A Christmas Story

Rana of Arabia, the Star Gazer, had been watching the two planets dance around each other for months. Soon, they would embrace. Jupiter, the planet of miracles and Saturn, the planet of potential. She knew what that meant. The potential for a miracle. God knows, the world needed a miracle. But only if they arrived in time. Otherwise the potential would evaporate like morning dew. They needed to increase the pace. 

She looked again at the two planets and replayed the calculations for the hundredth time in her mind. Three days, no more. They still had more than 60 miles to go, and the travel was slow. They should have left weeks earlier, but she needed time to complete The Gift. That was delicate work, and painstaking.  She had to prepare the binding, the paper, the ink, and then, every word had to be translated, checked, and double checked. Now, there was no time to waste. They needed to travel night and day to arrive in time to deliver The Gift.

The last time Jupiter and Saturn were this close was four hundred years ago. Then, her ancestors hadn’t understood the potential for a miracle. The world paid a terrible price for this failure: four hundred years of oppression, war, famine, and, now, disease. She could not allow that failure to be repeated. 

The next opportunity would not come for another 80 years. That would be too late. If she was still alive, she would be too old. So it had to be now.

Rana had calculated the location of the gift giving with great precision, and had her calculations verified by the elders. She knew where The Gift was to be given, and when, but not to whom. She had to trust that this would be revealed in time. And that she will get there in time. The alternatives to this were too painful to contemplate.

The gift wasn’t the only thing that had to be planned. She also had to plan for bandits along the way. The chances of making a five day journey without being robbed were not good. The Romans might be good at building roads, but they sucked at protecting those who traveled on them. And she could not take a chance on having The Gift stolen.   

She had worked out a strategy to protect The Gift. She enlisted two of her tribe to go with her, two men whom she trusted. They would dress as young princes. They would ride camels decked out in royal trimmings, and they would carry bags of gold and precious spices.  They would lead the tiny caravan, and she would follow. She would dress as a maid and would ride a donkey. The Gift would be buried under piles of cleaning rags. If they were robbed, she hoped the bandits would focus on the two men with the gold and spices. Gold and spices could be replaced. The Gift couldn’t. 

She checked her bearings one more time. They were on course to the mark: 31.7054° N, 35.2024° E. She thought of it as The Location, because the name of the town meant nothing to her. A tiny speck in the middle of nowhere. Bethlehem. A place that could change the course of humanity. If they arrived on time. And If she could find the proper recipient. And if the wisdom it contains was received. A lot of ifs. But all she could do was what she could do. 

They arrived at The Location with an hour to spare. Fortunately, they hadn’t been attacked by bandits. That was good. That meant they had something extra to leave with whomever the recipient was. But if that was a good omen, looking around, it was hard to believe. There was only one building in sight. It was a run down tavern. The sounds of drunken laughter spilled out into the silence of the night. She couldn’t imagine this was where The Gift was to be delivered, but there was nothing else around. She stepped inside. The stench of booze, stale food, tobacco, and unbathed bodies was overwhelming. Some men were fighting in the corner. Some were gambling. Some were buying drinks for the tavern wenches. Quite a few were passed out. How could any of these possibly be the intended recipient?

The bartender came up to her. “What can I do for you?” he asked.  “I’m looking for somebody,” she replied. “Well,” he said, “you’ve come to the right place, somebody is here. A lot of somebodies. Take your pick.” He laughed and pinched one of the wenches. “I don’t see him,” Rana said. "How did she know it was a him?" she thought.  “Well,” he said, “if he’s not here, he’s not here. There’s no place else around. This place isn’t much, but it will have to do.” Rana looked around, confused and alarmed. She had less than an hour before the planets would go out of alignment. There was nobody who looked even remotely like who she was looking for. Not that she knew who she was looking for.

Then one of the wenches piped up. “Hey, what about that couple that came by earlier, you know, with the pregnant woman.” “Oh, them,” the bartender replied. “They left. I told them we were full. And besides, they had no money.” “I saw them go into the stable,” the wench said. “Well, good luck to them there,” the barkeeper said. “No heat. No water. They won’t survive the night. What an idiot, traveling with a pregnant woman in this freezing weather with no money, not even a donkey.” The last part of the dialogue Rana barely heard. She was already walking out the door and looking for the stable.

She found it in the back of the tavern. It was held together by a few old boards and a straw roof. She walked in, followed by her two traveling companions. A man was sitting on a bench in the corner. A woman was lying on some bloody straw looking exhausted. There were a few camels and sheep milling about. And there was one thing she could only hear, but not see. A baby. Someplace, a baby was crying. 

Rana went to the man and asked, “Where is your baby?” He looked at her, a little annoyed. “It’s not my baby.” “Whose is it?” she asked. “Who the hell knows,” he replied. 

She followed the sound of the crying. It led to the sheep. The baby was lying in a pile of straw that had been swept up from the stalls. The sheep were leaning against the baby, apparently trying to keep it warm. She had never seen that before, sheep protecting a human baby.  When she reached down to touch the baby, he stopped crying and looked at her, intently. “I have something for you,” she whispered. 

She went over to the mother and helped her sit up. She sent one of the companions back to the tavern to get some hot food. She wrapped the mother in her shawl. “What is your name?” Rana asked. “Mary, of Nazareth,” she replied. Rana took her hand. “I have traveled  a long way to find you, Mary of Nazareth. I have gifts for you. And I have one very special gift. For your very special baby. I will leave it with you. You will give it to him when he is ready.” “How will I know when he is ready?” Mary asked. Rana looked into her eyes, eyes filled with the love of a mother. “You will know,” she said.

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Spiritual questions:

• What gift do you have to bring?
• When will you bring it?

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Christmas Day, 2021 - This was written with the Roundhouse Writing Group in Santa Cruz, Guatemala, remotely from Guanajuato, Mexico. The writing prompt for the session was: There was no room
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This is one of my Parables for the Spiritual but not Religious Series.

The photograph is by Jonathan Haeber and made available through Flickr and Creative Commons, some rights may be reserved.

This posting is a chapter of my novel in progress, Mary of Magdala, Wisdom Bearer.