I remember that night very well. It might as well have been
yesterday. Of course, it wasn’t
yesterday; it was a very, very long time ago. I was just a kid back then. In
fact, I was the youngest shepherd out in the fields that year – just learning
the ropes. Old Judah, he taught me everything I needed to know. He taught me
what to do when a sheep wanders off, and where to find the best pastures for
the flock, and how to help a ewe sheep when she’s giving birth. He made sure
that the other shepherds didn’t give me too much lip – you know, as I was the
youngest, and all. But I knew that they would all help me out if I got in
trouble.
After all, we shepherds have to stick together. Everybody
looks down on us. We’re “not as good” as everybody else. Especially the priests
– that holier-than-thou bunch that runs the Temple. They say that because we
live out in the fields with our flocks – because we can’t wash our hands before
every meal, and because we can’t make it into the Temple to sacrifice all the
time – because of things like that, the priests say that we’re unclean. They
say that God isn’t interested in us! What a bunch of baloney! It seems to me
that God should approve of anyone who cares for the sheep that we need for our
food and clothing, not to mention the Temple sacrifices! Why, King David was a
shepherd himself when he was a boy; and our scriptures call the kings and
priests “shepherds.” They’re supposed to take care of the people like we take
care of our sheep; but the only people they
take care of is themselves.
Now, I’ve gotten off the track. Oh, yes – I wanted to tell
you about that night when I was a shepherd boy out in the fields with the
sheep. I’ll never forget it, no matter how long I live. There are some things
that you just don’t forget. It must have been around midnight. The sheep had
all settled down; and the only shepherds who were awake were old Judah and
myself – we had the first night watch. It was dark as pitch, but the stars were
shining like torches – a thousand little torches shining out of the night. And
then, without any warning, we were in
one of those torches! The night around us disappeared into light, so much light
that we didn’t know where to turn or what to do! That light formed itself into
something right out of heaven; and I heard the light say, “Don’t be afraid. I
have good news for everyone to hear. In Bethlehem, the Messiah has been born.
You’ll find him wrapped in swaddling cloths and lying in a manger.” And then
the light around us exploded into the light of a thousand torches, and it was
like heaven itself opened. Beautiful singing was all around us: “Glory to God
in the highest; and peace and goodwill towards all on earth.” We were scared
out of our wits! But almost as quickly as it started, it was all over and the
night was dark again.
We all saw it – old Judah, me, and all the rest of us. The
Messiah had been born? In a barn? Now, I don’t know the scriptures that well,
but I didn’t remember anything about the Messiah being born in a barn. We all
figured that the Messiah would be born in a palace, being a descendent of King
David and all. But after that announcement, we wanted to go and find that baby!
At first, the shepherds told me that I should stay with the sheep while the
rest of them went into town to look. After all, I was the youngest; and I got
all the jobs that nobody else wanted. But then old Judah spoke up. “Let the boy
go,” he said. That’s exactly what he said: “Let the boy go. I’ve seen too much
to hope in any Messiah. I’ll stay here with the sheep. Let the boy go with
you.”
So I went with the other shepherds. We ran into Bethlehem as
fast as we could, and we looked for half the night. Do you know how many
stables are in that town? Every house has a stable for the animals; and they’re
all dark as pitch. We didn’t have any torches, so we had to poke around among
cows and donkeys and goats from this side of town to that; and all in the dark.
We looked everywhere! We looked in every stable after stable; but we finally
found that child.
Oh, we knew him as soon as we saw him. Sure enough, he was
lying in a manger sound asleep. His mother was asleep, too, all worn out from
giving birth; and his father was standing guard over both of them, making sure
that a cow didn’t accidentally step of one of them as they slept. I’ve never
seen a baby like that, before or since. The stable around him was so peaceful,
as though nothing could bother anyone there. Oh, I know, you think that this is
just the yammering of an old man, and that I’m remembering the scene through
romantic eyes. But I felt it; I really did! I’ve never felt a peace like that.
And as I stood looking at that baby, I felt all the kings of Israel standing
there, too – all the shepherds that God had sent to care for his people – all
of them from King David right on down to poor Jehoiachin who was hauled away into
exile by the Babylonians. I felt all of them standing at that manger, gazing at
that baby just like I was. I was proud to be a shepherd at that moment – proud,
and a little humble. Was this really
the Good Shepherd who God had promised to us? Was this the One who would take good
care of all of us like his flock of
sheep? Was this baby really the
Messiah?
Just as dawn was breaking, we headed back out to the fields.
We told old Judah about the baby who was sleeping in a manger, and about the
peace that we had felt as we stood next to him. Judah just shook his head. “A
baby Messiah… in a barn,” he said. “Well… maybe. I’ve seen lots of people who
claim to be the Messiah, but I haven’t seen a real one yet. They always end up
wanting power and fame and don’t care a fig for the rest of the people. But a
baby born in a barn, one who understands what we ordinary people go through…
Yes, I could hope in that.” He stopped, and then he said slowly, “Maybe the
birth of a baby is the only kind of hope there really is.”
I’m an old man, now; as old as Judah was then. Out of all
the shepherds who saw heaven open and went to search for that baby, I’m the
only one left. And I don’t know if that baby really was the Messiah. If he
lived, he’d be a grown man now. He certainly hasn’t thrown the Romans out and
taken his place on David’s throne! But maybe… maybe he’s not that kind of a shepherd.
Maybe he’s a shepherd like I was – a shepherd who lives among his sheep instead
of in a palace. Maybe he’s a shepherd who knows each one of his sheep, and
takes care of what each one needs. Maybe he’s living right next door, and I
don’t even know it. After all, he was born quietly; maybe he’s living quietly,
too.
I’ve heard that there is a Rabbi who teaches the people.
Great crowds of people listen to him. He says that the peacemakers are the ones
who are blessed, and that the meek will inherit the earth. I hear that people
who follow him know God’s peace. Now that’s the kind of Messiah I want, a
shepherd who loves the people. Maybe I’ll go look for him, like I looked for
that baby so long ago. If I find him, I’ll let you know. Maybe you’d like to find
him, too.
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