This Christmas I’m thinking about Mary. I’m thinking about Mary and Jesus’s birth story - that I’ve never really heard. In the manger, surrounded by the animals, squatting, or on all fours, as the contractions get stronger and closer together. Time dilating as the starry Bethlehem sky begins to swirl and the ground swells to hold the cries of pain and surrender. Unapologetic cries and ancient sounds Mary didn’t know she was capable. Her holy unadulterated calls guiding the wise men through the night as clearly as any heavenly star.
For the divine to be born into a body the divine must move through a body.
The limitless expanse moves through the very real parameters of human flesh. Blood, shit, piss, and mucous of all kinds blanket the hay and earth of the manger, reminding us of the earthward direction spirit takes to enter this world. Jesus’s first crown of thorns, felt intimately by his mother as he crowned and receded and crowned and receded, and finally entered the world through his mother’s stretched and inflamed sex organs.
For spirit to become flesh in this paradigm requires ultimate attuned listening between mother/flesh, child/creation, and the ever-present possibility of death. Navigating together through the twists and turns of the birth canal through the rhythms of rest and push of ripen and open. Listening and trusting each other, the mutual listening weaves with a depth of faith and surrender that is unmatched. My partner described it as “everything else paling away as my entire body surrendered to the work of being a portal.” This is how Jesus/G*d/Spirit arrived on Earth, as all babies arrive - as miracles covered in the fluids of surrender and smelling of the near miss of death. The idea of the body as sinful; becomes ridiculous in the throes of labor. There is no wrong action, no wrong fluid, no wrong parts. Just life and death, immediate, unyielding, trusting a rhythm that is beyond ego control. This is the manger scene that I prostrate before full of awe and wonder. This is a worthy origin story for a religion.
My own partner gave birth almost three months ago. It was the first human birth I’ve participated in. The portal time of the birth was a profound moment of surrender and opening that I can’t possibly understand from the body I inhabit this lifetime. I offer these reflections with deepest respect and gratitude for my partner, and for all those all those who bring the miracle of life into the world of flesh. As we honor baby Jesus and his family, as we honor the divine made flesh, may we honor the tender miracle of all babies and their birthing parents and, indeed, all human labors that move us through the portals beyond what we know to be possible, doing the divine work of surrender.
[picture descriptions: 1. A baby lies on a mother's chest as she lies on the ground. A man with a beard lies with them, hands on the baby and eyes on the mother. There is a white rag with blood next to them. I couldn't find the name of the artist despite hunting. 2. Inside the hole in a tree is the eyeball of a squirrel. 3. My child, Nua, soon after birth.]