I wrote this one in 2009 because I was inspired by the imagining of what it would be like to actually be a shepherd and experience this. Since I just started wordpress I figured it deserved a “reanimation”, if you will. I know there are flaws and errors in it, but to edit it now would take beyond Christmas. And what’s Christmas without a Christmas story?? …so…enjoy!
The Birth of Hope
I
Stories and Remembrances
The old man coughed, drew a shaky breath and smiled. Time, it seemed, after all the long years, was short. He knew sure as the sun would come up to introduce another day that he wouldn’t see another. An almost permanent cold had settled in his bones, leeching what comfort could be found in the layers of blankets piled atop him like a burial shroud.
Despite this, he smiled. Even at this age, Joriah wasn’t afraid. He looked around the small room. Two children sat staring at him in rapt attention, as if the next words he spoke would be his last. Hardly. Beside them sat his son Josiah, resting on the wooden stool fully aware of what he was about to say. Not that he had told him; the twinkle in his eye was enough to give away his intentions.
“Little ones.” He said with every ounce of grandfatherly affection layering his voice.
“Yes?!?” both replied eagerly, their anticipation straining to break free from the shackles like wild animals.
“Do you want to hear a story? I know I’ve told you many – I would like to tell you a real story. Will you hear it?”
–cough–
As the children both responded with a resounding “Yes!”, a sudden gust of wind barreled through the open window behind them as if to emphasize their answer. Joriah looked up at the window, eyes focusing beyond its threshold on the night sky, momentarily lost in memory, and in hope.
He drew back into himself slowly, savoring each moment in the sweet caress of days gone by. He took a full breath; deep, life giving breath, and began.
“If I’m going to tell you a real story, one worth the effort, there is only one. I have lived a long, long happy life. Please don’t misunderstand. There were bumps, trials and fires along the way. No human life would be just that, life, without them. I am old now, but I wasn’t always. That is the time I want to take you to, a time before I felt my age the way I do now.
The world didn’t differ at that time, much anyway, physically. Father ruled the house with a fist of iron. Up before the sun, and rarely down before mid-eve. The animals always needed tending, and around this time of year one of my age always had to pasture the animals, especially sheep. I had to carry my staff, and watch for wolves. You see boys, I, like you, am the son of a Shepherd. We lived the migratory life near the end of the year, constantly moving the herds.
I also lived in a time rife with fear and turmoil. Conflict. Change.
One morning, a morning much like any other in my twenty years, Father came to meet me in the fields. The wind blew from the east, dust and sand…and moisture. Moisture was unusual, unless of course we were close to the sea, or near the Jordan.
I stood on the edge of a hill, looking down over the grazing herd. The sheep wandered here and there, content with a morning of lazy inobtrusiveness. To see them practically lounging, untouched by the events of the world brought some peace to my troubled thoughts. Stories had reached my young ears of more crucifixions for crimes against Emperor Augustus.
Crimes? I thought to myself sardonically. More like excuses to flex their military muscles and show us who is in charge.
I sighed, covering my face momentarily against a sudden onslaught of wind-driven sand. Once I could breathe again, and see beyond my nose, I lowered my arm with a shake to free it from the layer of fine rock and dirt, to find your Great-Grandfather standing with his shoulder inches from mine. It was only with an oak-wrought effort that I managed to hide the jump my heart tried to make out of my gullet.
“The sun rises, Father”, I greeted him with as much wakefulness as I could muster.
“And so it does, Son”, Father returned to me perfunctorily, “but this day it does not bring a smile to my heart.” He brought his large right hand up to scratch at his beard, which thrived on his face like a forest of dark, unruly tangleweed. “The Emperor has decreed a census throughout all his…” Father laughed, looking to me in conveyance of the same thoughts I’d had moments ago, “…throughout all his lands. You’ve known of this for some time, yes?”
An eyebrow arose from my forehead preceding a frown, warning my Father well in advance that I was about to deliver him a question either difficult to answer or much too simple for such a dire countenance. He would be the first to attest my ability to over think the simplest things. I took his elbow, guiding him down the hill. A sheep was meandering slightly farther from the herd than I prefer. I’d rather catch the “dreamer” as we called them, before he made it too much work.
We threaded our way around the masses, prodding at the sleeping ones with our staves. This signified that the time was nigh to move. I swatted a Ewe on the rump to get her moving up the hill as I released my thought to the world, which at this point consisted of Father, Ram and Ewe. “How does this affect us? We’re at least still in Judea, and Ephraim is far now to our north. All that aside, who is this Dictator who may as well fancy himself Lord of the world, that he thinks he can bully us?? We’re free Jews, not slaves like our ancestors!”
I have to remind you that in this stage of life, manly bravado, to me, meant lowering my voice to as deep a baritone as I could and making a lot of noise. I figured if I was going to have a point, I might as well make it stick. Even if it stuck like mud and mostly sounded like it. We finally reached the poor lost soul of a sheep, and to finish the emphasizing of my point I gave him a good solid thwack with my staff. “Move you lazy lump of coal or I’ll…” My father coughed.
I looked up at him. Yes, up. Father, even for a shepherd, stood a hand-span and a half taller than me. I had taken after Mother in height and girth. Where I was rail thin, Father stood like a mountain. Unbending, solid as granite or iron. “Why do you dwell there, son? Don’t you remember what we heard not more than a moon’s turn ago?” His eyes of unyielding anvils softened, and a smile crept slowly onto his face. “I thought the rag man was crazy at first, as I’m sure you do now. Who would believe a tattered, skin and bones wild person who teetered up to our fire uninvited?”
A deep chuckle vibrated from his chest to my ears. “I thought he was crazy, that is, until I remembered the scriptures. One thing he said amidst all his ranting about repentance and atonement hit me this morning. That’s why I came to find you.”
“Remember what Micah told our people nearly 5 centuries ago?”
I raked my hands back through my wind snarled black hair and gave Father the ‘Of course I remember’ look. “And what about it? All the news these days is about the new roads being built, and the ‘Glory of Rome’.” My dark brown eyes glittered with an I told you so.
Father didn’t stop smiling, which irked me, but reminded me that hope is essential to us. I calmed a little as he continued, “But you, O Bethlehem Ephrathah, are only a small village in Judah. Yet a ruler of Israel will come from you, one whose origins are from the distant past…” He took a deep breath, closing his eyes to the memory of the Prophet’s words, and the encouragement they brought. I turned to follow our now not-so-lost ram up the hill, leading Father as I would a blind man.
“…And he will stand to lead his flock with the Lord’s strength, in the majesty of the name of the Lord his God…” Father could recite this backwards and flip-flop every word if he wanted, “…And he will be the source of our peace.” He opened his eyes and resumed control of his own direction. I returned his look and let out a sigh; the last of my exasperation.
I finished his thought process, my mind quick as a whip now that I remembered. “You’re thinking of what the Isaiah said aren’t you? About a virgin that will..what were the words? ‘..conceive a child! She will give birth to a son and will call him Immanuel — God is with us.’?”
Father’s weathered brown skin crinkled with another smile, and his long graying hair swayed with his nod in the wind. “Yes, I’m thinking of that. And there is a reason, son. Your mother and I must make the journey to Ephraim to register the family.” The smile dropped slowly off his face, the dark eyes I’d inherited turning serious. “We go with all haste, but you must stay. The flock must stay here to have enough pasture ground, and you are now old enough to stand guard alone.”
For the second time that morning, my heart turned a time or two in my chest. I fought back a gasp, but was too slow to stop a short, fearfully excited draw of air into my lungs. I’d longed to prove myself for months now. I knew I was ready, but now that the time had so quickly come, I wasn’t too sure. Our family held a tradition of testing time, but the parentage was never more than 2 leagues away, only a few hours’ walk at most.
This would be different, Father spoke of nearly seven leagues’ distance to the north. No short sprint away. I managed to master my expression, belying more false confidence than I thought possible. Now that we’d reached the top of the grazing hill, I looked out over the rolling lands, taking in the enormity of it all while responding. “Go, Father. Make haste, the herds will be safe here.”
He knelt, taking a handful of dust and sifting it between his fingers to get a feel for the wind. “It has changed directions, we’ll at least have God’s breath pushing us home.”
Looking to me, he said, “May the God of our Ancestors, of Isaac and Jacob, the God of Moses keep you vigilant and safe. May He guide you as he did them”.
II
A drink
Joriah coughed, a deep, wracking cough, the sound frightening the children out of their reverie. Josiah shot out of his stool, helping his ailing father into a sitting position. He took a cloth from his pocket, dabbing it to the older man’s lips.
With the care only a seasoned caretaker can provide, he reached across Joriah’s wheezing chest to grab the fired-stone water cup. The elder, showing a touch of this fully spent youth, snatched the cup from his hand. “I may be ancient, son, in comparison to you, but I can still at least do this myself, eh?” He smiled, “Besides, I know how you hate doting on your crumbling old man.” Laughter bubbled from his belly, turning quickly to another cough, like shattering glass.
Josiah shared the laughter, as he had often joked with his father that he’d rather leave him with some aging maiden than keep him up as he would a sheep. This couldn’t be further from the truth. This young man cherished every moment, constantly afraid that the next would be his last.
The laughter subsided, and Josiah propped his father up on more straw pillows so that he could more easily see his smallchildren, and so that he could gain a little comfort while carrying on his adventure.
The wrinkled face twisted into an almost childlike exuberance, “Take a little more than a cough to keep this story. Let’s get to it then, though I must take care not to bestrew any word of this next part because it is most important.” He looked at the little ones by his side one at a time, a hard seriousness gripping his countenance. “Remember this next piece if you forget all else, it is all that matters. Promise?”
Both small heads nodded vigorously, nearly rattling their teeth with enthusiasm. “We’ll remember Grandfather, and we’ll remember forever and ever!”
Satisfied, Joriah settled back, thought for a moment, muttered a prayer and took a breath.
III
Angels in the Sky
I won’t bore you with the details of the rest of the day. I don’t remember much of it these days to be absolutely honest. I remember my mother’s embrace, her golden hair covering my face as I wrapped my arms around her. I remember the smell of the hay in the wagon. I can still see Father standing in front of me, arms crossed like two bars of tempered steel. His face lit with a worried smile, a father’s smile.
He was giving me instruction that I hardly heard, “…and remember, don’t let them out of your sight. Do you hear me?” I nodded. “Good, but most important is not to overstretch yourself. Catch some rest when you can. We shouldn’t be gone more than four days.”
He had me repeat everything said within the last five minutes. The next thing I remember, I was watching their small wagon leave its mark in the ground, standing and feeling quite small on the hillock. I took comfort in the fact that Bethlehem and Bethphage were short distances to my south and north, respectively. Should something happen, I could at least find help on the road that spanned them.
Anything else was normal. Walking the fields, moving in the ewes that strayed too far, calming the rams that got too feisty. Most of it is a blur of color and wind and a changing sky.
The sun made it’s inevitable way westward, shadows stretching as if to be free from the objects of which they were beholden. I steadily worked my way amongst my charges, going from hill to hill with my eyes constantly outward. I knew that should wolves decide to make prey of my sheep, they would do it from the shade of the low places.
I gathered the sheep as closely together as I could upon the hill father had chosen for bedding down, making one last pass of the perimeter. The sun was gone, nothing but a faded memory. Darkness claimed the pasture lands, but not completely. Stars, like a million glittering diamonds lit the ground in their pale glow. The moon remained absent, having recently spent its fullness.
I spent a few minutes stacking some of the wood Father left me. By the time I completed this small task, my thin body ran slick with sweat. I sparked a small fire beneath the logs, and once it caught, I sat back to watch it grow as a parent would a child. A piece of the wood popped loudly, startling me from my half trance. Had I fallen asleep? I stood and looked around wildly for a moment, fearful to fail on my first night out.
The sheep hadn’t moved. In fact, they appeared to be doing exactly what I thought I was. Without regret. The fierce wind of the day no longer existed. Everything sat still as a held breath, as the space between a heartbeat. My fire rose adamantly into the sky, testament unto itself. Hands and arms of flame protested the ground, pushing desperately to dance with their distant cousins above. I stretched my hands out to have their own dance with the heat. The loss of the sun had drained the air of its warmth almost instantaneously, so the fire felt great on my skin.
I carefully made my way toward another hill just south of the fire, not wanting to disturb the animals. Looking for them in the dark could be done, but at this point I really didn’t feel motivated to make that happen. The grass beneath my wooden sandals reached up to tickle the sides of my feet. As I made my way slowly down the ravine toward the next hill, the hairs on the back of my neck prickled.
The feeling I had as I crossed that span was electric, literally. I felt as you would moments before a thunderstorm, or just prior to a great battle. You know or are relatively sure something is about to happen, but the when is completely unknown. I could feel a presence, almost like the sun was just over my shoulder but when I turned I knew it wouldn’t be there.
Wolves? I thought to myself, a twinge of fear working its way up my spine like a spider slowly climbing between my shoulders. No, it is too early for them yet. I stopped mid-way up the hill, glancing expectantly to my right and left. Nothing. The grass stood straight, not a blade stirring, sentries on watch.
I glanced to the sky, frisking my hands over my shoulders to bring some warmth and try to stifle the chills fighting to break the surface. The stars continued their eternal winking, unmoving and steady as the grass mimicking below. A ram near me bleeted once as if to reassure itself of its own vitality. I flinched slightly, but laid a hand on the back of its neck partly to feel the warmth and partly to calm him.
If only someone would do the same for me. The late hour and silence of my singular existence became clear as mountain water at that moment. I took after my mother in that I hated being alone, feared it actually. I was a very fearful man-child back then, fearful of abandonment, fearful of oppression, fearful of succeeding and failing. I was a slimy mess of fears. I told myself this as I crested the hill south of my fire.
Looking back over my left shoulder, I could see the glow of it and I longed to run headlong back to it. I longed to curl up and lay in ignorant bliss. But I couldn’t. I am a shepherd.
Suddenly I heard what sounded like the tearing of a great cloth; it reverberated through my chest, shaking my lanky body to its foundation. As I started to turn back to the south, a light like a hundred-hundred candles flared, rending the air. I raised my right arm holding the staff to guard my face against the heat, but there was none.
I gasped, taking a stuttering step back and crying out in dismay. Lowering my arm just enough to see, I noticed a tall figure walking from amidst the radiance. My heart stopped its beat for a brief moment, and my knees gave way. The core of my being burned with fear, and I shook like a willow in a gale. Tears flowed freely from my semi-blinded eyes and iron bindings seemed to seize my lungs.
Never in my life had I felt fear as gripping as this. Coherent thought flew like a startled dove. It was a terrible beholding, to see those eyes. They shifted, like the sands, from color to color. Brilliance in amber, turquoise, shining silver and glowing gold. Wings like crystal stretched thrice my own arm-span, extending, then slowly folding in upon themselves. Unblemished white cloak and robes flowed over his solid frame.
The light encompassed us like a blanket of flame, undulating in the air like a thousand war drums. Rocks skittered and danced madly over my fingers as I continued to sweat and cower like a thief before the judgment seat. In my one act of semi-bravery, I subconsciously checked for the sheep expecting full outright flight. Not one had so much as swayed.
I felt, more than I saw, a gentle hand touch my shoulder. I looked up into a face with skin of milk and honey. Undeniably smooth and beautiful. Eyes like placid lakes of gold flecked silver looked into mine, and as angel…yes, it had to be an angel…as it spoke, I felt my fear run from me like water off a mountain trail, “Don’t be afraid!”. His voice was silk, a fresh spring rain, the whispering wind with a hint of thunder.
The light surrounding us ebbed, then faded as the angel smiled and helped me to stand. I sputtered, attempting a few relieved words. When I couldn’t, the newcomer smiled again and continued.
“I bring you good news of great joy for everyone! ” He took a step back, motioning as if to the whole world around us. “The Savior–yes, the Messiah, the Lord–has been born tonight in Bethlehem, the city of David!” The angel’s eyes looked upward in silent supplication, and a radiant smile blossomed over his face.
He placed a hand on my chest. “And this is how you will recognize him: You will find a baby lying in a manger, wrapped snugly in strips of cloth!” Removing his hand, he continued to smile, closing his eyes and withdrawing into himself fleetingly. He nodded, silent concession to some unheard conversation.
My dumbfounded mind could hardly keep the pace, and I constantly had to remind myself I was awake. The pinch hurt. So did stamping on my own toe and biting my lip. Yes, this was definitely real. However, like a dream, my tongue seemed to twist upon itself every time I wanted to speak. The angel appeared to find some slight humor in this.
He winked, and the light pulsed around him again…or did it? No, the stars were pulsing and becoming brighter. Then his wings snapped taught suddenly with a flash of silvery light, and the audible crack of their unfolding was a snapping whip, or length of rope against a fence post. He kneeled, chorded leg muscles visible momentarily beneath their containing robes, smiled again, and launched himself into the sky.
The higher he climbed, the further I craned my neck; the brighter the stars became. A thunderclap shook the heavens and as the peal faded, I heard the sound of a thousand harps. No, more. In the next instant my ears were nearly overwhelmed with a chorus of voices, a vast host of others. The armies of heaven were praising God. It sounded like the crashing oceans, all the world’s rushing rivers.
The stars flared, and in a nearly violent rush of wind, they began to swirl and dance. But they weren’t stars. The glow came from a multitude of angels dancing in the skies as they sang: “Glory to God in the highest heaven, and peace on earth to all those pleasing God!” They repeated this chorus many times, until I was sure I’d never hear again. One by one the voices echoed out, their perspective angels resuming his or her position in the sky, twinkling briefly before returning to normal.
I stood for long moments, a statue of flesh and bone. My eyes readjusted to the darkened terrain and the ringing faded from my ears. My breathing still came short, and my heart roared with hope. Father, today of all days, you would give all our flocks to have been here! I thought, wishing I could project the thought to him with force of will alone.
I took one look north to my fire, and knew immediately what I had to do. I set out for Bethlehem without a second glance.
IV
The Child of Hope
Joriah stopped, so excited from the telling he actually came short of breath. Both boys were riveted; both boys exhaled at the same time, and took a new breath. “What happened next?! ” the older of the two asked breathily. His eyes, saucer-like in anticipation, never moved from his grandfather’s face.
“Ah, that, little one, is just where I’m headed.” He laughed, a solid laugh straight from his toes. “Ninety years, and this old heart beats just as fast as it did back then!” He noticed Josiah had the same expression on his face as his children, though he’d heard the story many times over.
“Tell the next part, Father, it is just as amazing”, said Joriah’s son.
The most senior of the room cleared his throat with a sound like rattling bones. “To say that I ran to Bethlehem, less than a league away, is an understatement. I practically flew. The trip is a blur of grasses beneath my feet and wind in my hair. Buildings came into view and as I came into the village, I slowed.
No one seemed to know what I was raving about, most looked at me as if I were a leper, going through a mental breakdown. “Why do we care about a baby?” Some asked. A select few caught my enthusiasm, but I still left them to find their own way.
I rounded the corner of Bethlehem’s small inn, looking for the tell-tale signs the angel had given me. Knowing the Inn to be a place of gossip and news, I strode eagerly up to one of the stable hands, almost bowling him over in the process. He looked as if he had gone daft, eyes drifting unfocused. “Have you heard news of a pregnant woman and a baby?” I asked him.
As if seeing me for the first time, the boy looked up into my eyes, tears of what looked like guilt streamed down his dirt laden face. He didn’t speak, just turned and pointed to the stables. Stables? I questioned myself. I expected a manger, but stables too? I stopped to collect myself. It seemed way too quiet for all the fanfare and exaltation I’d heard not even two hours previous.
In retrospect, I think I had built myself an image of a king already on a throne. Someone who could get rid of this “Emperor”. I saw trains of people flooding the little village. Of course, what I saw in my overwhelmed mind, and what I truly experienced were different, but no less awesome.
The stable the boy pointed to was small, at best. Straw littered the roof, posts supporting it seemed to groan with the effort. Walls on three sides were makeshift, small boards stacked side to side, stuck together with mud and straw as a mortar. A few spider webs swayed lightly from the eve, attempting to catch the very wind, or so it appeared.
Three ragged camels, or water-horses, as we in the family called them, stood wearily outside. I walked past them, taking notice that they were lathered, and two of them had foam on their lips from excessive riding. I rushed in and around the corner, sidestepping a small child as she clambered out from between two boards. She had been watching, apparently.
What I saw next stopped me in my tracks. I came upon view of an unordinary sort. A young woman, probably not more than eighteen lay propped against the back wall, hair flattened from having been wet earlier. Leaning against her shoulder and holding her sat a man about my age. Both looked on in wonder.
Before them sat a manger and I could see a bundle moving slightly within. It was wrapped and laying in a manger just like the angel had said! On either side of the manger sat three men, a fourth further into the corner. A few other people stood and looked on in wonder. I could hardly contain my excitement.
As I came into view, the young couple looked up at me, dark eyes glittering with expectation and joy. Hope and promise. Before I knew what I was doing, I told them everything. I even forgot to beg pardon of the garishly dressed men kneeled by the manger. They all eyed me with exorbitant curiosity, as if they were astonished that one such as myself would be given that honorable visit.
The woman, whose name I later learned was Mary, looked tired, but determined to soak in every moment and treasure them in her heart forever. The three men, dressed far too richly for my tastes in robes of bright oranges and yellows all looked at one another. One of them, sporting a graying beard and lined face, nodded. The other two stood slowly.
I took this moment to slide in closer to the manger.
The two younger men grabbed a few bundles of things, the wrapping cloths probably worth more than the entire outfit of garb I presently had on. It wasn’t until they unwrapped the items that I realized what they were doing. These were gifts for the child! The first of the two men set his bundle next to the manger, the second followed suit.
“What is this you bring?” Mary asked tentatively. The oldest of the three spoke up, reverence making his voice quaver, “Gifts worthy a King.” He pointed to the first bundle and each one consequently, “Gold here. Myrrh. Frankincense. Worthy a King, but short of the Lord of Hosts.” He bowed his head and the other two men kneeled again. “We worship you, little one, for you will be our Savior.”
Frankincense?!? Gold? Myrrh? Any one of these is enough to buy our entire herd all on its own!
The very nature of the gifts, and the men’s actions led me to finally take a solid look at the child. As my eyes settled on him for the first time he looked like any other child. Small hands, small feet, small body. Then his eyes locked with mine. I dropped to the floor, peace overriding my remaining strength. In those dark eyes I saw hope, felt strength.
I looked up to his parents, a question plainly on my face. “What is his name?”
The young man stifled an excited laugh, his eyes sparkled within. “He is called Jesus, it means The Lord Saves!”
My heart overflowed with joy, and I spent many hours with the wise men and other shepherds, worshiping and giving thanks to God. Later that evening I had a chance to speak with the other finely dressed man who worshiped in quiet adoration. He happened to be King of a fledgling territory to the northeast. A small king, but a king nonetheless! Shepherds and Kings, Wise men and a virgin family. Never before, or after, have I seen a gathering like it.
When we left the place, the wise men avowed to take an entirely different route, because, they confided, our King Herod wanted this child’s life stricken from him. I told everyone I came across on the way back to our hill of the experience. Some openly scoffed, some ran off to tell others. I simply went back to the herds.
Father cried and worshiped openly when I told him.
V.
The Reminder
Joriah smiled, remembering always brought tears to his eyes, as much for the loss of his father as for the days following his experience with the Lord. “You both know what happened to the baby, do you not?”
The younger piped up, having still been staring. “He did his mission Grandfather. He lived and taught the way to our Father. Then the Romans killed him, but they couldn’t really kill him because He is alive now and we’re really truly free!”
The old man sighed, “Yes, child. Yes.”
The Pen is Mightier.. 