Picture credit craftville.comAs the shepherds return to the hills...
I remember, oh how I remember,
that night and the following day:
the angels, the singing, the scurrying
and the sweet smell of clean bedding-hay.
A baby with parents bewildered
at our finding the byre where they’d lodged.
Such a very strange place for Messiah
to be born, for the purpose of God.
When we left as the new day was breaking
there were people who work at first light,
and we realised we should not keep secret
the wonders we’d witnessed that night.
So we, who are skilful in silence,
to detect sounds of lion, wolf or thief,
found our tongues running wild with our message,
of a child bringing goodwill and peace.
By the time we got back to the hillside,
we'd been stopped any number of times,
for the story had travelled like wildfire,
even faster than tales about crimes!
For some it was just as the prophets
had foretold - of God coming to earth:
to others a nonsense - but useful
to gossip and boost their self-worth
It was strange how a group of mere shepherds,
‘outsiders’ in ordinary times,
became sought after, visited, talked-of,
for our witness of Yahweh’s sublime
way of breaking the news of Messiah
throughout Bethlem's valleys and hills.
In no time it was voiced in Jerusalem,
stirring hearts, both for good and for ill.
Trevor Thorn © 2021