The Son of Man

Between her white thighs, the hand stood out, callused, dark, the hand of a carpenter who had traveled a long time under the sun.

“Come on, wife, come on. I have to do it … there is no one who can help us.“

Joseph’s other hand was now resting on her belly and compressing it. Maria thought it was a useless gesture, but she didn’t have the courage to contradict her husband again. She was ashamed. Men usually don’t see certain things. Women have children, aided by other older women.

“Push, Maria, come on!”

Maria no longer felt cold, she was soaked with sweat in the back of her neck and under her thighs.

“I don’t … I don’t … aaaah … I no longer distinguish one pain from another, they are close, aaah.” She grabbed Joseph’s arm.

“Maria, you’re sticking your nails into my flesh.”

“Sorry … ah …”

Behind the massive figure of Joseph, she could glimpse the opening of the cave. There were the stars, shining in the cold desert sky and, in the middle, just above them, the ball of fire that announced the coming of her son.

She arched from the strongest contraction since the onset of labor. She didn’t know if those stones that split her back were inside her or on the cave floor.

If at least she had found a place in the hotel! Everyone had chased them away. And that arrogant hostess! She was pregnant too, she could have had a little pity.

She bit her lip and felt she was crying. Now the son of God would be born in a cave, with a cow and a donkey, and surely she would die.

Was this what the God of Israel wanted from her? To use her as a pot to spread his seed and then make her die worse than a beast?

An icy breeze rose and froze the soaked nape of her neck and rustled in the fronds of the great palm trees outside the cave. In the distance — but too far away for Joseph to leave her to call for help — the sheep could be heard bleating.

Blessed are you of all women.

“Push, wife!”

Yes, the pains had changed, they were becoming unbearable: she was close. She looked between her spread legs, past the balled-up robes halfway up her belly. She saw her thighs streaked with blood, saw the hair of her pubis, under the hand of Joseph the carpenter, rise and fall to the rhythm of the contractions.

Josephs was a good husband. He was the only father she wanted for her son. Yet Jesus would not have belonged to him, he was helping her to give birth to the son of God.

But now it all seemed so far away, so absurd. The visit of the angel, the light, the thrill in her womb … Hail Mary, full of grace … a vision perhaps? No, because the baby was conceived when the wedding was three months away and she had not yet known a man.

She had hoped, however, that to he bride of God, to the maid of the Lord (so she had proclaimed herself as she knelt in the light that transfigured her humble house) these sufferings would be spared. When the great creature of light with feather wings had said to her: do not fear, Mary, you have found grace before God, she did not think that she would be forced to give birth like other women. What if she die? Who would breastfeed her baby? Because the child was still her son. Her and Joseph’s. She would have fought for the Lord not to take him away from her husband! Joseph must be the father of the little one, at least until Jesus had grown up enough.

In the distance, the fires of the shepherds illuminated the tents. Bethlehem was celebrating on the night of the census.

“I can see the head! He has a lot of hair! Come on, Maria, hold on! Every time you push he pops out, but then he comes back.“

“Then he won’t go out! Oh, Lord, help your son… help me! “

“No, no, stay calm. It must be a normal thing … every time you open more.“

She felt her husband’s fingers now trying to prevent her from closing again, but she was beyond shame now. She just wanted it to end, she wanted to get out of that lake of pain.

He will be great and will be called son of the Most High.

Son of the Most High … he was a man instead! How much humanity there was in the pains that tore her bowels, in the blood that bathed the dust of the cave, that splashed on Joseph’s robes.

He was God, but he was born like lambs, in blood.

Here is the Lamb of God who takes away the sins of the world.

The monitoring was over. Now Mrs Spencer was taking the pressure on her. Smiling, she confirmed that everything was fine. “Ok, you were great, Mary.”

Mary sighed in relief and relaxed on her pillows. She was still losing a little blood but, after disinfection, she had been applied a thick tampon on her pubis and now she felt fresh again under the sheet.

She was all right, her son was born! That child that God had not wanted to grant her, she had built herself, with all her strength.

When they discovered that Joseph was barren, there had been so much pain in the family, rebellion, anger. Then they had decided. If Joseph couldn’t give her a son, they would buy one at the sperm bank, paying any price to get him to birth.

Mrs Spencer approached her with a bundle in her arms and placed it delicately on her still swollen belly. Joseph took a step forward, uncertain, moved.

Mrs Spencer frowned at him. “Just five minutes, please, then let’s let the lady rest.”

Joseph nodded. From how hard he swallowed, Mary knew that if he just tried to talk, he would cry.

When the head nurse was out, her husband snuggled up next to her. He touched the baby’s hand. His little fingers clenched into fists around his.

Mary looked at her son and at the man who would raise him. This is the son of man, she thought, the son of a stranger who spilled his seed for me. But he is also the son of God, born by miracle and in joy, and his body is still warm from the hands of the Lord.