Sacred Moments

The house was small- one room really. Preparations had been going since early morning- bread baked, water collected, lamb slaughtered, spiced and stewed, potatoes picked. the guests had been in and out with their contributions.

They sat down to eat and catch up. They knew the sacrifice which had enabled the feast and savoured each bite, delighted at the pleasure of sharing in this occasion with one another. The boy of the house chasing his cousin or another child under the table or round a grown-up serving another helping of the feast. The wine flowed and the fire at one side of the room was kindled and stoked. They sat around on rugs, on stools, the edge of the bed. They told stories- ancient promises and prophecies. And they sang- chanted rhythmic folk melodies as someone beat out the tempo on a lap and another blew into a flute. The men jumped and stamped and clapped and turned- not enough room for half of them but that's no reason not to dance-

The boy knowing all the steps even though he's just a tot. The music speeding up and the movements getting more clipped, running into one another- a stream of twirling and leaping. They laugh and pat one another on the back when the dance can go no quicker or longer and they settle down. The man of the house more breathless than most- no longer a young man.

The hint of sweat is masked by smells of wood smoke, dinner spices, and dried fruits, incense and alcohol. The air is thick with love and laughter and solmenity. It is important to mark these days. Later the women cry out age-old haunting laments- the mother sings the sweet and sad air her mother used to sing on these occasions. They remember all who have gone before.

It's late and the guests make for home. The hosts see them to the door. They embrace- palms to backs damp from dancing. Anxious lest those leaving catch a chill as they head out into in the crisp starlit night. Those departing laugh off the concern- warm and merry as they are. Looking toward the heavens, the couple recall a sky such as this which overlooked the arrival of the son some years ago. They catch each other's eye, grateful for the grace of fidelity and for present joy.

The boy is exhausted from the days excitement and is up long past his bedtime. He sits at the edge of his cot to wash his face, hands and feet from a bowl and nearly nods off mid-ablution. The husband sits close to him and supports the child's slight frame as the wife kneels and gently wipes dry the little feet. In love, she also washes her husband's feet before they lay down the resting child. The husband takes the cloth and bowl, kneels before his wife and pours water on her feet too, left then right. He rubs her soles, wraps each one gently with the dry cloth before tenderly kissing the tops of her feet and ankles. He tickles her playfully.

It has been a long day, intensely satisfying and the family are grateful and content. Husband and wife lie down on bedding next to the child. Curled up together in the firelight, her back to his front, they watch the fall and rise of the boy's breath.

"The child grew in wisdom, and God's blessings were upon him... So he went back with his parents to Nazareth where he was obedient to them. His mother treasured all these things in her heart and Jesus grew both in body and in wisdom, gaining favour with God and people." Luke 2