Written in Ifrane, Morocco, 2008
Close to our town there is a little village whose homes almost all contain at least one cave. For some, the cave serves as their living room, for others it is their storage room, and for others, it is a bedroom.
Within a few steps of one home and looking much like a messy version of their cave kitchen, this particular little hollow tucked into a hillside is the family’s stable. Wood, trash and storage items line the walls. Staring at me is a donkey whose woeful eyes tell a tale of heavy burdens laid on his back.
I want to ask him if he has carried a young woman expecting a child recently or if he has been led along by a carpenter’s rough hands. Most likely, he has.
I smile at him and imagine that it won’t be long before he is joined by chickens scuttling in and out on errands of greatest importance. And at night the goats will be corralled inside once convinced to stop eating everyone else’s trash.
Here in this place it does not seem odd at all that a poor little family boarding guests in their inn for a census would offer a young couple their stable – close by and not so very different from their own home.
And it’s hard to imagine Mary and Joseph being alone in a country like Morocco where the concept of privacy is as bizarre as a moon landing. Might some busy-body aunties have come by to help? Perhaps a little girl peeked in. If so, would they have had any idea Who they were looking at?
And I suppose I would have been among the wealthy religious folks reluctantly making the forced journey on my deluxe donkey saddle. Careful to bypass the stinky little stable, I would have headed up to the clean, quiet inn just outside of town.
I wonder how irritated would I have been to be awoken by loud knocking to find several raggedy, poor, unclean shepherds blurting out something about a newborn king?
Would I have been amazed but gone back to bed? Or would the same powerful force that created the universe have drawn me irresistibly to a dark cave – for a glimpse into the face of God?
Back in the present, I find myself pausing to listen for a baby’s cry. I’m tempted to peek inside just in case there is a new mother cradling her baby.
My Moroccan hosts shake their heads – crazy foreigner, taking pictures of a shameful donkey in a dirty cave.
Yes, crazy foreigner. And yes, amazing God who chose such a place to come to earth.