush me. I never really thought so much before about the danger Mary must have felt. My fears were so simple & minor - will my three-year old daughter try to pet that donkey that doesn't look happy to be here? In the crowd, will I forget about another lantern behind me? Yet for Mary the fears were real - she was in labor. There was no place for her to stay. It was dirty. Would she get infected? Who were these strangers? Would someone find out she got pregnant out of wedlock & try to kill her for it? Then the king wanted to kill her baby. Tonight in Bethleham, I thought a lot more about what it would have been like to be there then.

Also the village was so amazing. It took an intentional effort to pay attention to the small baby laying in the manger, tucked behind the village jail. Yet when my daughter timidly stepped forward to pat the baby's head, that moment is one I will treasure.

When we left Bethleham, my daughter wept harder than I have heard her cry in a long time. While I knew she was tired, and she said she wanted more chips, I suspected her heart-wrenching wails were coming from somewhere deeper. Even her blankie and favorite song wouldn't quiet her at all. She only began to calm down when I reassured her that we really hadn't left Jesus behind. He promised to be with us always. Hearing that, and getting another small snack at home, she calmed. When I read her the story of Jesus' birth from her Bible storybook, she again got excited. "Mommy, that's where we went tonight."

My son was filled with awe and questions. Daddy, why do you think the soldier was taking that man to prison? Do you think he didn't pay his taxes? I'm glad we had enough to pay ours. (Adults were given a "Roman coin" for taxes before entering. Children were given two - one for taxes and another for the begger.) Do you think the begger got enough to eat? What about the children we saw? Do you think they got out of Bethleham before Herod killed all the boys under 3? Can I go look inside the prison? Mommy, do you still have the piece of clay the potter gave me and the dearskin & fur the leathermaker gave me? I didn't very much like the figs or lentil soup that they would have eaten in Jesus's day. Boy, those sandles the shoemaker is making look cold for winter. Did you notice the shop where they were building crosses or the blacksmith's shop where he was making nails? Other times he just looked around on sensory overload. Sights and sounds - two donkeys - one braying loudly and one calmly standing watch outside Jesus' manger. Smells - a pen full of sheep and another full of ponies. The goat peeking out between the buildings. The chickens roasting over the fire and the live ones by the inn. Tastes - juice from the winemaker, cheese from the cheesemaker, bread from the bakery, figs from the fruit vendor, lentil soup from another shop. Touches - the donkey's fur, the deerskin & fun the leather tanner gave him. It is time for bed, and many of the questions are still coming out as he continues to re-live the re-enactment in his imagination.

Even hubby talked about how he was moved. This was a church less than half the size of ours. How did they ever pull this off? They didn't ask for donations. They even clarified before entering that the begger is not looking for real money. They gave their service times and made it clear that if you didn't have a church, they would welcome you, but if you already attended a church, great; they were not looking to take anyone away from other churches. We looked for a spot for donations. Surely this cost a great deal in time and money for this tiny church in this tiny coal-mining town. The only one we found was in the kitchen where they were passing out free soup, hot chocolate, coffee, cookies, and other refreshments. It was labled "Donations for Homeless Ministry." The tiny coal-miner's town church clearly was not doing this to gain a greater memebership, and they were not looking for any kind of reimbursement. They just truly wanted people to meet Jesus & to have a greater experience of him. They didn't even pass out tracts. Did they knew that the experience itself would be so powerful that it would raise questions in people's minds that they would have to search out the Scripture or a local church for answers? It was so convictingly selfless.

As we return home and to our modern era, I hold this visit to Bethleham in my heart and thank God for the child we visited tonight who came 2000 years ago to save me and us from our sins. Thank you God for this little church, and the thoughts they stirred in my heart and those of my family. Thank you for sending your Son whose birth changed the world.