A Letter from the Innkeeper’s Wife

(Community Matters) from our dear friend, the Rev Faith Bledsoe

Dear people of St. Francis,

The age of these old bones prevents me from traveling to be with you, but let me see if I can’t tell the story you’ve asked about. I remember that night. It was cold. Folks had been coming into the city for days. The Romans had decided to count people. I’m not sure why, but then they did a lot of things without telling the rest of us why.

I lived in Bethlehem then – a small town next to Jerusalem. I lived there with my husband and 5 children – 4 boys and 1 girl. My husband owned one of the local inns in town, where folks could come and rent a place to sleep for the night. That night, we doubled and tripled sleeping space, even opening the courtyard. There wasn’t a roof over the courtyard, but the wall and the gate kept out any dangers.

I remember the young family. My goodness they were ragged and weary from traveling. They arrived late, well after dark. We had already closed the gate and my husband had said, “NO MORE!” The young man rang the bell and our oldest, John, went to the gate. My husband and I followed. That poor young man was shaking with exhaustion. The young woman was pale and clearly on her way to having a baby in the next few hours and you could tell that donkey didn’t want to take another step. John looked back at his father who shook his head no.

I thumped him on the head and put an elbow into his ribs and said to him, “She is going to have that baby tonight and they need shelter.” “And where do you suggest we put them?” he asked. Now my husband’s a good man, but sometimes he’s just not very creative. “What about the stable? Couldn’t we make room for them there?” I asked. “We could tie the goats up over by the cow. It would be crowded, but the straw is dry and the cave would give them some shelter.” And then he got sassy asking if I was suggesting that we not charge them anything. I told him I thought that was very generous of him to offer them housing for free!

And so, we brought the young couple in and took them to the back where the house attached to the stable. John piled up the straw against one wall and the young man helped his wife to sit on the ground. I called Mara, our daughter, to bring the last of the porridge and a cup of wine and fed them to the young girl. We really couldn’t spare the food, but clearly she needed it more than any of us. I told my husband to send John for the midwife to help deliver the baby. That young girl; Mary was her name; she would need both of us to help her through the night.

Long past midnight, the baby arrived and we wrapped him in some clean rags that I brought from the house. After letting his mother feed him and hold him for a bit, I put him in the cow’s manger. It was cushioned with hay and would keep the animals from stepping on him. Both parents slept the rest of the night, while I kept watch over the baby. It wasn’t hard to stay awake. The night sky was as bright as day. I don’t remember a full moon that night, but something surely was lighting up the sky.

By morning, there was a crowd at our gate, all clamoring to see the baby. I couldn’t imagine how they had heard the news. Yet there they were – a rag tag lot of shepherds and the like. I saw my husband look back at me from the gate. I just shrugged my shoulders and he let them in. They looked like they might be a rowdy bunch, but as they came closer, they got quiet. A couple of them knelt down and touched the baby’s hands with their own work-worn, dirty fingers and that baby grabbed hold like he would never let go!

Over the next few days, the young family remained at our place and many others came and admired the baby. Some left gifts; odd gifts at that. Imagine leaving a box of gold for a baby! You would have thought they were worshipping a king!

Eight days after he was born, they named the boy Jesus and several days after that they left for Jerusalem. I always wondered what happened to that boy. Sometimes when I hear the sound of a baby’s cry or children playing in the street or the cry of the homeless beggars, it’s as if that boy is being born again here in the world. It makes an old woman wonder.

That’s the story as I remember it.

Peace to you,
Sarah
Wife of the Innkeeper Heshel