December 24, 2023 Tricia Gerhard
In 1998, psychologist and grief specialist, Nancy Reeves was in the midst of her Advent evening prayer when she found herself envisioning a weary couple, the woman heavily pregnant, making their way into a town and looking for a place to stay. She realized, as she imagined this scene, as the two entered Bethlehem that even in the darkest hours of the night there are always some who are awake: a parent with an ill child, an elder with arthritis, young lovers – these people would have watched with distracted interest as these two made their way past. Nancy writes: Human nature is the same now as it was 2,000 years ago. The young couple would likely have been given blessings, questions and advice. “When are you due?” “Is this your first?” “A little warm wine will help a fretting baby.” “Let me tell you where the midwife lives.”
It was this last thought that caught Nancy’s attention – the midwife. At that time in history, childbirth did not happen without a midwife in attendance. Mary and Joseph likely had been given specific directions about what to do if labour comes on while away from home and finding the midwife would be one of the first steps. So, if that is the case, why isn’t there a midwife mentioned in the birth story? Often times, when we relate a story we tend to focus on the important pieces of the story, leaving behind the small details. So there could be many reasons why a midwife wasn’t mentioned – story teller didn’t see her as important, or maybe her presence would just be assumed. Nevertheless, Nancy’s imagination was caught by the unmentioned midwife, and from that she crafted a poem called the Midwife’s Story. I would like to share it with you.
Later,
When the tale was
Told by others,
I was not mentioned –
Like many women
And men in essential jobs,
Taken for granted.
But the Eternal One knows.
For our God gave me the gift
To ease the birth.
He was like so many others;
You could tell it was his first.
Anxious to get back to her.
Love shining in his eyes.
That wasn’t the only thing
Shining that night.
You didn’t need a light;
The whole sky was aglow
With one star.
I knew they were
Packing them in.
Bit to make a woman,
Ripe to bursting,
Sleep in a stable!
Oh, well.
At least no one would
Grumble at
The noise and the smell.
Birth so resembles
Death sometimes.
It was obvious she’d
Been prepared well –
Far from mother,
Grandmother, cousin,
Yet taught by them
And remembering the teaching.
She knew that pain is
Part of every birth,
Living with the hope
And the joy.
He was a help too,
The strength and gentleness
In his touch and look.
The love between them
Rivaled that star.
Then, the sweating
And the pushing.
Hard work, harvesting
The seed
Planted months before and
Nurtured in darkness.
It’s a willing sacrifice
We make,
Offering our bodies to
Be broken open
- Water bursting forth,
Sweating and pain –
To birth a miracle.
They knew he was a boy
Child before I told them.
The final push was easy.
Sliding out his warm nest,
He came
To be with us.
Little lambkin,
Blood on his head.
Large eyes drinking
In the world.
A person could fall
Into those eyes.
I held glory for a second,
Then gave him to
Her- to them.
I was forgotten for a
Time, as is right.
Their baby-filled eyes
Had no room for anything else.
They had a few
Minutes, the three
United in communion,
Before the magnetism of
Birth drew others.
This time, men as
Well as women.
I’m not good with crowds
And I felt full, satisfied –
My gift always ready,
Prepared to make the
Way smoother.
I know I was inspired
That night.
I left them to others
And went home.
Grateful for my part
In bringing God to birth.
