A Radiant Birth (eBook)
224 Seiten
IVP Formatio (Verlag)
978-1-5140-0834-8 (ISBN)
Paul J. Willis, now retired, served for many years as professor of English at Westmont College in Santa Barbara, California. He has published seven collections of poetry, the most recent of which is Somewhere to Follow. He is also the author of an eco-fantasy novel The Alpine Tales, the young-adult novel All in a Garden Green, and the essay collections Bright Shoots of Everlastingness and To Build a Trail. He serves as president of the Chrysostom Society. Leslie Leyland Fields is the award-winning author of twelve books, the founder of Your Story Matters Ministry, and an international teacher and speaker on matters of faith and culture. When not traveling, she lives on two islands in Alaska, where she has worked in commercial fishing with her family and where she leads the Harvester Island Writers' Workshop.
Paul J. Willis, now retired, served for many years as professor of English at Westmont College in Santa Barbara, California. He has published seven collections of poetry, the most recent of which is Somewhere to Follow. He is also the author of an eco-fantasy novel The Alpine Tales, the young-adult novel All in a Garden Green, and the essay collections Bright Shoots of Everlastingness and To Build a Trail. He serves as president of the Chrysostom Society. Leslie Leyland Fields is the award-winning author of twelve books, the founder of Your Story Matters Ministry, and an international teacher and speaker on matters of faith and culture. When not traveling, she lives on two islands in Alaska, where she has worked in commercial fishing with her family and where she leads the Harvester Island Writers' Workshop.
And there were, that night, shepherds in the fields, keeping watch over our flocks, when waterfalls of light flooded into the darkness, let loose by a legion of heavenly hosts.
It had been a night like any other, each of us keeping one sleepy eye peeled on the flocks while Ezra, the boss, ran through who would be camp tender or herders or lambers. When the angels appeared on the black stage, no one could look away. But the minute the angels left, no one could remember where they came from or how they’d appeared. Suddenly, a whoosh of silver wings. No boom, no charge, just a bath of sparkling brightness.
I thought I might have died and gone to heaven. When I shielded my eyes, I realized I had tumbled to the ground. There we all sat, sprawled out as if a mighty wind had swept through. The angels’ firepower made the desert hills shine. Stunning. Even before those angels spoke, even before they sang—just stunning.
I cocked an elbow beneath me, and when the voices came, the words hummed like a lullaby line. “Don’t be afraid,” they said. The angels’ words awakened a joy we’d never known that spread all over the Judean hills.
“Incredible news,” the angels sang. “Not just for you guys but for all people.” They said it again—“for all people. For everyone.”
Their booming music erased every doubt. There we sat, bowled over, blind as bats in the astonishing radiance. “Today in the city of David a Savior has been born to you; he is the Messiah, the Lord.”
Not one of us doubted. We should look for a sign, the angels said, a sign we couldn’t help but chuckle about just a few minutes later as we picked up our things for the trip. “You will find a baby wrapped in swaddling clothes,” the angels told us, “and lying in a manger.”
“A savior—the Messiah!” Old Hadrian said, eyes starlight bright. “Honest to God, it’s the Messiah!” He shook his hoary head. “In a barn?” He raised both hands. “Glory be,” he said.
The hills turned inky dark again when those angels departed, but no one doubted what we’d seen because all of us had felt something pour like honey into our hearts. In ten minutes, no more, we were packed and ready to go to find this baby in “swaddling” clothes, whatever that was.
“Someone has to stay behind,” brother Ezra said. “We can’t all go. Someone has to stay with the sheep.”
The moment he said it, I knew it would be the youngest—me. Couldn’t be anyone else. The others were men. I was the kid. I’d be left behind.
“Surely the Lord will watch over the flock,” Brom said, pulling his rucksack over his shoulder. “Surely the angels will keep an eye peeled.” He pulled up his sleeves. “This is the Messiah—this is the King!”
“We can’t just leave ’em alone,” my brother said. “We can’t take that chance.”
“Bring them along,” Brother Brom said. “Round ’em up and herd ’em to Bethlehem, the whole flock.”
Ezra shook his head. “A roundup now? That child will be starting kindergarten by the time we get there.”
“I’ll stay,” I said. “I’m the youngest. I don’t want to—don’t get me wrong.” Ezra looked at me strangely. “But someone has to stay. Just make sure I hear the story when you return.”
The silence made it clear I’d be the one.
“Bless you, Jesse,” said Brom. “I don’t know if it’s right . . .”
“Just go,” I told him. “Find the stable with the manger.”
Brom mussed my hair. Hadrian punched my arm and squeezed my shoulder, and Arie laid his shepherd’s crook over my shoulder and mumbled something about thanks. It was—and I knew it—one of the best things I’d ever done, but also the worst. The command had been clear: “Go to Bethlehem. See the miracle.” Seriously, however, why wouldn’t God’s legions watch over the sheep on this very special night?
As soon as the men turned their backs, they were off, running toward this place called Bethlehem. In the pale moonlight, the sounds of their joy carried over open fields as if they were only an arm’s length away.
I stared out into the deep, starry sky. Here and there, a lamb bleated, most bedded down in cloudy clumps in the moonlit darkness. Lousy sheep, I told myself. I’d become a shepherd because my father and my brother were, and so many others. I loved the sky and the long hills and stars all around, loved the end of the day—and the beginning too, the glorious light of dawn. But I told myself right then that I’d never really liked sheep all that much. They were needy and silly, and tonight I was stuck with them, alone in the desert hills with a thousand brainless sheep.
I looked for the highest spot on the land, then started to climb. Tonight, the night of the angels, my job was to watch sheep. I felt like bawling. I’d never been left alone with them before. Even though I knew volunteering was the right thing to do, my heart felt split as a melon because I so longed to be on the way to the King. There I was, alone, a million miles from joy.
The moon’s glow opened up over the hills, and a scattered flock bedded down against stony ridges. I’d been around sheep my whole life, long enough to know their only sure defenses were noses that made them move into the wind, eyes sharp enough to pick out quick movements.
Maybe the choir of angels had worn them out, I thought. A million pinholes danced out of the nightfall. I turned east. The dawn was nowhere close to arriving. Ezra and the others wouldn’t sleep—how could they? And I shouldn’t. My job was to protect the sheep. I couldn’t help but feel alone. I thought about a quick run back to get my baby brother, but Sammy was too little. I was alone and I was going to miss the biggest miracle of all—a king in a manger.
The sheep snored away the night. Nothing moved. Silence fell over me like a quilt, and my eyes grew heavy. I shook myself awake three times but heard no sound from the hushed hills. Painted images danced before me—a brand new baby wrapped in swaddling clothes, bathed in heavenly light, my friends all sweaty from the run, all of them on their knees.
“Glory to God in the highest”—it was like nothing I’d ever heard or seen before. I knew the night would be stuck in my memory forever.
I jumped awake. The hillside was so silent that my having to be there seemed silly. Who cared about sheep when the King had been born? I sat back, spread my legs out to lie down, and soon enough let myself go, bright ribbons of angel music playing through my soul.
“Jesse, the crook! Grab your crook.”
I rubbed my eyes. A robed man was looking west, a white bandana around his head. It wasn’t Ezra, Brom, or any of them, but I was foggy with sleep. Big shoulders, loud voice—someone who called me by name and knew I’d been napping. “Where?” I said. “What’s happening?”
“Something’s out there,” the man said. “I can hear it—listen!”
A low rumble rose.
“Come with me!” The man pointed to my crook, then took off. I tried to stay with him, crook in my hand, sandals slapping over the sharp grass.
He put out a hand to signal me to stop. Still as a statue, he stood looking at a small flock rustled from sleep. He leaned into a crouch and signaled me to do the same. I was just an arm’s reach behind him, and that’s when I heard a hushed gurgling from behind a spiny oak cut in black silhouette against the night sky. A growl. A wolf. Probably two, maybe more.
A dozen sheep kept budging their way back toward us, snoots up against each other’s flanks as they surged down the slope in reverse to keep the wolf in front of them.
“Behind the tree,” the man whispered. “You take him, and I’ll wait to see where the others show up.” He pointed with his crook.
Ezra had taught me what to do when a wolf came, but I’d never stared one flat in the face, not alone anyway, until now.
“Go on,” the man said. “That one may be the leader. If we run him off, the others may scatter—wherever they are.”
The sheep kept staring at the shadowy oak while backing down the hill toward me.
“Just run?” I asked.
“You’ve got to scare him more than he scares you,” the man said, nodding his head once more. “He’s got to know he’s not going to tangle with you.”
The whole world seemed to disappear into the shadow created by that single oak tree. The low gurgling growl meandered toward them from somewhere out there, somewhere from behind the tree.
“Run! Go right at him!” the man said. “Just run.”
So I did. I gathered courage into the tightest fist I could and took off, circled the flock to the left and ran directly at the tree, crook in my hand like a sword, until I came close enough to see him.
That wolf was even bigger than he’d been in my imagination, gray and dark and wide across the face. Bright and shiny eyes glowed with devil’s glitter. I didn’t move—not a muscle, as if I wasn’t scared. I stopped a crook’s length away so the two of us, frozen in time, stared wildly at each other.
“Scream!” the man in the bandana yelled. “Swing that thing in your hands and scream!”
I couldn’t raise my arms. The monster wolf’s eyes were glowing hot embers. His growl grew into something fierce, and he deepened his crouch as if to take a flying leap. I imagined myself being dragged to the ground, felt its teeth in my legs and shoulders.
“Run him off!” the man from town yelled from behind me. “Run him off!”
I took the crook in both hands and pulled it back behind...
| Erscheint lt. Verlag | 5.9.2023 |
|---|---|
| Verlagsort | Lisle |
| Sprache | englisch |
| Themenwelt | Literatur ► Essays / Feuilleton |
| Religion / Theologie ► Christentum ► Kirchengeschichte | |
| Religion / Theologie ► Christentum ► Liturgik / Homiletik | |
| Religion / Theologie ► Christentum ► Moraltheologie / Sozialethik | |
| Schlagworte | Advent • Christmas reflections • christmastide • Chrysostom society • Devotional • devotions • epiphany • Eugene peterson • Lauren Winner • Literary readings • Luci Shaw • madeleine l'engle • Marilyn McEntyre • philip yancey • richard foster • Walter Wangerin |
| ISBN-10 | 1-5140-0834-3 / 1514008343 |
| ISBN-13 | 978-1-5140-0834-8 / 9781514008348 |
| Haben Sie eine Frage zum Produkt? |
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