For all these many years of revisiting the Christmas story, I’ve felt so badly that humankind didn’t take better care of the Holy family. We imagine that it was cold and physically taxing for Mary, so full of baby, to ride a donkey for miles on end. We imagine that Joseph wanted the best for his beloved, that he worried for her and the baby, and that he wished for every safeguard imaginable to be in place for the birth of this child. And what happens? They end up in a stable! In a drafty, most likely stinky, barn for the lowly animals. Jesus, God’s sweet son, was born in a barn. I mean, come on folks! Couldn’t we do better than that?
This Christmas, however, I’ve been thinking about that stable almost daily. It has come to me in a new light this year… one that has been comforting and inspiring. Along with the birth of Christ… perhaps where he was born was intended to be a gift to our hearts. He wasn’t born upon satin sheets in a room scented with the finest perfume. Nor was he born where throngs of people waited outside of the doors to catch a first glimpse or report the first story. His parents did not have a fine team of labor and delivery nurses or champagne to celebrate his arrival. Jesus was born in the quiet, soft light of a stable where the cows lowed as Mary pushed.
I’ve been going to the stable, metaphorically, throughout this advent. I put on my boots. I grab some oats, and with tea in hand, I go to this sacred space. Deep within, this stable space is where I can grow quiet, sit with my Maker, and uncover more of who I am meant to be. I return to the well-crafted center of my heart where all parts of me are welcomed. This stable is a place of sustenance and peace. Like Mary’s stable, it is also a guardian of labor, pain, and tears. It bears witness to and shelter for the yearnings and the births.
Perhaps in Mary’s stable, the cows and horse’s warmth heated the space and their hay filled the air with sweetness. Perhaps their presence was a comfort to Mary as she remembered how animals deliver their babies so instinctively. And perhaps Mary was thankful for the privacy of welcoming her Son with only her beloved Joseph by her side.
I think of the darkness of night and the warmth of a lantern’s glow as the Holy family first saw their baby’s face, and how they rested together in one another’s arms under the rustic beams of that small barn. Couldn’t it be that this stable was a blessing to this family and an ongoing symbol to all of us that we are called to find our own stable spaces of simplicity and grace.
What we need is most often… close… in the simplest of means. Snowfalls and morning fog to slow us down. Shelter to give us warmth. Loved ones to bless our lives. And the peace of God that is always reaching out for us. I hope this Christmas you find your way to the stable and that in the coming year it brings you closer to your own peace and joy, and the ongoing blessings of God’s tender love. May you, too, follow the small, yet bright light of the guiding star through the fields of your own life, and arrive at the humble stable that waits to make you new.
This Christmas, however, I’ve been thinking about that stable almost daily. It has come to me in a new light this year… one that has been comforting and inspiring. Along with the birth of Christ… perhaps where he was born was intended to be a gift to our hearts. He wasn’t born upon satin sheets in a room scented with the finest perfume. Nor was he born where throngs of people waited outside of the doors to catch a first glimpse or report the first story. His parents did not have a fine team of labor and delivery nurses or champagne to celebrate his arrival. Jesus was born in the quiet, soft light of a stable where the cows lowed as Mary pushed.
I’ve been going to the stable, metaphorically, throughout this advent. I put on my boots. I grab some oats, and with tea in hand, I go to this sacred space. Deep within, this stable space is where I can grow quiet, sit with my Maker, and uncover more of who I am meant to be. I return to the well-crafted center of my heart where all parts of me are welcomed. This stable is a place of sustenance and peace. Like Mary’s stable, it is also a guardian of labor, pain, and tears. It bears witness to and shelter for the yearnings and the births.
Perhaps in Mary’s stable, the cows and horse’s warmth heated the space and their hay filled the air with sweetness. Perhaps their presence was a comfort to Mary as she remembered how animals deliver their babies so instinctively. And perhaps Mary was thankful for the privacy of welcoming her Son with only her beloved Joseph by her side.
I think of the darkness of night and the warmth of a lantern’s glow as the Holy family first saw their baby’s face, and how they rested together in one another’s arms under the rustic beams of that small barn. Couldn’t it be that this stable was a blessing to this family and an ongoing symbol to all of us that we are called to find our own stable spaces of simplicity and grace.
What we need is most often… close… in the simplest of means. Snowfalls and morning fog to slow us down. Shelter to give us warmth. Loved ones to bless our lives. And the peace of God that is always reaching out for us. I hope this Christmas you find your way to the stable and that in the coming year it brings you closer to your own peace and joy, and the ongoing blessings of God’s tender love. May you, too, follow the small, yet bright light of the guiding star through the fields of your own life, and arrive at the humble stable that waits to make you new.
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