A BETHLEHEM STORY
(published in Areopogus Christmas edition 2008)
I
was in a field just outside Bethlehem leaning against a hedge. I’d eaten my fill of bread and olives that I’d
stolen earlier from a stall in the town before being chase off by a rather
irate street seller. Even so, I managed
to swipe a goatskin full of wine which was slipping down a treat, I can tell
you.
I pulled my cloak tighter around me for the night was
getting cold. The sky was clear and I
was content and sleepy so I hunkered down and was about to doze off when I heard
voices, agitated and urgent. I opened my
eyes and drew back in shock. Over in a
field, not far away from me a bright light was shining in the sky. It was brighter than anything I’d ever seen
before. It wasn’t the moon – that was
behind me and it wasn’t a star yet it flooded the whole field in front of me. I stared at it in confusion. Now, I know what you’re thinking, but no I
hadn’t drunk that much. Then all of a
sudden I heard singing, beautiful singing, which rang out across the night and
I thought I saw figures moving within the light. I didn’t know what to think – I was in fear
yet gripped by the beauty of this sight and the chorus of song. Then it was gone. Just like that. I sat forward straining my eyes in the dark,
but there was nothing. Disappointment
crept into me. Whatever it was I wanted
that feeling again.
Ahead of me a new noise attracted my attention, a
scuffling, feet hurrying, excited voices.
I stood up and looked over the hedge.
I could just make out the forms of shepherds leaving the field further
down. Why were they leaving their
sheep? Where were they going at this
time of night all together like that? Perhaps
they were too frightened to stick around after what had happened. But a good shepherd never abandons his sheep,
even I know that.
Curiosity
got the better of me and grabbing my provisions I followed the shepherds at a
safe distance down the road. They were heading into Bethlehem. Nothing would be open now. Even the taverns would be closed. Through the narrow side streets we went, the
shepherds’ heads huddled together in conversation, me following silently. We came to an Inn. They stopped and looked up then shuffled down
the side to a stable at the back. I
crept up to the corner to watch and they were looking up at the sky again so I
looked up too and saw the most amazing star; I mean it was so big and
bright. I tore my eyes away and saw the
shepherds going into the stable. Once
they had gone I slowly walked up to the door.
I looked through the crack. At
first I couldn’t see anything except straw, so I pulled the door open
further. Then I saw him, a tiny newborn
baby laying in a cattle trough, his exhausted mother watching over him, his
father offering a shoulder to lean on.
And there kneeling by the baby were the shepherds. They were praying and something touched
me. My heart went out to this newborn, a
feeling like I’d felt in the field earlier, but this time the feeling was
stronger. I was being drawn in, drawn to
this baby. I don’t know why but I just
knew this was important, that he was important and before I realised what I was
doing I was on my knees before him babbling praises upon him.
A gift – I had to leave a gift. The shepherds were leaving a lamb. What did I have? I scrabbled in my bag but all I had was a
hunk of leftover bread and the remains of the wine from my meal. Humbly, I laid them out before the babe and
blessed him. Then I left, my heart
overflowing with joy.
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