Every Christmas, our nativity scene has two babies. And six magi, two angels, a crowd of shepherds, two Marys and two Josephs. Years ago, I made the figures in miniature and included the traditional cast of characters, a ceramic pageant set out to recall the first Christmas. I was delighted when, soon afterwards, my young daughter made a nativity scene of her own. Since then they have been displayed each Christmas, sometimes side by side but often enough, the two nativity scenes are arranged in a crowd, with all of the earthly and heavenly hosts gathered around two mangers.
Kneeling right beside the mangers, next to Joseph and Mary, are the two midwives. I know the midwife wasn’t mentioned in the gospel accounts of Jesus’ birth, but she must have been there. The innkeeper, whose inn had no room, and who offered the stable, was not heartless. The innkeeper would have known who to send for if it wasn’t she herself who came out to assist with the birth. Either way, there must have been a midwife. Joseph wouldn’t have known what to do. He would have been panicking, fearful of the danger that childbirth could bring to mother or child. The midwife would have arrived soon after Joseph had pounded on the inn door crying out for help.
This was not the calm nativity scene we always see, with a gently cooing baby Jesus, half asleep in swaddling clothes, with Mary serenely pondering these things in her heart and Joseph leaning in to adore both mother and child. This was an emergency, at least in Joseph's mind.
A number of years ago I did a series of mixed media works called “First Aid Gospel”. One piece, called “Emergency Childbirth,” juxtaposes a traditional illustration of the birth of Jesus with two pages from a vintage first aid manual. The pages describe, with precautions and step-by-step details, how to deliver a baby, written for those without training and without the usual medical equipment. It is a reminder that there is a lot more to that holy birth than what is typically shown, a very real and human story as well, full of emotion and urgency.
It makes me think of the birth of my son. My partner and I had planned for a home birth attended by a midwife at a time when hospital births were assumed. After some time, the first midwife was joined by a second, both coaching and monitoring the situation. But by the time too many long hours of painful labour had been endured, and at the wise insistence of my mother-in-law who was worried and had lost patience with the home birth, it was agreed we should go to the hospital. There, gratefully, my partner’s pain was controlled and we were able to take full advantage of everything traditional medicine could offer. Thanks to a cesarean section delivery, our son was finally born and we were able to take in those miraculous first moments, a healthy calm baby looking up at us as we looked back in wonder.
The adoring look on Joseph’s face, typical of most nativity scenes, was likely one filled with relief because only once the midwife had arrived and calmly taken charge could he know that things were going to be okay. The midwife is never in the nativity scene because she would have left long before the worshiping crowds had arrived. After being the first to witness and essentially usher in that first miraculous Christmas, she would have quietly packed up her things and left for home. And only after her full reassurance that both mother and baby were fine, could Joseph be ready to direct the traffic of shepherds, magi and angels that was to come.
