But, Rabbi, I promise you – it’s all true!
Yes, I know it sounds like a made-up tale.
You know, far better than I,
the degree to which any of this
was foretold by the prophets.
I can’t read the scrolls
declaimed in the synagogue.
I’m a young man
and I’m a poor man.
I can’t read.
I don‘t have your learning,
your years of study, your erudition.
All I have are my eyes.
I know what I saw, and heard, and felt,
along with the others who were there with me.
~~~
It was cold enough for us to see our own breath.
We were tending our flocks by night.
My fellow shepherds, I mean.
There were four of us,
watching our sheep together.
My Talitha is the littlest lamb in the flock.
Her mother is poorly
and Talitha has been limping.
She’s a lovely little thing.
Her fleece is so white and soft
and she nuzzles me gently as I touch her sore leg,
as though she knows I’m trying to help.
Of course, Rabbi – I’ll return to the story.
Earlier that day,
when the sun was high in the sky,
the fresh sea breeze was brisk and sharp.
But, once night fell, the air was silent and still.
No wind stirred.
Truth be told, we were all a little sleepy,
despite the chill.
We took it in turns to stay on guard.
One watched while the other three slept.
I was on guard when it happened.
Well, it’s hard to describe.
A figure suddenly appeared to me on the hillside.
He hadn’t walked there.
He appeared out of nowhere,
as though he’d melted out of thin air.
I saw his bare feet
sinking into the soft grass on the hillside.
I knew I wasn’t dreaming. He was real.
I called to the others
and when they woke,
their eyes were as wide
as I knew mine must have been.
It was a moonless night,
but we all saw him clearly.
The stranger was glowing.
No, Rabbi, literally glowing –
giving off light,
as though a candle or a flame
burned steadily within.
Then, as we watched in stunned silence,
giant wings unfurled from behind his back
and spread out on either side of him,
like eagle’s wings, undulating gently.
I don’t know how, Rabbi.
I can only tell you what we all saw.
Yes, all four of us. Together.
Of course we were afraid, Rabbi!
We were too afraid to speak.
We all trembled, and I fell to my knees.
My little Talitha bleated and hobbled away.
The glowing man smiled.
Then he spoke to us.
His voice echoed magically throughout the field,
but it was clear and pleasant –
a deep, reassuring voice.
He said, “Do not be afraid.
I bring you good news that will cause great joy for all the people.
Today in the town of David a Saviour has been born to you;
he is the Messiah, the Lord.
This will be a sign to you:
You will find a baby wrapped in cloths and lying in a manger.”
Before we could respond to this,
a great chorus melted out of thin air
into the sky above us,
just as he had appeared in the field.
They, too, were glowing
and their glorious wings were unfurled.
They didn’t speak. They sang.
I’ve never heard anything like it in my life
and I imagine I never will again.
Multitudes of voices, raised in song,
thrilling harmonies, setting the night air
alight with their glorious praise.
They sang:
"Glory to God in the highest heaven,
and on earth peace to those on whom his favour rests."
And then, as suddenly as they had come,
they were gone.
Once again, the night was silent and still.
The only light came from the distant stars.
They were reflected in our wide eyes
when we gazed at each other in astonishment.
What happened next?
I saw smiles blossoming on the faces of my friends
and I felt my own mouth stretch just as wide.
Our eyes sparkled with fervour.
“Come!” I cried.
“Let us go now to Bethlehem
and see this thing that has taken place,
which the Lord has made known to us!”
Rabbi, I must confess,
we did a thing we have never done before –
we tossed down our crooks
and we raced together down the hillside,
leaving our flocks to graze alone.
We ran all the way into Bethlehem
and despite our excitement,
we neither stumbled nor paused for breath.
It was as though our path
was being lovingly guided.
We entered the town and searched
until we reached the stables behind the inn.
There, as we had been promised,
we found Him.
A baby boy was lying quietly in the manger,
his mother sitting peacefully by his side
and his father standing a little behind
in the shadows.
We entered cautiously, and in hushed voices
so as not to disturb the child,
we explained why we were here
and what had happened in the field.
The parents’ eyes widened, just as ours had.
The mother, whose name is Mary,
looked at us with wondering eyes
but didn’t speak.
We shuffled tentatively forward,
looking to her for permission,
and she gave a little nod.
We crept to the edge of the manger
and looked down at this miraculous child.
Unbidden, as one,
the four of us dropped to our knees
and bowed our heads.
~~~
Rabbi, I know how this story sounds.
No, we drank no wine in the fields.
No, we were not dreaming.
Please, speak to my friends –
they will confirm everything I’ve told you.
Rabbi, I promise you – Jesus is Lord.
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