Shepherd’s Story Read at Lambrick Park's Christmas Eve Service/December 2019 Wow! What a crowd. You lot look rough. Like you’ve been waiting to get to the front of this line for days. Nothing like a census to bring people together. All of Bethlehem’s children home. At least you have one. A home that is. ‘Tis the season us shepherds live and sleep with our sheep and goats. We wander from pasture to pasture and, rarely, do we feel welcome. Just yesterday good ol’ Abram stormed out of his house yelling-- “You foul-smelling animals find another place to graze.” I wish he was talking about the sheep. He went on and on about his garden, his barley, and about us. We picked up our tents and moved to another hill. It hurt a little. We’re not foul-smelling. Earthy, maybe. And we do an important job. We protect the animals that clothe you and may one day feed you. How ‘bout some respect. I haven’t seen very much in my lifetime but last night...last night God chose us, a bunch of shepherds. We saw His glory in the fields, became messengers to a family, and now to all of you. What a miracle! Listen because the story will change the world as it changes you. Let’s see if I can remember all the details... Here we were, on this new hill minding our sheep. The purple sky stretched in front of us and the stars sparkled overhead. All seemed ordinary. Until it wasn’t. Light invaded and forced our eyes shut. Power and glory encircled us. There are no words to describe our terror. We thought it was the end. An earthquake. A pillar of fire. The wrath of God. But instead the phrase “Do not be afraid” calmed our nerves. We quieted and an angel spoke, “I bring you good news that will cause great joy for all people everywhere. Today in the town of David a Savior has been born for you. Look for a baby wrapped in cloth and lying in a manger.” A choir of light overwhelmed the dark and a chorus sang, “Glory to God in the highest heaven and peace to all men and women on earth.” What a sight! What a sound! What do you do after an event like that? I’ll tell you. You question your sanity. But we had to see for ourselves. We ran to Bethlehem. A terracotta lamp’s warm evening glow led us to a cave beneath a house, to a mother, a father and a straw-filled stone manger. Was this it? Sure enough, in a bin where animals eat, a baby lay swaddled in cloth. Awe filled us. The angel’s words were true. Our eyes beheld glory in the heavens that night but also in a newborn face. The setting was strange. The animals. The baby in a feeding trough. A group of earthy shepherds. But the couple seemed content. They welcomed our story and believed it--as if they’d heard it before but wanted to hear it again. “His name will be Jesus,” they said, “and he is Israel’s King.” I nodded. “He’s everyone’s King.” ‘Fresh bread for the new parents,’ an older woman announced as she descended into the cave. Mary thanked her, took the bread, broke it and passed half to us. Shocked, I tried to say no, to say there wasn’t enough, that they should keep it for themselves. But she insisted, “There’s more than enough for everyone.” So together we ate. Joy spilled into our conversation and a sense of belonging, of home, hung around us. I don’t know much about Mary and Joseph about where they came from or where they were going. Maybe they’re on a journey too and we needed each other last night. To remember who God is, to witness His truth, and to encourage each other on the road. God keeps his promises. And I, a simple shepherd, get to tell you this story so that you may have hope. Hope even as you stand in a Roman line to be taxed. I don’t know how this child will travel from a cave to a throne but I know that our God remembers us. If you were there yesterday, you’d understand. Home isn’t one location, it isn’t one group of people, it isn’t only for the rich and the privileged. It’s for the likes of me. And if it’s for me, it’s for you too. God chooses to leave Glory to be homeless and to wander with us. He will guide us and set this world right. Our God saves and He is here. Copyright Chavon Barry 2019
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Chavon BarryChavon is a new writer from Victoria, British Columbia. She wrestles with simple answers and is learning to listen, to be still with God. Archives
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