Abel groaned as he lowered his aging bones to sit on a boulder. He settled against the stone that years of wind had worn smooth, bracing his hands on knobby knees. A soft bleat met his ear as his favorite lamb ambled to his side. “How are you tonight, boy?” Abel scrubbed a hand over the animal’s velvety face. As much as he liked the creature’s playful personality and affectionate nature, he refused to name him. It would only make it harder to see the lamb sold for sacrifice.
The animal gazed mutely up at Abel with shiny black eyes.
“If only you could talk.” Abel laughed, scratching under the lamb’s chin.
Another baaaa and the animal stomped his small hooves in the grass, tossing his head up and down as if in agreement.
Though useless for conversation, at least the beast could keep Abel company during the long night watch. His fellow shepards lay scattered around the field, trying to catch a few hours of rest before their turn came to keep guard over the flock. A soft snore from one drifted on the wind, along with the gentle noises of the few sheep who had not fallen asleep for the night.
Abel stifled a yawn, then rubbed at his eyes. In two more hours it would be his turn to sleep.
Splaying his hands behind him on the rock, Abel leaned back to look at the stars. Forty years now, since he was a boy of eight trotting behind his father, he’d been a shepherd in these fields surrounding David’s City. As a child, he’d fancied himself like the shepherd boy turned king. He tramped about the fields, using his slingshot to fire at birds and scaring the poor sheep when he often missed his target, hitting one of them instead. For years, he dreamed he would grow up to be more than a shepherd, as David had. He dreamed of being a hero, doing good in their downtrodden land. But just as one’s body must change from that of a child into an adult, so his dreams had been forced to change.
Shepherding was his lot in life. There was no getting around it now. But Abel had learned to love the profession. He enjoyed caring for the flock, leading them into green pastures and beside the still waters. If a sheep went missing, he was always the first to volunteer to leave in search of it. It was a humble and monotonous life, but Abel took comfort in knowing he was raising animals whose blood would atone for the sins of many.
His favorite part of each night was this time, when all was calm and quiet and he could sit and stare at the stars. They fascinated him, these mysterious, shining lights. What were they made of? How far away were they really? Were they as small as they looked, or were they much bigger? As a child, he would stretch out in the soft grass and try to count them. Every time, he failed. Finally, Abel had come to the conclusion that they were too numerous to number.
“The heavens declare the glory of God; and the firmament shows His handiwork,” Abel whispered, the night breeze whisking away his quotation of the psalm.
A star, brighter and larger than the rest, twinkled above him, catching his eye. Abel squinted to focus on its brilliance. How odd… The light was expanding, growing wider and brighter. Then the wind picked up, whipping Abel’s beard around his face. His fellow shepherds awoke with a start, their frightened shouts barely audible over the rushing wind. Abel shielded his eyes with his arm as the light grew too bright for him to stand.
Suddenly, the light exploded across the sky, cutting through the night in a wide, blinding swath. A tall, winged creature, very much resembling a man, floated at the center of the light. His form glowed and waved like a candle flame.
Abel slipped off the rock and fell to his knees, burying his face in his hands. He trembled. Yahweh, have mercy upon us!
“Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people.” The creature’s voice was strong and warm, but unlike the voice of any man. Abel lifted his head, shielding his eyes to stare at the creature. Was this an angel of the Lord, such as appeared to their forefathers Abraham, Jacob, or Joshua?
The creature’s—or angel’s—ethereal arms were spread wide at his side, his palms out as he continued to speak. “For unto you is born this day in the City of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord. And this shall be a sign unto you; Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger.”
Suddenly, a host of golden, winged creatures appeared behind the first. They filled the sky, floating in rows that stretched so deep Abel could not count them. It was as if he stared into the window of Heaven itself. Then, in one glorious, indescribable voice they began to sing praises to God, chanting, “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men.”
Abel raised his hands to the brilliant sky, tears flowing down his cheeks and soaking his beard. A savior born in the City if David? Could it be true? And why should such glory appear to lowly shepherds? Abel closed his eyes, unable to stand the radiance any longer, and bowed to the earth once more.
It took a few moments for his ears to register the silence.
He opened his eyes so see darkness, his own hands, and dewy grass ticking his face. Quiet stillness echoed across the night. He sat up. The heavenly host was gone, as if they’d never been there in the first place.
Abel fell against the boulder at his back. He gasped out a laugh. Was it all a delusion? Or had he really just witnessed such a miraculous display?
He turned and found the flock as tranquil as they’d been before the visitation, most still asleep. But his fellow shepherds were on their feet, shouting at each other, grabbing one another’s shoulders and faces.
No… What he just witnessed was very real.
Abel pushed himself to his feet with more energy than he’d possessed in years. He ran across the field to his friends’ excited huddle, a full-throated laugh bursting from within him. “We must go to Bethlehem, and see this thing that has come to pass, which the Lord has made known to us!” Bartholomew, the head of their group, shouted as Abel approached.
No further prompting was necessary.
They spun on their heels and ran, sprinting past each other in a race to reach their destination first—though who knew where that destination was. There must be dozens of stables in Bethlehem. How would they know which one they sought?
It was an infant’s pitiful cry that eventually stopped Abel in his tracks beside a small inn. His fellow shepherds screeched to a halt behind him, nearly colliding with each other. “This is the place.”
Around the back of the small structure was, indeed, a stable. More soft, mewling cries drifted from within the shadowed space. Breathless from running, Abel worked to steady his pulse. Was this really happening? Was he about to see the Messiah? Was He really, finally here?
With shaking hands, Abel pushed open the gate.
Inside, laying on a mound of hay in the back corner, was a young woman, her clothes stained and rumpled. Her dark hair escaped in wisps around her face that lifted in alarm at their approach. The young man next to her bolted to his feet. “What is the meaning of this?”
Behind him, Batholomew rambled out the reason for their visit, but all Abel cared about was the squirming bundle the woman picked up out of a feeding trough and clutched to her chest. He fell to his knees a short distance from her. Tears filled his eyes and distorted the image of the young woman and the babe who had stopped crying at His mother’s touch. “What shall His name be, if I may ask?”
The young man, the father presumably, settled back into his place beside the young woman. He wrapped a protective arm around her thin shoulders. “Jesus,” the girl spoke. “He shall be called Jesus.”
Jesus… God saves.
It was true. Their Savior had come.
“Let them see Him, motek.” The girl’s husband nudged her gently and she complied, easing forward to lift the babe into their full view.
A wave of conflicting emotions crashed over Abel at the sight of the babe. The child was unassuming, normal by all appearances, yet Abel knew He was anything but. The mere glimpse of this beautiful baby boy left him feeling utterly bereft and yet exquisitely fulfilled. He felt keenly his own unworthiness, every dirty stain on his life, yet this child’s perfect innocence embraced him.
“Would you like to hold him?”
Abel nearly choked. Hold the Savior? “I… I couldn’t possibly—”
The young woman smiled, passing Jesus into the arms of her husband who stood and made his way to Abel. “Please. I insist.”
The man gently transferred the baby into Abel’s trembling arms. “I fear I will break him.” His laugh was weak and wobbled out of his throat as he settled the delicate form in his grasp. The babe yawned, His tiny chest swelling beneath His swaddling.
Of all the people in Bethlehem, the angels had appeared to them, a band of dirty, smelly shepherds on the lowest end of society. Why? Abel was no one special, no one important. He couldn’t read or write, held no power or authority except what he wielded over his flock. It was the most mind-boggling puzzle he couldn’t begin to sort out.
Overwhelmed, Abel’s tears returned, building into a sob deep within his throat.
No, he would never be powerful or heroic, he would never be like the shepherd boy who grew up to become king of Israel. But for tonight, in this moment, Abel was important… for he held the King in his arms.
