By Father Matthew Byrne
Monday December 24 2007                              

Come out of Nazareth along the winding road until you come to a fork-junction. Take the turn to the left, and you’ll come across a house, on the fringe of an olive grove. In the cool shade of the wall, old Azariah sits beside his wife Naomi. A few yards away from them, you’ll see a donkey. That’s me. Nowadays, though, I’m more ornamental than useful — a donkey that couldn’t carry panniers to save my life, and would certainly die if anybody heavier than a newborn baby were to ride on my back.

It hasn’t always been like that. I’ve borne baskets and people and heavy loads, and a newborn child. It didn’t seem too extraordinary at the time. But even now, Azariah and Naomi still talk about the day they gave me to Joseph for his wife, Mary. I didn’t understand the ins-and-outs of it all. There was a lot of talk amongst the humans, but donkeys find it difficult to grasp everything humans say. In the middle of all the gossip, the day came when Azariah arrived home long before the day’s work was done. I was under the trees, sheltering from the sun. Naomi was grinding corn in the millstone by the wall. She looked up, and her face seemed sad when she saw Azariah.

I was surprised myself. But I could see Naomi was expecting bad news, with her husband back so early. But Azariah was shouting about Bethlehem, and leaving Nazareth, and needing a donkey. And Naomi was calling back: “Good… our donkey … to Bethlehem … very good.” It all sounded happy and good, and nothing to worry about. And while they were eating dried fish and lettuce, I worked out in my brain that whoever Azariah was talking about was leaving Nazareth, and going to Bethlehem and they needed a donkey… and Naomi thought it was “good”.

But, oh dear, had I not been trying so hard to work out what they were talking about, I’d have known what was going to happen next. Before I knew where I was, Azariah was strapping panniers on my back, and fixing the bridle. He put his arm round my neck, and that’s how we walked almost all the way to the house of these people who were leaving Nazareth and going to Bethlehem, and needed a donkey. They were gentle people. I liked them. Azariah called the man Joseph and the woman Mary.

“I give you our donkey, Joseph,” said Azariah. I understood that! Joseph looked amazed and shook his head furiously, and waved his hands a lot, and said: “No, No” many times. But Azariah waved his hands just as much, and nodded his head furiously, and kept saying: “Yes, yes”, and then he was going, shuffling down the road. I brayed a bit after him, but he didn’t look back. Two days later we were leaving Nazareth — me and Joseph and Mary. It’s over 100 miles to Bethlehem. I don’t know how long it normally takes, but I imagine it took me somewhat longer, because I had to walk extra carefully, since Mary was expecting a child. I didn’t want anything to happen to her baby. The journey, of course, for a donkey, was no different to any other. Nothing exciting. Just roads, and stones, and ruts in the road, and dust in the nostrils.

I got them safely to Bethlehem andI think they were grateful, for they gave me so much food that night that I couldn’t eat it all. The days came and went, and there wasn’t much for me to do. I met other donkeys, of course, bringing people to visit Joseph, now that he was back in his father’s house. It was a good house and comfortable for the domestic animals brought in at night. They were safe from wolves and robbers. I had a stall near the door and slept safe and sound every night.

Then came the night when I was wakened from a lovely sleep. It was a baby crying. From my stall by the door, I could see everything. Mary had at last given birth to her baby. The women who had come to look after her were thrilled.

“A boy,” they kept telling her, “It’s a boy, Mary.”

Joseph was pleased. His father was delighted. I was pleased myself. And nearly went “Hee Haw”, but I thought it would be too loud and waken the baby, by now wrapped in swaddling clothes and cuddled tenderly in his mother’s arms, and I’m sure he’d have gone fast asleep had it not been for the strangers pounding on the door, and prancing in as though they were kings.

They didn’t talk like people from Nazareth or Bethlehem. I didn’t understand a single word they said. And by the look on Joseph’s face, he didn’t understand much either. But they seemed more concerned about the child than about anybody else. And they weren’t long in the house before they were kneeling down, worshipping the child. Then they opened the great bags they had, and put presents round the bedroll where Mary was lying with her baby in her arms.

I could see gold sparkling among the gifts. I didn’t need to see the rest. I could smell the frankincense and myrrh. That’s what made me think they were kings. You’d have to be a king to afford gifts like that. As quickly as they’d come, they were gone again. The women decided the baby would be safer and more comfortable sleeping in the manger. Mary agreed. So they took him, and made a nest in the straw, and cuddled him in snugly. And, as a donkey, I thought that was sensible, for that’s what animals do when we have babies.

He was soon asleep Mary slept andthe house was quiet and I was dozing off myself. Then, there was a smell of sheep. It grew stronger and stronger… then there was such a banging on the door! The whole house was awake. Joseph opened the door.

Some men came in. Then I realised why I’d smelt sheep. The men were wrapped in sheepskins. They were shepherds. And noisy shepherds, too, with a great deal to tell. Everybody in the house was amazed at what they were saying, even Mary. Fully awake now, she listened to everything the shepherds said. In the glow of the lamp, I could see the thoughtful look on her face.

When the shepherds had gone away, Joseph and Mary talked together for a long, long time. A week or so later, they had a party. Naturally, I wasn’t there. But from what I overheard from those who came and went, it was a special party at which they named the new-born babe. I pricked up my ears. I remember thinking when I heard it that I’d have no problem recognising it. It was a common enough name. They called the child Jesus.

The Very Revd. Matthew Byrne is a former Dean of Kildare. He has published several books. ‘The Way It Was — The Narrative Of The Birth Of Christ’ (€11.75) is published by Columba Press.