A Shepherd Remembers
My father gave it to me when I was twelve. That’s the age a shepherd receives his own staff and it means you are old enough to have the late night watch by yourself.
Each of us has our own staff. All of them are different and they represent who we are. Usually a father picks the particular branch of the tree from which the staff will be carved. A shepherd’s staff is really special and we use the same one all of our life.
But for years I did not have mine. You see I gave it away only to have it returned. It’s been years now and that eager twelve year old body is now tired from standing watch on long nights. But I’m not too weary to share a story that changed my life so many years ago when I first went down into the town.
It was my turn to keep the night watch while the others slept. The night was clear and a bit cold. Leaning on my new staff I knew that I must be careful not to fall asleep. Shepherds love our sheep but we also know how stupid they are. One of them will often wonder off in search of most anything; a distant patch of grass…a sound that leads their curiosity to places where they can fall into deep crevices and one of us has to get them out…they just don’t pay attention.
And then there are the wolves that prey on the flock. Over my years I’ve had to fend off the attack of wolves that would wreak havoc on the sheep. For many of those years the staff I used to defend our sheep was not this one but I’ll tell you about that.
To this day I cannot really explain what happened late that night as I stood alone watching our sheep. The voices seem to come from, well, the sky. It was one of the brightest evenings I could remember.
At first I thought it was the wind making its way through the small tress and undergrowth. I thought perhaps I had drifted off to sleep only to awake in the midst of some dream. But then the voices grew louder and all I can say is that it was as if the stars started coming closer and became brighter.
I was new at this being alone with the sheep and being responsible for their safety. I had to keep my senses. At first I wanted to run back to the others who were now asleep around the embers of the fire but I knew they would consider me filled with childish imagination.
But my choice was made for me when the light became so bright that it woke my father and the others. Of course it was not just the light it was the voices, the singing, and the words.
I looked behind me and there stood the others. No one said anything. There was nothing to say. As we listened fear became our companion. The light became almost blinding.
And then came the words, “To you is born a savior…do not fear…go down to the town below and find him…he is the one you’ve been waiting for…and so that you will believe, here is a sign for you….the child will be in a manger…go…tell everyone you see what you will see down in the city of David…”
Then the voices filled everything. They filled us. There are no words to describe what we heard. The only thing I can remember that we kept hearing over and over was, “Glory to God…Glory to God.”
We all knew that the instructions made no sense. We were not welcome in any town. Below us was Bethlehem but we knew that to go there was to risk ridicule. The religious leaders considered us unclean and most people assumed we were thieves and vagabonds. We were used to such accusations.
My father helped me understand that to be a shepherd was to have no place that was really home except to be with each other and our sheep. The people in those towns had no use for us but they needed our sheep even though they despised us. The people purchased our sheep for their religious sacrifices but they desired that we be invisible servants if anyone asked where the sheep came from. Those who bought our sheep had no understanding that we loved the sheep as a parent loves a child but we had to make a living.
So why did those voices from heaven come to us? No one would believe what we heard and saw especially if it came from the lips of shepherds.
Although my father was not allowed to go to the synagogue his own father had taught him the stories. His father knew a man who was a Rabbi and the Rabbi befriended my grandfather. This particular religious scholar was a kind man and though my grandfather could not read the words on the sacred scrolls, the Rabbi read them to him and for him.
So my father said to me after the voices seemed to somehow go back into the heavens from which they came, “Son these voices tell of the one I told you of. Your grandfather told me what the Rabbi told him. This child is the one we’ve been waiting for. This manger child is the deliverer.”
I looked into his eyes and said words I now hold near to my heart, “But father how is it that we are the ones invited? The child surely is not for us.”
My father’s words still live with me in spite of the years gone by. He said, “O my son that is what is so wonderful. It seems that we are the first to know. The Rabbi told my father and your grandfather that the promised one would be a shepherd for his people and that he would especially come for those who were forsaken and on the outside. Do you now see why shepherds are the first to know?”
We went to the town as the voices instructed. I was afraid we might be driven away as we had been before in other towns but it seemed that all of Bethlehem was asleep. My brothers told me of the census and how so many had come into this tiny village so I was surprised that the town was so quite.
“How do we know where to go,” I asked my father. “I’m still hearing the voices,” is all he said. We led our sheep to the edge of the town and it was there my father pointed with his staff to a lantern burning in a stable. I remembered that earlier the voices said the child would be found in a manger so we walked toward the light.
She was bending over the manger when I first saw her. She looked up and did not even seem surprised to see us. A man was standing behind her. My father stepped forward and spoke some words to him. It was then I saw the man smile and gently shake his head.
I leaned against my father’s strong back and stood on my tip toes to see what I could see. There he was, the manger child. Something came over me like the fires that sometimes break out in the valleys when the grass is dry.
As the others in our band knelt down near the manger I stepped forward. My father motioned for me to step back but I was lost in the wonder of it all.
I walked over to the woman and simply said, “My father said that your child would grow up to be a shepherd…a very special shepherd. He will need a staff. This staff is a very special shepherd’s staff. It is mine but I want your shepherd to have it and when he gets older tell him that another shepherd gave it to him on the night of his birth.”
She looked into my eyes with something that I can only describe as love in motion. She reached toward me and gently put her hand to my cheek.
She spoke in a tired whisper, “I know this staff must be valuable to you so what a gift it is. I will keep it and give it to him when it is time for him to tend his sheep.”
That was years ago. I grew up and became the lead shepherd of our gathered families. It was my task to sometimes sleep in the opening of the stone enclosure we call a sheepfold. That way I was the gate through which the sheep must pass. I kept the sheep in and the wolves out. Any person or any predator would have to get past me to get to my sheep.
So the words he spoke that day so many years later sank deep into my soul when I heard him talk about being the good shepherd who was the gate for the sheep. I had tried to keep up with his movements and his teachings. Word had quickly spread about the way he could touch people and heal them.
Rumors of him quieting storms and even changing water into wine were spread among the many people who came to hear him speak in order to discover if he really was the long awaited one. Very view of those people knew of the night of his birth even though we told everyone who would listen. Most people did not believe us so it was only much later after he chose followers and started teaching that people began to ask if he really was the deliverer.
I would go listen to him whenever I could get away from the sheep. The crowds were often so large that I had to struggle to get close enough to hear his words. And if the religious leaders were present I had to worry about their judgmental stares but I decided that did not matter anymore. I was tired of being viewed as one who was not worthy. After all I knew who he was before they did even if they did not believe our stories of stars that sang and voices in the night.
So it was that one day that as I was listening to him he said that he was the good shepherd and that he came to be the gate through which the sheep could come home. As he said those words about being a shepherd my heart sang like the night long ago when it seemed that angels broke lose from heaven. His closing words were the ones I remember most. He stopped speaking and became silent for what seemed like a long time. He looked off into the distance as if his mind was far from the place.
He then looked back at the people who were listening intensely to him and he said, “The good shepherd lays down his life for his sheep.” It was then I noticed the staff in his hand. My old eyes filled with tears. It was my staff. I looked down at my feet and prayed softly, “O God may my staff help him lead us.”
When I looked up he was standing in front of me. I could not believe that this was the child of the manger whose mother I offered my shepherd staff to so long ago.
He put his hand on my shoulder and smiled. “You’re the one aren’t you?” Before I could answer he said, “My mother told me of that night and of how you were the first to come. It was one of her favorite stories to tell because of what you gave to her. I have used this staff these years not only to lean on but to…well….to try to be a good shepherd.”
That’s when we both smiled a smile of recognition that only the two of us could share…shepherd to shepherd. He then did something that allows me to tell you this story. He handed me my staff and said, “I want you to have this now. I’m going to Jerusalem and will not be coming back this way so I want it to be yours again.”
I wanted to argue with him and tell him that the gift was his to keep but somehow the words did not come. As he turned to walk away he smiled and said to me, “You are a good shepherd too you know.”
Word came to me later about what they did to him in Jerusalem. What did he do to deserve crucifixion? I will never understand why they killed a man who came to be the long awaited shepherd for us all. Did they not know how much we need a shepherd? Some people claim that death could not hold him and that when grieving followers returned to his grave they found that the tomb was empty. Others say it is just wishful thinking by people who hoped he was what he was not.
But I know who he was and who he is. I was one of those lucky shepherds on a hill who were told to go down to a town to discover a shepherd born in a manger. As I hold my staff…his staff… I thank God that I was able to stand that night long ago beside a manger on ground that was holy. Voices that seemed liked angels told surprised shepherds to go tell the story about what we would see. So hear these words of a tired old shepherd who once gave his staff to the shepherd who came to save us all. He is the manger child who is the good shepherd.
I’m one lucky shepherd….
(the song “Go Thee Down” is now sung)
Just a lucky bunch of shepherds on a hill
Watching over their flocks with a fire against the chill
And then the sky opened up with a heavenly light
And before them stood an angel with a message in the night:
Go thee down into the town
There’s a child there you’ve really got to see
Be not afraid but be excited
You’re the first to be invited
Go thee down into the town
And once you see him tell everyone you see
He’s the one we’ve waited for
We’re not waiting anymore
There’s a shepherd born to show the way
to you and me
(Ricky Skaggs: Go Thee Down/ rest of the song can be
Found on Y Tube/ Advent Shepherds 2008)
