On Sunday, the third Advent candle is lit, and Christ’s birth draws closer. What was Mary’s experience as she brought the Christ Child into the world? Though often depicted as being turned away from an inn, the biblical text suggests a different reality. ‘No room at the inn’ should be more accurately translated as there being ‘no room in the guest room’ – the Greek word Luke uses is κατάλυμα (kataluma Lk 2:7). (Luke uses this word again when Jesus instructs his disciples to prepare for the Last Supper). Any relative’s household would be busy and flooded with extra family for the census. Rather than the hostility of being refused lodging, this reflects the cultural sense of hospitality which included the provision of whatever was necessary, which would have extended to providing for Mary during the dangerous and painful process of childbirth.

Our traditional and interpretative Christian memory is of Mary supported by Joseph in the intimacy and peace of a stable, a ‘silent night’ when all was ‘calm’ and ‘quiet’. Though the biblical texts give little such detail, non-biblical and ethnographic data can allow us to surmise her experience. Given the circumstances of the census, there would have been minimal privacy as Mary went into labour, rendering the birthing space and its contents ritually unclean. It is more culturally accurate to imagine that Mary, with experienced women nearby, withdrew to the privacy of any other available space. That space was the one kept for the household animals, where she laid her newborn son in their manger (Lk 2:7), most probably a stone trough rather than the oft-depicted V-shaped wooden feeder.

Following detached annunciations of conceptions, biblical narrative authors were not concerned with recording stages or experiences of pregnancy or the birth process and were silent about the length of pregnancy. There are examples, such as the prophet Jeremiah noting that God formed him in his mother’s womb (Jer 1:5), and the pain associated with the physical reality of birth (Jer 30:6). Hebrew midwives, Shiphrah and Puah, appear in the Exodus story (Ex 1:15-17) where there is a reference to the birthing stool and how Hebrew women were not like Egyptian women, being ‘vigorous’ and birthing before the midwife’s arrival. Biblical poetic literature frequently draws parallels between the fear and loss of control experienced by a labouring woman and the turmoil of warfare (Isaiah 13:8; Ps 48:6).

Similarly, we are not told the details of Mary’s labour. We do not know how long she laboured squatting on a birthing stool, whether she had a midwife, or if there were others present to help. Nor are we provided with such details as birth weight, length, or hair colour of the baby; we are simply told that the child was a son, wrapped in bands of cloth, and laid in a manger. In line with Ancient Near Eastern practice, the baby would have been washed in water, then rubbed with a mixture of salt and olive oil to cleanse the skin before being tightly swaddled (Ezek. 16:4). The corpus of Egyptian and Mesopotamian literature as well as traditional customs among twentieth-century Palestinian Arabs provides additional details regarding postpartum rituals that may illuminate Mary’s experience, such as the cutting and tying of the cord.

The separation necessary to preserve the cultic purity of others, and the fact that men were generally not permitted in birthing chambers, helps to explain the lack of biblical detail surrounding the birthing experience. By contrast, the presence of the father at childbirth is a relatively modern phenomenon. Today, fathers often play an active role in the childbirth process, providing emotional and physical support to their partners. Modern hospitals typically encourage and facilitate the presence of fathers during labour and delivery, often also accommodating other support persons chosen by the mother. There has also been a resurgence in the more intimate home birth experience and alternative birthing practices, where the presence of the father is almost always a given.

The reality of that first Christmas contrasts sharply with the idyllic depictions in carols and cards. Yet, this contrast echoes a truth in my own life. I often long for the ‘perfect’ Christmas only to face the stress, expense, arguments and messiness of real life in a challenging world. Despite this, the celebration of the birth of the Christ Child continues to speak to a world in need, offering hope amid life’s struggles and imperfections.

In my final Advent blog next week, I consider Mary’s resilience and the inner strength she might offer to mothers today. This is particularly relevant for mothers facing hardship, particularly in places of conflict and instability, such as Gaza, as they bring new life into an uncertain world while hoping for peace and a brighter future.