Song of the Midwife

This poem was written by my beautiful mother. Due to my familiarity with Jewish customs, I have grown to embrace this possible scenario for the Nativity, rather than the traditional interpretations. Perhaps, some day I will paint the scene. Enjoy, and Merry Christmas.

Song of the Midwife
By Connie Rodgers

The night was cold and chill¬
With the dark came
The promise of yet more rain.
The streets of quiet Bethlehem still rang
With the jostling throng
That all day long
Kept coming,
Expanding the tiny town
Like a loaf of bread,
The staff of life it was named for.

The inn was never still.
Coming and going, shouting and ordering,
Bleating and braying and bartering
Blending into festival song.
I sat and watched my son, my eldest one,
Begin to turn them down.

He’d say there’s no room,
But try down the road,
I cannot take your group,
My grotto is too small to bear
Your load.
And then another and another
Was turned away.

The night grew late.
The steady flow of travelers
Did not abate.
The Roman curfew
Only slowed
The weary press
Of those who came to pay their taxes.

Then one man came and knocked,
A special plea in his tired voice
Caught my attention.
Of me I make no special mention,
But my wife is tired, and very young,
To bear the load she brings
On this long road,
Is there no room for just my wife?

No room, my son began,
And again made ready
To close the door.
Beloved, I called,
Wait now and call them back,
The girl is ready soon to bear a child,
The night is cold. With but one beast
If they are willing,
They can lodge in our stable
And flee the chilling air.

So it was done.

I stayed on my rug
Hugging to me
The memories of youthful healthy days
When I was not a burden to my kin,
But had so many ways to offer
Gifts.
My bones are old, and shift so slowly,
Our fields reduced,
The income growing scarce¬—
An old woman has no gifts to give,
No help to offer.

A knock,
A fervent plea
Interrupted my sad review.
The man returned, fatigue replaced by
Anxiety on his face.
My wife, her time is here,
There is no kindred woman near.
She bears alone.
She is so young. Is no one here who knows,
Who can offer the help needed
At this special time?

I’ll come.

Arising from my bed
I motioned aside, with the nodding of my head
My son’s sure disapproval.
It is work I can yet do,
And she is alone.

I hurried down the path
To the stalls nearby,
Watching the clear light
Of a rising star
Far larger than any other
In the now bright sky.
Peace to you, mother,
She said
As I entered the cave’s narrow entrance.
And to you, my child,
I returned, and asked
You suffer?
The Lord’s will be done
Blessed be the name of the Lord.
The ancient response
Sang on her tongue.
I saw around her, or so it seemed to me,
A glow of great serenity.

The travail soon ended.
With the birth, I was witness
To a wondrous sight ;
A virgin bringing forth.
In the hushed night I spoke,
You have a son.
My heart began to swell
As quietly she said
I know.
He shall be called
Emmanuel.
The Lord’s handmaiden is pleased
If she has served him well.
My trembling hands held close
That Holy Child,
His little arms stretched out
As I anointed him with that
That she already had in her pack.
I swaddled him and laid him
In her outstretched arms.
As He lay suckling
There was a peaceful, joyous air
I will remember till I lie down
For final rest.

I called to mind
My blessed father’s words
Of prophecy
For Israel’s redemption.
Many now are they that hope
For deliverance from our foreign yoke.
But as 1 looked upon that scene I knew
A different freedom was in view
With this sweet Child’s birth.
Hallelujahs
Filled the earth and sky
With praise.
The cavern was illuminated
With the star’s bright rays,
Yet only she and I
And the nursing babe
Seemed aware
Of what had come to pass.

Arising, I left the two alone
And hurried home.
I bore the sacred story to my bed,
I bowed my head
And asked forgiveness
For the time when age had seemed a burden.
I thanked my Lord, our nation’s King,
For the small part I played
In witnessing this wondrous birth.
The virgin’s quiet voice
Rings through my happy heart
The Lord’s handmaiden is well pleased
If she has done her part.

I found the man
Who first had summoned me,
To tell him
All was well
But saw him near the manger
With shepherds close behind
Who told of herald angels
In nearby hills.

I lie and watch
The morning sky
That glows
In jubilant harmony
With my soul.

© Connie Rodgers 1985. All Rights Reserved.

This entry was posted on Thursday, December 24th, 2009 at 12:51 pm. It is filed under Life and tagged with Christmas Nativity, poems. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed.