While Shepherds Watched Their Flocks

In this last blog before the Christmas holidays, we've handed it over to one of our authors to get her take on one of the stories from Christmas. All views expressed are those of the author and aren't necessarily those of Selfishgenie Publishing. Note: This is a work of fiction.

The first Christmas Day - a hillside near Bethlehem - night has fallen.

“It’s a cold one tonight, alright.” Dave said as he returned from checking what the sheep were up to out on the side of the hill. He stretched his hands towards the fire and rubbed them to restore his circulation. He saw that the food was cooked and took a piece, savouring its delicate musty flavour.
 
“You’re not wrong there.” Another Dave replied. “If it gets any colder I’ll have to wrap a fleece around my shoulders.”
 
“Shhhh!” A different Dave hissed, pointing towards the sheep. “If they hear you say that they’ll get upset. You know how easily upset they get and seeing your drape the skin of one of their half brothers around you will get them in a really bad mood.”
 
“Sorry, wasn’t thinking.” Another Dave apologised. He popped a morsel of food into his mouth.
 
“Hey!” The first Dave said, pointing towards the sky. “What’s that bright light?”
 
“Where?” A different Dave replied, searching the heavens, but looking in entirely the wrong direction.

---

​“There, you idiot! Over there, near where that bright star’s been for the last few nights. But this one’s moving. Look, it’s getting bigger and it seems…” realisation dawned on him. “It seems to be coming straight for us.”
 
“One of those burning rocks we sometimes get.” A different Dave responded, disinterestedly. “Hang around on this hillside long enough and you’ll see plenty of them. Course, you’ve only been a shepherd a few weeks, but us old hands, like another Dave here, we’ve seen it all, haven’t we?”
 
Another Dave nodded his head. “We sure have. But I have to say this one looks a bit different. For a start, it’s a lot brighter looking, and it isn’t moving in a straight line like they normally do. This one is sort of … well, zig-zagging a bit, like it's looking for someone to hit.”
 
“Hang on,” The first Dave said. “It seems to be slowing down, sort of hovering like.”
 
“Kneel before me, Puny Humans.” A voice boomed out of the brightness.

---

“No need to shout mate. We’re right here. We can hear you, you know. And turn the brightness down a bit while you’re at it.” Another Dave shielded his eyes from the glare.
 
“Oh, sorry.” The voice got quieter and the light dimmed, to reveal a figure within it. “Now, where was I? Oh yes. Kneel before me, Puny Humans.”
 
“Do you mind if I don’t” A different Dave said. “At my age the old knees give me a bit of trouble if I kneel. If it wasn’t for the herbs I chew, I’d be in constant agony.”
 
“Oh, OK. But you other two ….”
 
“I kneel before no man!” Another Dave pronounced, taking up a pugnacious stance. “Women though, that’s different. I’ll kneel before a woman anytime, if you get my meaning.” He leered and let out a dirty chuckle.
 
“Well, if you two aren’t kneeling, I’m certainly not.” The first Dave chipped in.
 
“I am the Archangel Gabriel!” The voice figure turned up the volume to booming level again. “I am the Messenger of God. Why do you not quake before me?”

---

“Look mate, no offence or nuffin’, but we’ve ‘ad Canaanites, Hittites, Assyrians, Babylonians, Egyptians, Sumerians, Greeks and now Romans through here. They couldn’t make us kneel, so you’ve got no chance. You may be the Messenger of God, but you ain’t God, so we ain’t kneeling. Nor are we quaking, trembling, worrying or hurrying.” Another Dave said his piece and sat down at the fire once more, his back to the Archangel.
 
“Oh, well … erm, OK, I guess you don’t have to kneel then.” The Archangel admitted defeat, the volume of his voice once again reduced to a more conventional level.
 
“I must say, you make a nice change.” A different Dave said. “Normally we get burning bushes or columns of fire that talk. It’s nice to have an Archangel for once.”
 
“There was that talking frog, that time. remember?” Another Dave said.

---

“Oh yeah. We heard that after we ate those funny mushrooms we found on the hill.”
 
“In fact, we generally hear things when we eat the funny mushrooms, come to think of it.” The first Dave observed. “I wonder if the two things are …”
 
“If I might get us back on track.” The Archangel interrupted their reminiscences. “I’ve got a city to destroy for failing to obey the Word of the Lord and if I don’t deliver this message first, I’ll be late.”
 
“Oh yeah, you go ahead then.” The first Dave said, sitting back down next to the fire, opposite another Dave but facing the Archangel. He popped another morsel of food into his mouth.
 
“Hang on a minute …” The Archangel said, puzzlement in his voice. You …” he pointed at the first Dave. “Your name’s Dave, right?”

---

​“It certainly is. Dave bar Dave, that means son of Dave, seeing as you’re a stranger around these parts.”
 
“I know what ‘bar’ means.” The Archangel replied testily. “I’m not a moron.”
 
“That’s a matter of opinion.” Another Dave muttered.
 
“And you … You’re Dave too.” He pointed at another Dave.
 
“That’s right. There’s Daves in our family going all the way back to Noah.”
 
“And he’s Dave?” he pointed at a different Dave, who thought the dark shadows away from the firelight concealed the fact that he was picking his nose.
 
“That’s right. Everyone around here is called Dave. ‘Cept the women of course. They’re all called Davina instead.”
 
“But why? Isn’t that a bit confusing?”
 
“’Spose it is a bit.” Another Dave conceded. “But this ‘ere …” he swept his arm around to encompass the nearby city. "This ‘ere is the City of David, so we’re all called Dave, or David if we’re on our Saturday best behaviour.”
 
The Archangel shook his head, but wisely decided not to pursue the subject anymore. Instead, he refocused himself on delivering his message.

---

“This night, in the City of Bethlehem, a child was born. He is the Son of God and he shall be called Emmanuel.”
 
“Emmanuel, eh? Sounds a bit French to me. Why can’t he be called Dave like everyone else?” Another Dave asked.
 
“Because God wants him to be called Emmanuel and, as he’s God’s son, I think God has the right to name him!” The Archangel was clearly losing his patience.
 
“Alright, alright. Keep your wings on Archie. Anyway, what’s this got to do with us?”
 
“You are commanded to go to Bethlehem, to the stable where the child was born, and there to pay Him homage and to worship Him.”
 
“A stable, eh?” The first Dave said. “Doesn’t sound too hygienic for a new-born baby. And if he’s the Son of God, you’d expect him to be born in a nice private hospital, wouldn’t you?”
 
“God wanted it this way.” The Archangel snapped. “Look, are you going or aren’t you? Because if you aren’t, I’ve got to find someone equally as common … I mean humble … as you to go and bear witness to the child’s birth.”
 
“But why us? Why should we go?”
 
“In years to come, there will be a need for men to bear witness to the circumstances of His birth, that’s why. You’re as good as anyone. Oh, and there are three Wise Men on their way too. They will be witnesses as well.”

---

“But we didn’t see him being born.” A different Dave objected. “We’re only finding out about it now. And, anyway, one baby looks just like another baby. They all look like little Buddhas.”
 
“For heaven’s sake don’t drag Buddha into this. We’ll be here all night. Look, go, don’t go. I’m past caring.” With that the Archangel turned up his brilliance again and shot skywards, fast dwindling into a distant speck of light, which then got lost amongst the stars.
 
“Bloody Archangels. Think they’re God’s gift.” Another Dave muttered under his breath.
 
“I suppose they are really; God’s gift I mean.” The first Dave said to no one in particular.
 
“That would explain the bright star hanging over Bethlehem. It's a wachamacallit … a sign.” A different Dave said.
 
“Yeah, I suppose it is. But I didn’t think it meant ‘Son of God born here.’”
 
“Are we going, then, to Bethlehem?” The first Dave asked. "I quite fancy a night out."
 
"There’s no point.” A different Dave said. “How can we be witnesses? No one ever comes up here, so we can’t tell them what we saw. And we can’t write it down ‘cos we can’t write. If we could write we wouldn’t be shepherds, we’d be Wise Men, or at least postmen. So let the Wise Men be witnesses. Or the postman, for that matter.”

---

“That’s good thinking, that is.” The first Dave said. “Those Wise Men are bound to write down what they saw and then the whole world will be able to read their eyewitness testimony. Maybe they’ll get their own section in the Bible, when it’s updated of course. You know, Bible 2.0.”
 
“Yeah,” said a diffident Dave said. “They’ll probably get a whole book to themselves, like Isaiah or Deuteronomy. Who was Deuteronomy, anyway?”
 
“Wasn’t he a cat?” The first Dave answered, sure he’d seen him in a show at some time.
 
“Besides, there’s no one to mind the sheep. I think the whole thing’s a scam anyway.” Another Dave stated, throwing another log on the fire.
 
“What do you mean?” The first Dave asked.
 
“Think about it. It’s obvious, innit? That Archangel comes down here, spins us a yarn about the Son of God being born in a stable, so we go rushing off there to see it. Then, when we come back, the bugger’s nicked all our sheep while we were gone.”
 
“But what about the Wise Men?” The first Dave persisted.
 
“That’s the biggest clue of all. The only Wise Man you’ll ever see in Judea is the one that looks after his sheep and doesn’t let some passing Archangel nick ‘em!”
 
“Yeah.” The first Dave mused. “Maybe you’re right. Got any of those funny mushrooms left? Or did we scoff the lot before that Archangel arrived?”

---

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We’re taking a break over the Christmas and New Year period, but we’ll be back with a new blog on a publishing, book marketing or author based theme, on Saturday 7th January.
 
In the meantime, all the staff here at Selfishgenie Publishing, and all our authors, wish you a very Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year.

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