The Shepherd’s Letter
Published in paperback on Amazon
Copyright © 2007 Mitchell Malloy
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 9781973415930
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
All our talents come as a gift from above, and all we do is to imitate the Great Giver with gifts of our own.
Soli Deo Gloria!
My dear friend Eleazar, I write to tell you a most amazing story, a tale that begins when I was a young man, shepherding my father’s sheep. I had recently married my beautiful wife, Hannah, and she was with child. My father had promised me a portion of his flock, and the whole world seemed to promise something wonderful!
Hannah was just beginning to show. It was all that she had ever dreamed to be: a wife and mother. I loved her with my whole heart! My smiling, optimistic, cheerful Hannah wanted to give me seven sons and five daughters. She often repeated, “I will give you sons to someday help you tend your own flock. But, my husband, I will also give you daughters so that you will remain the loving and sensitive man I married!” I loved the wonder, the expectation of that time. As I tended the sheep at night, alone with my thoughts, I would imagine what our little family would one day become.
It was on one such evening, while I was quietly reflecting on our bright future, that I was startled to the point of terror. I hesitate to write this, knowing how it must sound. I remember all too well how others have reacted upon hearing the tale. Yet here it is...
There, in the middle of the field, hovering and shining like a brilliant light, was the very real and glorious sight of an angel! He announced to me, and to the other shepherds in the field that night: "Do not be afraid. I bring you good news of great joy that will be for all the people. Today in the town of David a Savior has been born to you; he is Christ the Lord. This will be a sign to you: You will find a baby bundled in rags and lying in a feeding trough." And when this angel completed these words the entire sky was filled with similar celestial beings. They sang praises to the Almighty God, songs more wonderful than I had ever imagined, and they said, "Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace to men on whom his favor rests." We stood in awe... speechless... fearful at such a sight... and wondering what all this meant.
When the angels left, I said to the other shepherds, "Let us go to Bethlehem and see this thing that has happened, which the Lord has told us about."
At that time, the Romans were conducting a census so the city was filled with many travelers. It seemed no easy task to find the sign spoken of by the angels. Although we considered approaching the various innkeepers of the different inns, a friend of mine suggested we just check the stables for the promised child. It seemed less threatening to explain why we were trespassing than to relay the events we had experienced in the field.
We had gone through nearly every barn in the city, and by the time we reached the last one, each of us silently wondered if we'd truly find the promised child. We were therefore both astonished and relieved when the stable resonated with the sound of a woman’s voice, singing a Hebrew lullaby. We entered: excited, nervous, bold and joyful. A man quickly stood up as we entered. He was a strong man with the look of one familiar to hard work. Lying on a pile of hay behind him was a very beautiful, very exhausted young woman slightly younger than my beloved Hannah. Her arm extended into a manger, and her hand rested gently on the head of a newborn.
I am sure we surprised the small family, and many times since I have wondered how I would have reacted had I been the infant’s father when our ragtag group burst into the barn. An older shepherd burst into laughter and told the couple all that had happened to us, quickly explaining why we were intruding on the intimate scene. The man smiled and said, “Welcome, friends!”
The man’s name was Joseph and his wife, Mary. They had traveled here for the census and found all the inns full. This stable was the only place available. As I looked, I reflected on my own Hannah and the child inside her womb. Would our child know this baby? Would they play together? Perhaps Hannah would give me the first of seven sons to befriend this future king. They could be like Jonathan and David!
Here was the promised Messiah! The angels had told us… this was the Savior! My children would live in freedom; free from Rome and free from Roman puppets, like Herod. But why here? Why a feeding trough? Why was he bundled in rags? It did not make sense, yet here we were, viewing the very sign promised by the angel.
As much as I wanted to stay and find out all I could about this family, I could not keep my joy to myself. I rushed off to wake Hannah and tell her. Of course, she did not believe me. She said I must have been dreaming and that I was just anxious to be a father. She assured me that everything would seem right in the morning. But later, when the other shepherds confirmed my story, she beamed with pride at her husband whom the Lord had favored with this news. Of course, the rest of the town thought we had been drinking and laughed at what the Lord had shown us.
The next day, I tended sheep. And all the next week, I tended sheep. I tended my flock to provide for my family. And as I watched my young wife grow with child, I praised God for what He was doing. When my son was born, I rejoiced that he did not have to lie in a manger and that he was not clothed in rags. Our boy was our beloved, and so we named him David. As he grew, I would rush home to see him, hug him, and tumble him around in my arms. Hannah thrived on her new role as mother and said the same about me as a father. As I wrestled with our toddler, she joked, “I am afraid I must give you a daughter next so your tenderness does not disappear too quickly!”
One day as I rushed home to see my family, I heard Hannah’s lullaby. It reminded me of the song I heard outside a stable over a year earlier. I slipped in silently, enjoying the thought of my wife holding my son. As I entered, Hannah did not look up. Her back was to the door, but I could still discern the profile of her face. She was crying.
My hand shakes as I write this. It seems a cruel trick that the faces of those we love grow dim over time, yet the emotions associated with times of crisis seem to pierce the heart forever. I grieve even now with the horror of my son’s death. Hannah, my beautiful wife, David’s loving mother, sang to the bundle that had been our son, killed by the sword of Herod’s soldier.
As the months passed, Hannah grew weak. Although she never said it outright, I knew the pain of David’s death was beyond her. She did not want to bring another child into this world. All her life she had wanted nothing more than to be a mother, yet now she could not imagine having another child. She continued to grow weak, and later that year, I grieved more than the loss of my son.
I questioned the power of God. If this happened to my son, what about the child He showed me in the manger? Was that child still living? Why, if God was so powerful, did Israel’s future king rest his head first in a rancid barn?
But more, I questioned God’s compassion. How could He know my loss? How could He know the loss of a son? The grief was enough to drain the life from my beloved Hannah. How could God ever understand?
It was as I struggled with these issues that we met. You seemed to have an answer, Eleazar. You said: “God helps those who help themselves. God despises Israel because we allow ourselves to be oppressed by the nations. If we want the God of our fathers to smile again on us, we must thrust these foreigners out!”
It made sense at the time. Perhaps the savior would rise from the ashes of my loss. The baby in the stable, maybe he was just a sign of the weakness in Israel. I joined you wholeheartedly, my friend, because I needed a reason to live. I joined your group because I needed a focus for my anger. I sought vengeance for the loss of my family, and you seemed to know the way.
For thirty years you and I looked for a weakness in the Romans that we could exploit, hoping our people would awake to our call for independence. Instead, our numbers increased through the greed of thieves, seeking profit from raids on tax collectors and foreigners.
Eleazar, you have known me for thirty years, yet my heart has been hidden from you. I pondered on meaning in my life. I had first found fulfillment in my family and then in the cause of freedom. But as of late, I despaired that even freedom for Israel was somehow not enough. I confess my capture was not completely undesired. I thought: “At last, my misery is over!” As I lay in my prison cell, I considered all the events, emotions and questions related in this letter. Certain to be crucified, I considered how I might find a more noble death. I determined to grab the sword of the prison guard or some other soldier and thus die in battle. I would certainly die, but anything was better than the slow, painful suffocation of hanging on a beam, stripped naked and deprived of all pride. No, better to be struck down by the sword.
As I planned my death, the door to the cell suddenly swung open and the silhouette of the guard barked at me: “Get your smelly hide out of here!” Then turning he addressed a centurion, “Sir, I really think there must be a mistake…”
“Just do as you are told! I know what I am doing and it is not your place to question my authority!” replied the senior officer, who turned quickly and departed.
The meaning to life was clear! Surely, the Lord was sparing me through the mistake of some pompous centurion! My days of fighting were far from over; I would return with the enthusiasm of a man thirty years younger and route these gentiles from our land.
As I departed the prison, an unusually large crowd was making it’s way toward Golgotha. I thought: “The Lord is surely with me!” What irony! I would follow the crowd to the place of crucifixions to avoid my own death on a cross. By the time the arrogant, Roman officer realized his mistake, I would be impossible to find. Perhaps he would even shift blame on that miserable prison guard.
“So what was the charge?” asked a man in the street. “Who cares?” replied his companion, “The idiot claimed to be God’s son! He’s either a lunatic or a blasphemer. Either way he deserves to perish.”
“Unless he really was…” responded the first man. The second man shot a suspicious glare at the first, saying: “Are you one of them?”
“No… of course not,” mumbled the first as he hurried away.
“I heard he did many wonderful things: that he made the blind to see and the deaf to hear.” Three women to my left were speaking. “Then let him save himself!” shot the oldest of the threesome.
By the time I made my way to the spectacle, the three prisoners were hanging in agony. It appeared the one despised by the crowd was Jesus, the Nazarene we had heard about. Some claimed he was the Messiah, and from the stories I had heard, I also wondered if he might be our Deliverer. Many said he was possibly even Elijah himself. Yet here he was, nailed to the tree that had been reserved for me.
I would have walked away and thought little more on the incident, except that he spoke, and I was held captive by his voice. His words were strained as he gasped for breath, yet there was a peace and strength that came with each syllable. Although his words were simple and not directed at me, upon hearing him speak, my life was forever changed. He spoke to a young man and a beautiful woman standing at the foot of the cross. That woman! Despite the three decades, she was unmistakable. I had seen her in that stable so long ago, gently stroking the hair of the newborn. The man on the cross, Jesus, was just about the right age. Could it be?
The Nazarene spoke to the woman: "Dear woman, here is your son," and to the man by her side, "Here is your mother." There were no last words of defiance. There were no curses for the Roman dogs who stood around the site. Rather, he spoke words that have since haunted me: “Father, forgive them. They do not know what they are doing!”
I could take it no longer. I was torn between demanding answers from the woman or running away from this reminder of… my life. My life was ruined by the Romans, yet when I should have been allowed to die, I was set free. And this man, his life nearly gone, prayed for... forgiveness.
I chose to run from the scene. I pushed my way through the crowds, leaving Jerusalem two days to the south, but my curiosity overtook my fear. I slept with difficulty and eventually decided that I needed answers to my questions. Who was this Jesus? I could not ignore the question. It seemed my very life depended on the answer!
After more than a week, I finally found the young man who stood at Jesus’ feet. His name was John and he had been a close companion of the man I saw on the cross. Mary was Jesus’ mother and she was now living in the house of John.
Everything seemed so unreal. Here was the close friend and former disciple of a man just crucified, yet he seemed far from the despairing creature I expected to find. Curiously, he was at peace, even joyous. He led me to Mary.
She did not recall me specifically, but of course, she remembered our entry into the barn several decades earlier. Jesus was indeed the child I saw that night. She smiled, a radiant beam of joy. “He’s alive, you know…” she said.
I turned to see the reaction of John. How difficult to care for the delusory mother of a dead friend. To my surprise he quickly responded: “The Lord is risen indeed!”
My first reaction was to quickly excuse myself from these lunatics, but John simply smiled and started to explain. Jesus performed many miracles, which is partly how his reputation spread so quickly. But according to John, Jesus is actually the Son of God who was sent into this world to give us good news: the Almighty God wants us to know His love for us! John explained that had Jesus simply died like all other men, there would be no proof of His power and authority.
“He came to take the punishment for each of us who believe in the authority of His Name,” explained John, “but who could possibly believe in a dead man? Our Lord Jesus gave us undeniable proof that He is in fact the Son of God! Come, I’ll show you!” With that, he led me to an empty grave.
Since that day, I have sought to uncover the truth. In the process, I have met with many witnesses who have seen and spoken with Jesus... since his death! I further discovered how our own religious leaders have tried to cover up a very inconvenient truth. And I have ultimately come to believe that Jesus is indeed alive! I know it sounds crazy, but the evidence is just too overwhelming.
I cannot begin to describe all that I have learned over these past several months. I am certain I do not understand it all yet, and I am doubtful that I can ever fully comprehend. However, I have seen undeniable evidence that this Jesus is who He claimed to be. I have seen His followers work miracles, and though we are oppressed by the very world that hated and killed Him, I now know a joy and peace that previously had been empty in my heart. And my friend, I have learned to forgive! I truly forgive those who have hurt me so. Oh, the pain is still there, but it comes with a compassion for people who in their ignorance of God's ways act as I once did.
And I have come to know the God of Abraham in a way I did not know was possible. I have discovered His love for ME! I understand more fully what it means to walk in His faith and to be guided by the very hand of God. I can read the scriptures of our fathers with a new, greater understanding!
Come, join me my friend and investigate for yourself! There is so much I don't know, but this much is certain: I was wandering through this world in pain, and although the world has not become less painful, I now walk in the comfort of my God, the God of our fathers, the One Who Lives!
Come join me in my journey! I await your response as a friend who is both hopeful you will come and fearful that you will not.
fini
Merry Christmas, 2023
Reprinted here as my gift to you.
