Innkeeper

“I’m sorry, cousin! There is no room!” I looked at the mother-to-be, her hands clutching a hidden stomach. Layers of linen did all they could to conceal what lay beneath. A thicker layer of material was loosely wrapped around her sable hair. It crossed over one of her eyes, partially hiding the disappointment I had caused. Her lip trembled and she averted her face, sharing a knowing glance with her husband, whom I had yet to know personally. My involvement with them had been distant; this was my first knowledge of a child. 

He looked at me, his face hardened from the pride of being unable to provide. I noted his staff, water jug slung across his chest, and cuts engrained in his palms. I was told he was a carpenter, one of the finest skilled in Nazareth. He was not quick to speak, a battle between his tongue and his mouth was all I needed to understand how worried he was. “Emmet, we humbly ask that you make arrangements for my wife. I can sleep outside, or make myself comfortable in that wagon you have tied up. The mule can stay with me through the night, no need to make room in the stable,” he gestured to all the things he suggested and I placed my hand around my mouth, summoning the right words to use. “Please, cousin. She is cold and the time is soon.”

Joseph had moved closer now, trying to peek inside to see if what I was claiming was true. “The upstairs room is full, with others in great need tonight. It would be wrong to cast them out,” I stated, staring over the broad man’s shoulder. I could see Mary staring off into the distance just before a crisp wind blew and her eyes closed. As if she were being spoken to, the corner of her lip lifted, exchanging her hopeless disposition for a faithful one. 

“Even so, Joseph, we cannot accommodate,” I reiterated.

Mary called to him, keeping him from saying something more, “All will be right, Joseph.” She seemed certain now that this rejection would not cost much, which comforted my guilt. She winced, sucking air in through her teeth as she held onto her middle tighter. “We had better be going before all light is gone,” she said between breathy exhales. The man backed up toward her, his irises having lost all the faith she seemed to have. He turned, reaching for the donkey’s bridle, tugging at it before looking at me one last time.

I leaned in the doorway, “Yehiye Elohim Imach, cousins. Truly.” 

Their backs were turned to me now and the lagging clacks of the tired donkey filled the sleepy village. They slowed to a halt, looking over a map together. Joseph's fingers moved from one plot to another. She shook her head and he did not argue. Instead, she looked up at the dark sky, likely the darkest all harvest. She pointed to it and I decided I had watched enough, turning on my heel before closing the wooden door behind me. 

I ran my hand through my hair, shaking my head as I debated what I had just done. The choice was not sitting well with me and I thought, perhaps, something was terribly wrong that they had not let on. Then, I figured it was best that I not be involved if something dark had its hand in it. I had to have my questions about the arrival of the baby. One who was full-term when the marriage ceremony was not. All these arguments were coming to a calm when my wife came through, wiping her hands along her apron. She smiled sweetly, pressing a palm to the back of her sweating neck. 

“Who was that you were talking to?” she asked, rather hushed so as not to disturb the guests in the upper room.

“Cousin Mary and Joseph,” I responded, still deep in thought. 

Her brows knit together, “What were they in need of? Surely, we can be a blessing to them.” This was not the response I had been used to from her. She rushed up and held onto my arms, peering up. “Tell me you have not turned them away!”

I was taken aback by her sudden force, feeling the anxieties from her veins rush through mine. “They sought a room and I told them we had none. I have told them the truth, Dina.”

She looked mortified, as though I had cursed a thousand generations. She turned, pressing her knuckles to her lip. She stayed that way for a moment or two before going to my Saba’s trunk, our greatest inheritance. She lifted the lid and removed my satchel, some unused cheesecloth, a map, and a waterskin. She took all this up in her arms and dropped it on the dinner table. She tied up some bread from the basket in the center of the table, rapidly. I was about to speak when she hiked her skirts and climbed the ladder that led to the upper room. I watched carefully as she dug through the straw, trying not to catch the attention of our sleeping guests. She pulled out a mahogany box and held it close to her chest before coming back down. She brought the hidden treasure to me, suggesting that I take a look.

I undid the latch and lifted, confused when I saw her Ima’s spices, passed down long ago. “For the child,” Dina explained. 

“Why does a Hebrew child need of spices?” I asked, thinking my wife required rest.

Her eyes widened and she took the box from me. “You have not heard the rumors? He is not any Hebrew child. I told you Mary has been blessed by the Lord.” 

“There are so many called Mary,” I excused. “I did not know you meant our Mary.”

She gathered the items from before, placing them in my satchel one by one. I moved to her side, having no more questions answered, with more to ask. “You are not yourself, perhaps it’s time for sleep.”

She turned, brow raised with enough anger to silence me. “That child of your cousins’ is the Son of God. The Messiah. The one we have been waiting for. All of us.” She shoved the satchel and all the things inside against my chest, turning me by the shoulders and toward the door I just came from. “You need to make sure you rectify this sin. Immanuel was at our door and we turned Him away.”

I reached for the latch, swung the door open, and stepped out with her help of pushing. I saw that the space where Mary and Joseph were was now empty, nothing but a starless night left in their absence. I faced Dina, shrugging, “They are far gone by now,” I explained, knowing that they could be a whole town away. 

She placed her fist on her hip, silent.

“And I will go to them, anyhow,” I conceded.

“Do not return until you have undone this.”

I was about to get in my last attempt at forgetting all of this when I heard the pain of rusty hinges indicate that I was shut out. I kicked at the doorstep, hurting myself more than our humble home. I let out a deep breath and stared at the heavens, wondering what God thought of my position. Did He think me a fool? Or did He enjoy watching all this unfold? A Child Messiah was prophesied. Yet, so many Jews had waited for hundreds and hundreds of years, with no change. Now, He wants me to believe that Mary, my young cousin, is carrying His son? 

To me, it seemed more likely she was having a hard time facing her sins. She had to give an excuse to hide the truth. What’s sadder is her husband’s willingness to go along. Still, I would do as Dina asked, knowing it would be less of a burden on me to search for them than to deal with my wife’s wrath. I began to walk the way I saw them going, stopping at the well where I could fill my waterskin. I dug through the pouch at my waist, pulling out the canister and unscrewing the lid. I pressed one palm on the stone ledge and swooped my other down, letting the container grow heavy. I was fighting off exhaustion when I caught a glimpse of something in the water’s reflection. I blinked a few times, trying to wipe the vision away. 

A star, brighter than any I had ever seen. The harder I stared the more it impaired my sight. It seemed to grow, and, as it did, a buzzing intruded my ears. It caused me to drop everything and cover the sides of my head in a poor attempt to get the noise to stop. My water jug fell to the dusty ground and I came soon after it, landing on my back with a grating crunch of bones. My hands flew behind my back to support a sitting position, my neck craning until I was looking into the dark sky. Only, now I saw that it wasn’t dark at all. The star I saw in the well was just as bright in the sky, twinkling and pulsing, as though speaking. It was alone, bearing the weight of lighting a city on its own. 

“What do you want from me?” I asked, talking to the sky like a drunken man. “I do not believe in this child!” The star stayed, mocking me from its high position. I got to my knees, swiping my hand across the pebble-covered dirt road, shakily grasping at the waterskin I had dropped. I brought it in close, pressing my lips to it before sipping the fresh water. I was thirsty. So much so that I was seeing things that were not there. I swallowed, letting the coolness travel down, and my eyes clamped shut to try and escape this illusion. 

“This way!” I heard a young voice shout, followed by laughter.

My head shot in the direction of the voice and I shuffled on my knees, closer to the well. I held onto the rim, only my forehead and eyelashes peering over to the other side. I saw a young boy with a shepherd’s staff. He emerged from the ridgeline of town, the buildings on the other side and the background of mountains acting as a stage for his entrance. He sang and bounced the staff into the air as though following a rhythm. He turned to look behind, the most careless smile on his face. “Come on, you lazy lambs!” 

He stopped, placing his hands on the top of his knees, waiting until they came out from the right. They bleated, upset by the amount of movement they were making. “We’re going to see the Newborn King!”

I got to my feet quickly, gathering my bearings before calling out to the boy. “Sheperd boy, where did you say you’re going?”

The boy turned, nervous that he had been caught. He gripped both hands around his staff and looked off to the side. “I’m going go to see the Newborn King. I want to know His name.” He was about to turn back on his way when he thought better of it. He looked down at the ground and then up into the sky that had just blinded me. “The star is leading me there. Isn’t it beautiful?”

Beautiful had never crossed my mind. How I wish I saw it that simply. I gave it another chance, staring straight at it, finding that it was in fact, beautiful. An easy smile spread across my face, a warmth filling my cheeks and that buzzing from before turning to an ever-small voice. Bethlehem.

“Do you mind if I travel with you, lad?” I asked, knowing it was a long, potentially dangerous journey with no one to talk to. Though he did have his sheep. 

We spent hours on the road and I was grateful I found a travel companion like him. He knew the shortest ways and they all involved walking through grassy fields. That was a much more comfortable alternative to the broken roads with dried horse dung. I learned his name was Raguel and that he had been charged with herding the most important men’s sheep. He had brownish hair and freckly skin from exposure to the sun. He couldn’t have been more than ten and two years. 

“My Abba left me on the side of the road. That’s where a very old man found me and he decided he would raise me with what little life he had left,” he paused, kicking at pebbles. “He trained me like a sheep and soon I was training them. I took over his land last season.”

His story was a sad one, though he seemed content. We let silence swarm between us, unsure of what to speak on now. I unwrapped my map and tried to make sense of it. “And uh … this Child King, how did you come to know Him?”

“I do not know!” he beamed. “The star appeared and it spoke to me, like an angel, in my soul. It told me to follow and I would be blessed.” He turned and walked backward, using his index and middle fingers to point out a huddle of the sheep. “See those five over there?” he asked, waiting for me to find them. “Those belong to Herod. Is that wrong? Taking the blasphemous king’s sheep to see the birth of the only King?”

“Maybe to Herod,” I responded with a chuckle. I reached into my satchel exchanging the map for the cheesecloth, taking out the unleavened bread Dina packed for me. I held out the cloth to the boy and he graciously indulged, tearing off pieces with me. “Who are all those travelers?”

I pointed out to a line of men and boys, all heading in the same direction. They dragged camels, mules, and horses behind them. Some had sheep like my companion, Raguel, while others tried to convince cows to move faster. There were a select few men dressed in fine satins, traveling in a carriage with the curtains pulled back. All, it would seem, were going where we were. Raguel and I picked up pace, trotting much like the animals. 

I lifted the corner of my hand to my forehead, trying to see as far as I possibly could. I thought of the spices at my side, wondering if what I was about to see was real and if it was, if I was worthy to see it. The night seemed more like day, though I knew it was not. The star had gotten brighter, casting stronger on this plot of land. I tried to understand the map one more time, frantically searching for it. When I did, I all but ripped it, opening it and locating our coordinates. I pushed a stubby finger to the triangle and read, “Bethlehem.”

We rushed from that point forward, my friend laughing the whole way. His cheeks were painted red, almost permanently as he soared forward. The sheep followed faithfully, zigzagging when he did and leaping if he did. I thought of the Lord and how that’s what he expected from us. Every minute move, we should want to follow. Yet, I did not want to go on this journey. 

My eagerness slowed as the stable came into sight. I fell to my knees and wept, ashamed when Raguel came to my side, placing a firm hand on my shoulder. “What is it, Emmet?” 

I could feel his herd behind me, their coats pushing up against my back which was likely in the way of their chosen wheat. “All they asked for was a room,” I answered. “And I turned them away to a stable. To birth the Savior of The World.”

I blinked away tears for long enough to see him get to his knees, dropping his staff to the ground. “Do you know what the angel told me, Emmet? I didn’t tell you everything.”

I shook my head, warring with myself and the sins that had torn at my soul for so long. 

“He told me, ‘Do not be afraid, for behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy which will be to all people.’ All people, Emmet. That means you and that means me, an orphan shepherd.”

As he told me what the angel said, I felt peace in my chest, wiping away all the doubt I carried. This shepherd boy, turned away by man, would not turn away God. Nor would God turn him away. I longed to be more like him. I pulled our heads together and, for the first time in a long one, I cried out to the Lord. “Forgive me, Lord, for my weak belief! Give me the courage to see what it is that you have for me to see.”

I leaned back on my heels and stretched out my arms, feeling the light of the star wash over my face and the carelessness of youth take the place of my fear. It was glory come to Earth. When I smiled at Raguel he bent down, picked up his staff, and held it out to me. “It’s time to keep walking now,” he said, knowing this was not something one should miss.

I reached out and felt the carved wood in my palm, knowing that, surely, I would be given the strength to walk. We went the rest of the way together. Raguel, with nothing but his sheep and the shoes on his feet. And myself, a man with nothing but a map, water, and spices. Spices that I would give to the Child King as a thank you for redeeming me. 

“Do not be afraid,” I whispered until my sandals stepped onto Holy Ground.