So, so, so, Yeshi, baby here you are.
Now, my husband, wash the boy. And wrap him. Wrap him as tightly as was my womb tight. Wrap a good world, the sweet world of our Creator, around him.
And give him to me. I’ll put him to my breast.
Oh, Joseph: what a wonderful ox of a midwife! Jesus is pink with health. And he’s smiling at his papa, his wonderful abba. Can you see it? Can you see?
Angels in legions sang when you were born, my beautiful Yeshi! At midnight they spiralled down from the heavens, every one a whirling star, ten thousand voices in a skyborne choir.
‘Glory,’ they sang, and I felt the bedrock tremble. The animals stamped backward. The mules, the horses and donkeys raised their heads against their tethers and rolled their eyes.
‘Glory to God in highest!’ the hosts of heaven thundered.
Joseph had washed me and packed for me a pallet of the freshest straw. You he laid in the stone enclosure manger. Then the angels sheeted the night with such brilliance outside that your tender brow lifts; you fought your soft eyes open and peered around, seeking the source of the music and finally waving your hands as if to catch the stars in them!
‘Glory to God in the highest,’ proclaimed the storm of the Lord, ‘and on earth, peace!’
Soon a troop of ruffian shepherds crept into the cave to gaze at your. Gabriel had been back, announcing the good news even to these, the lowest in Judea, houseless, coinless, unpropertied. ‘Where is this Saviour?’ they asked Joseph as they came widdershins in. ‘Where is this Christ the Lord?’
Joseph took no offence at their intrusion. He nodded welcome and pointed at you. Ach, Yeshi, but what a stink they brought with them! Even our donkey sneezed.
But the angels, that great wheel of the sky’s slow turning: on your birthday, they made a morning of midnight. No warriors these! Nor hurt nor harm in the tempest of their voices. They were a wind of the Creator. They uttered the sublimest desire of God, the thing yet to be accomplished in you. In you, Yeshi, the only begotten Son of God Almighty:
‘Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace to the people with whom he is pleased.’
Now, my husband, wash the boy. And wrap him. Wrap him as tightly as was my womb tight. Wrap a good world, the sweet world of our Creator, around him.
And give him to me. I’ll put him to my breast.
Oh, Joseph: what a wonderful ox of a midwife! Jesus is pink with health. And he’s smiling at his papa, his wonderful abba. Can you see it? Can you see?
Angels in legions sang when you were born, my beautiful Yeshi! At midnight they spiralled down from the heavens, every one a whirling star, ten thousand voices in a skyborne choir.
‘Glory,’ they sang, and I felt the bedrock tremble. The animals stamped backward. The mules, the horses and donkeys raised their heads against their tethers and rolled their eyes.
‘Glory to God in highest!’ the hosts of heaven thundered.
Joseph had washed me and packed for me a pallet of the freshest straw. You he laid in the stone enclosure manger. Then the angels sheeted the night with such brilliance outside that your tender brow lifts; you fought your soft eyes open and peered around, seeking the source of the music and finally waving your hands as if to catch the stars in them!
‘Glory to God in the highest,’ proclaimed the storm of the Lord, ‘and on earth, peace!’
Soon a troop of ruffian shepherds crept into the cave to gaze at your. Gabriel had been back, announcing the good news even to these, the lowest in Judea, houseless, coinless, unpropertied. ‘Where is this Saviour?’ they asked Joseph as they came widdershins in. ‘Where is this Christ the Lord?’
Joseph took no offence at their intrusion. He nodded welcome and pointed at you. Ach, Yeshi, but what a stink they brought with them! Even our donkey sneezed.
But the angels, that great wheel of the sky’s slow turning: on your birthday, they made a morning of midnight. No warriors these! Nor hurt nor harm in the tempest of their voices. They were a wind of the Creator. They uttered the sublimest desire of God, the thing yet to be accomplished in you. In you, Yeshi, the only begotten Son of God Almighty:
‘Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace to the people with whom he is pleased.’
(Taken from Walter Wangerin Jr's novel "Jesus".)
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