Christmas Eve ... Silent Night

Merry Christmas - Unto us a Son is given, unto us a Saviour is born. God moved into the neighbourhood! O come, let us rejoice in the Lord as we declare this present mystery: The partition wall of disunion has been destroyed, the flaming sword is turned back, the cherubim withdraw from the Tree of Life, and I partake of the food of Paradise, whence I had been expelled because of disobedience. For the immutable Image of the Father, the Image of His eternity, takes the form of a servant, having come forth of a Mother unwedded, yet having suffered no change. For that which He was, He remains, being very God; and that which He was not, He has assumed, becoming true man because of His love for humankind. Unto Him let us cry aloud: O God, who was born of a Virgin, have mercy upon us! (Vespers Sticharion,Tone 2) AN URBAN CHRISTMAS By Bill Senyard The “Land of the Free”?? He wondered what that meant. The Department of Homeland Security was becoming more and more powerful. No one was really surprised, and least of all Yousef. Yousef looked with growing impatience at the what seemed to be infinite line of rear tail lights in front of him, all going the same direction -- no one seemed to be moving. He scoffed and muttered under his breath about all of these people being out on Christmas Eve. His thoughts were shattered by a sudden moan from his wife. He wasn’t ready for this pressure. What if she had the baby here, right in the front seat of their old beat-up Hyundai -- in the middle of the night -- wedged in between the same SUV that they have been stuck behind for miles and the impatient 18 wheeler behind them with the worst headlights ever. In the distance he saw the turnpike exit. “Once we get off the pike the traffic should pick up in a bit, hon.” These words were little comfort to her as she tired to ease her pain with repetitive puffs of air. She arched her back more. Nothing helped. What were they doing here? This was supposedly their home now. They had emigrated long before 9/11 with their family from Iraq. His people were influential businessmen and educators there—people of some substance and standing. It is said that it was Yousef’s great, great, great grandfather who first made peace between the many warring tribal factions in the area. Times have changed. Fortunes rise and fall. The remnant of the once great family now can only scrape out a bare subsistence under a brutal dictator. But then this one last indignity. “Can anything good come out of Washington?” thought Yousef. Maybe the government was flexing its newly mandated muscles? Who knew? Yousef had learned as a construction helper to just do as you’re told. He got a letter, after it had been forwarded along his recent addresses. It was official. All immigrants are to personally go to their DHS advisors to be re-registered by the end of calendar year 2005. The letter also issued threats of fine and prosecution for those failing to abide by the law. It was December 24th already. Yousef could not afford any fine. That opened another can of worms. He was about to become a husband and a father-- all at the same time. It all happened like a whirlwind-- nothing like the romances on TV. He looked over at Miriam in the ripped passenger seat. He did love her, but he knew that this would require more than mere love to work through some difficult issues of the recent months. How did he get in this situation? Once again his wandering thoughts were pierced by Miriam’s scream and pain. “Yousef, stop the car!!!” She yelled, “Get me to the hospital! Now!” Yousef stumbled with his cell phone that he kept to get calls about work. He pushed the redial button once again. This time it was not busy. “Methodist Hospital, can you hold please.” “No, I can’t... hello... hello...” “Boy, you have to be real quick”, said Yousef to Miriam hoping to ease the situation with humor. Miriam was not amused. The conversation that happened next was so bizarre. It would have been more at home on an X-Files episode, or maybe Seinfeld. The hospital regretfully said that they have no room. There is a nurses shortage, not enough flu vaccine for the season—and don’t you realize that this is Christmas eve? There have already been five barroom fight victims and two domestic disputes involving intent to harm, two multiple car accidents involving alcohol. ‘But Merry Christmas sir!’ Now Yousef was breathing in puffs as well as Miriam, just to keep calm. No use both of them losing it. He would find a place to sit the night. They could get registered tomorrow and head home to their doctor. He turned on Allegheny and headed west. By the time he made it to Kensington, it was obvious that a plan B was needed. He frantically looked for a hotel, or a motel-- anything. No vacancy, no rooms, no vacancy. The streets by the K&A El were no place to have a baby. Yousef pulled the car over in front of the Excelsior-- double parking along side of a beat up old van. He ran up to the door and started banging away. Miriam could only hear bits and pieces of the muffled conversation. It was lively, that’s for sure. Her eyes noticed the boarded up building across the dark street. The heavy door in the front of the building kept opening up and heads stealthily appeared investigating the noise from the hotel and then disappearing into the din. “Not here! Not here!”, thought Miriam as she faded. When she awoke from pain, she could see that she was not in the car anymore. She was laying on the floor of a very dark room. There was a foreign looking man bent over her-- a Hispanic man maybe. Yousef was there-- holding her hand. There was a single light bulb with a string directly over Miriam. It hurt Miriam’s eyes to look at its unprotected light. Yousef had a flashlight in his hand and periodically flashed it around the dank room. He seemed to be looking under the tattered furniture for something in the shadows. Miriam was acutely aware of a putrid odor -- some stench. The foreign man brought down the stairs an old musty space heater. Yousef was very grateful to him. He then disappeared up the stairs and the doors closed and locked. And so the baby was born there, in the basement under the Excelsior Hotel. Yousef told Miriam later that the stench was partly from rats, and partly from the urine and defecation of street people who broke in the small basement window to get out of the bitter cold. While Miriam slept, Yousef had swept up the condoms and needles scattered about the floor. Yousef found an empty cardboard box and fixed it up nice for the baby -- a boy, by the way. The Hispanic man -- Raoul was his name she later found out -- had brought down a nice woven blanket -- for the baby’s box. The story gets even more bizarre. The Hotel owner knocked on the door in the early morning hours -- just minutes after the boy was born. Yousef couldn’t believe it. He led an entourage of folk down the stairs-- crack heads, prostitutes and alcoholics, who swear that they heard about the baby from an angel. One by one they came. They came as they were with no air of pretense. Some left trinkets and gaudy ornamental jewelry. Some carefully presented the child with precious quarters-- one person set a cigarette pack next to the baby-- another an Acme bag filled with empty cans. The makeshift shrine included crack pipes, lighters, razor blades. Someone had placed a crushed fake flower (the original color was probably yellow) on the top of all of the gifts. Some had nothing and merely wanted to touch the baby or kiss him on the head. Yousef and Miriam were astonished. They had never seen anything like this. The next day, another knock on the basement door brought down a mixed delegation from the Hindu, Muslim and Buddhist religions. It was clear to Yousef and Miriam that these were important people—dignitaries. Maybe they heard about the boy from Raoul? They too brought gifts-- wonderful and special gifts-- inappropriate for the occasion, the parents thought. Miriam wished that she could have understood what they said to her child. They spoke to him reverently as if he fully understood them. Author’s note: Sometimes we lose the context of the story that has been told so often in so many venues. The Christmas story is about the scandalous and horrible love that moved in the heart of God to come into flesh. If God’s Son were to come today, He would no doubt be born to a poor family in the shadows of the K&A elevated—not to social elites in Doylestown or Buckingham--- but to the outcasts, the despised, those treated with bigotry and injustice. Why? He is pleased to identify with all mankind—this would include the hurting and disenfranchised. All were made in His image—all have value to this God. And so when He would come among His creation, He would come along side the lowest. In so doing, he would open the door to all people groups--without class distinctions. Then there would be nothing that would keep any true seekers from coming to him—freely without fear of prejudice and disdain. Joy To the World, the Lord has Come, Let earth receive her King. Merry Christmas!