Christmas Letters cont.

Shepherd’s Letter:

Dear Father,

It’s me, Benjamin, your son. I guess you know that much. When I left, you were probably as glad to see the back of me as I was glad to leave, and surely neither of us thought I’d be writing you a letter. But such things have happened lately that an old grudge over sheep doesn’t seem worth the trouble of being angry about anymore.
Nathan and I moved the flock into the fields outside Bethlehem about two weeks ago. The grazing wasn’t bad, but we decided to move on, away from Bethlehem and more to the south. You’re probably shaking your head right now and calling me stupid under your breath, but we had our reasons. That night, everything was as usual. We ate our dinner, and since Nathan said he’d take the first watch, I spread out my blanket to go to sleep. It took me awhile, because I kept feeling a stone digging into my back, but every time I lifted my blanket, I couldn’t find it. I must’ve gone to sleep eventually, though, because the next thing I knew, Nathan was crouched over me and kicking me in the side. If it hadn’t been for that kicking, I might’ve thought I was still dreaming, because a light brighter than anything I’ve ever seen before was shining over the field. And though it seemed like it couldn’t possibly be any brighter than it already was, it just kept getting brighter and brighter. The sheep were bleating and shifting restlessly, but none of them bolted, which, now that I think of it, was incredible. But that was the least of my thoughts at the time. As I said, the light just kept getting brighter and brighter, and Nathan and I didn’t know where to look because it was everywhere. It almost seemed inside of us.
At the point when the light became almost unbearable, a great cracking sound boomed across the field, like the earth itself was breaking in half. I felt like I’d been struck a blow, and Nathan and I both fell to the ground. I thought at first we’d been hit by lightning, but remembered that there was no storm that night. As we began to raise ourselves up again, a being such as I have never seen before burst out before us. Nathan and I clutched at each other like children, shaking with shock and terror, and the words that came out of my mouth were ones that would’ve made you take the strap to me when I was a boy. Not the way I’d have wanted to greet an angel if I’d ever thought before that I’d meet one, but I couldn’t help myself. What words are you supposed to say when you see something like that? I don’t think such words exist, and if they do, they’re not taught to shepherds.
Then the angel began to speak to us and said, “Do not be afraid, for behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy which will be to all people.” I tell you, Father, if it had just been a matter of the angel telling us not to be afraid, I don’t think it would have made much difference. The sight and sound of it was so beautiful and so terrible that at first it made me want to clap my hands over my ears and squeeze my eyes shut. But somewhere in the course of his speaking, I became filled with peace and joy—it felt like recognition. Nathan also seemed calmer, because he straightened up and stopped gripping my arm so hard. The angel continued to speak, and announced to us that right there in the city of Bethlehem was born a Savior, who was Christ the Lord, and that we should find him there wrapped in swaddling cloths and lying in a manger. The moment he finished speaking this, the entire sky was filled with a whole host of angels, singing and praising, “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth, peace, goodwill toward men!” You can’t even begin to imagine the sight and sound of that. They poured out a flood of ecstasy, and I was swept away. My hand trembles and my eyes fill with tears even as I write this. Just the memory of it still stuns me.
I’m not sure how long they were there and how long we stood in awe, our mouths hanging open—we seemed outside of time—but eventually, the light faded away and we were left once again with a dark night sky pinpricked with stars. I looked at Nathan, and one of us or both of us said, “Let’s go,” and we immediately began to run towards Bethlehem. And yes, Father, we abandoned the sheep. I know that must seem insane to you, that I, a shepherd—even as useless a shepherd as you think me to be—would abandon my flock in the middle of a field in the middle of the night, but I knew then as I know now that it was exactly what we were supposed to do. As we came to the outskirts of town, we paused to catch our breath, and it was then that we first heard the cry. A large and impressive dwelling rose up several yards ahead of us, but the cry did not come from that direction. Instead, the wails of a new baby came from a small structure to the side of the house.
We followed them and found ourselves inside a dimly lit stable. A young woman—just a girl, really—was trying to shush the baby while her husband crouched beside her and clucked his tongue. Nathan and I looked at each other in amazement. Surely this red-faced, screaming baby could not be the Christ the angels sang about! I looked around me at the animals in their stalls, the crude patching on the walls, and smelled the warm aroma of dung. Why on earth would God allow our Messiah to be born here? And then my gaze fell on Nathan and my own rough hands and clothes. I couldn’t remember the last time we had bathed. Our hair was matted with dirt and oil, and our clothes reeked of sheep. You can be sure that the wealthy owner of the house we had seen would have never let us step through his door, but here in this stable, we fit right in. What if—and I’m almost afraid to write this, but I can’t shake it from my heart—what if He was born there so that we might visit? So that two stinking, worthless shepherds might feel the freedom to enter in and see him? And so we did.
You’re probably thinking now that we had too much to drink that night, but I tell you that drunk men’s visions have nothing to do with what we saw. I don’t know why we, of all people on earth, were chosen, why this has happened to me and what it will mean to me in the years to come. I only know that I went to sleep with a pebble in my back and woke to a chorus of heavenly angels. I am speaking this now to all who will listen, and I feel that I must write to you as well, Father, for we are all men in a heavy slumber in the dark marrow of the night. And the time will come when we shall all be wakened by angels blazing glory, who will usher us—blind and stumbling—into the presence of the King.


Simeon’s Letter:

Dear Brother,

This is my last letter to you. The time that all young men think will never come to them has come to me. I am an old man, and the days of my life are small in number. Lately, I have been able to rise from my bed for only short periods of time. The activities of the living slowly fade away, and I spend long hours thinking over my life and contemplating the God I shall soon see.

What I have been remembering lately was how when you were just a boy and I was a young man, I would tell you the stories of the prophets and we would imagine the day of the Messiah, the One who would deliver us from the hands of our oppressors. We would take up sticks in our hands and imagine they were swords, and we would act out our battles against the Romans. You were so fierce, that even though I was so much bigger, I had to guard carefully against your lunges and jabs. I remember how we boasted that we would be at the front of our Lord’s army, following just behind Him in the charge to restore Israel.

But then we grew older and wiser, and the image of an Israel restored to glory faded into the images of our failure. We are a people under the feet of other nations, and I have seen how that has made you bitter. But I have tried not to lose hope. Every day for the past forty years, I have gone to the temple to pray. On your last visit, you asked me what I prayed for and smiled when I told you. It was a small moment—you probably don’t even remember it—but the mockery and doubt you showed me in that smile began to creep into my own heart in the days after. What if I was just an old fool chasing after an old dream? What if all these days and years of my life had been wasted? It began to weigh on my heart, and I feared that even in these last days of my life, I would be lost. But I was not. Seven days ago, I awoke not in a haze as is usually the case, but in an awareness that felt clear and bright, and the Spirit of our God spoke to me and told me that the Consolation of Israel had finally come, and that I would not die until I had seen Him. My limbs were filled with strength, and I rose up from my bed immediately and prepared to go to the temple.

When I entered the temple, I saw only familiar figures, but as I turned to look again, I saw a young couple standing at the entrance. I went to them and saw that the woman was holding a baby in her arms. “What is your son’s name?” I asked them. The father answered, “Yeshua,” and I knew then that he was the One who had been promised—His very name was Salvation. This was not a king of armies before me, but a sleeping child, and instead of the shining sword the hand of my youth imagined, the gnarled hand of my old age took up the baby and lifted him high. A voice that was mine and more than mine came pouring from my mouth, saying “Lord, now You are letting Your servant depart in peace, according to Your word; for my eyes have seen Your salvation which You have prepared before the face of all peoples, a light to bring revelation to the Gentiles, and the glory of Your people Israel.”

The parents looked a little frightened, and the mother moved as if to take him back from me, but I placed my hand on her head and spoke a blessing upon her and her husband. Her eyes were filled with confusion and wonder, and it was revealed to me that her child was destined for the fall and rising of many in Israel, and that He would be spoken against so that the thoughts of many would be revealed. I felt filled with compassion for her, for she will be pierced through to her own soul by what shall come to pass. This baby she moves to protect will only belong to her for a short time, as he was in my own keeping for only a moment. He does not belong to her but to the whole world. The days of the law are passing through Him into a new era for both Jews and Gentiles.

These words astonish me as much as they must astonish you, but who are we to question what God has planned? There is a young Roman sentry who stands watch in the marketplace whom I would pass every day on my way to and from the temple. I would see him look upon the people and the dust and knew his thoughts must wander as would anyone’s who looked upon the same scene every day. And it struck me that even these Romans, even our oppressors, have need of consolation. For we are all a people of longing, brother. Even you in your bitterness are longing. My prayers every day of these last forty years were not only for Israel, but also for you and for myself; and God has answered for Israel, and for you and for me and for all people. He has answered beyond what any of us even knew to ask.

I am dying, brother, but I am all joy, because not only has God kept His promise, but He has revealed it to a doubting, dying old man who can now share it with the younger brother he has carried in his heart for so many years. It wasn’t just a childhood tale after all. Christ has come, for you and for us all. May that now be your consolation and hope as it has been mine.

Copyright 2006 by Katherine Lo. Not for public use, reproduction, or distribution without express permission of the author.