The wise man's story

It started with the star. We all knew what a new star represented, according to tradition. It meant a new king had been born. So we set off to look for him, to pay homage.

Looking back, maybe it was a mistake to go to Herod. He was already king of that land, of course he wasn’t going to like hearing about a new king. But we were in a strange land. And where should we start the search for a king but the palace?

That wasn’t where we found him, though. The child we sought was in a small place, a village of shepherds and farmers and carpenters, not a royal hall. A long way from the opulent splendour we were used to. Our gifts- gold, frankincense, myrrh, seemed out of place amid the mud and straw. What kind of home was this for a king?

It got worse, though. I had a dream, a warning. Herod had told us to go back to him once we had found the king, so that he could go himself to worship. I’d had a bad feeling about that at the time, but we were guests, and it would have been rude to refuse. Now though- the dream was enough to warn us to find a different way home. The child and his family were warned too. They set off to seek safety elsewhere, the baby king a refugee fleeing in the night; hiding from King Herod as his ancestor David hid from King Saul. It was a night I will never forget.

The shepherd's story

It started out as just a normal night. I was up on the hills above Bethlehem, watching over the sheep. They can be daft, sheep. Get themselves into no end of trouble if you don’t keep an eye on them. People don’t think much of us shepherds, but it can be a tough, dangerous job. It’s no wonder to me that King David was a shepherd as a boy- if you can face down a wild predator that wants your sheep, you can fight even the toughest of Israel’s enemies.

Anyway, there we were when suddenly the night sky was lit up with...well, it's hard to describe them. We were so terrified we hardly dared to look. But that didn’t stop us hearing them. “Don’t be afraid,” they said. They weren’t here to harm us, but to bring joy and a message. In Bethlehem, David’s town, a baby had been born and he was the long-awaited Messiah- the one who would make things right between Israel and our God, the one who would lead us into a better future.

Well, that was quite some news. We believed them, of course. How could you not, when a choir of shining beings appeared singing “Glory to God” and “peace on earth”? And when they’d gone we left our flocks to get into whatever trouble they liked and headed off into town to look for this baby. Lying in a manger, the angels had said. In a humble house, born to parents who seemed, well, ordinary. Like me. If it hadn’t been for the angels I’d never have guessed that this baby was going to grow up to be the great Shepherd of his people. But I couldn't doubt it. It was a night I will never forget.

Joseph's story

I didn’t believe it. When Mary told me she was expecting, it turned my life upside down. I had been looking forward to our wedding, to a quiet life in Nazareth. But this news turned everything on its head. I should have trusted Mary, it’s easy to say that now, but her story was just...impossible. An angel appearing and telling her she was going to have a child? Would you have believed her?

But then the impossible happened to me too. A vision? A dream? Call it what you like, it was definitely a message. Mary had told the truth. Her baby would be God’s son. And I would be his stepfather. Quite a responsibility, to be trusted with bringing up God’s own child. Especially when not long before he was due to be born, we had to journey to Bethlehem, my family’s home town. A small place, but with a proud history as the hometown of Israel’s greatest king, David. And by the time we got there it was a very crowded place too. When the child was born we had to lie him down to sleep in a manger, the animals’ feeding trough, because there wasn’t room anywhere else. It was a night I will never forget.

Mary's story

“A sword will pierce your own soul too.” 

That was what the priest said. My child, my baby, would bring joy and sorrow, comfort and anxiety, love and fear. The same could be said of most children, but I knew he meant more than the everyday ups and downs of parenting. I already knew this was no ordinary child. From the angel announcing that God had chosen me to bear him, to the shepherds who arrived on the night of his birth with stories of a choir of heavenly messengers, there was so much to hold in my heart. And later when Herod the king was searching for him to kill him and we had to flee in the night, the precious child clutched in my arms, I began to understand.

My child did such amazing things. But those who put their own desires before the good of others saw him as a threat to their comfortable way of life. Their hypocrisy and twisting of the law was exposed, their callousness towards the poor and vulnerable was rebuked. Herod wasn’t the last to try to kill him. As I watched him die, I remembered the words the priest had spoken when we took him to be blessed as a baby. It truly felt as though a sword was piercing me to the heart.

And yet that wasn’t the end. Even through the darkness that clouded my thoughts, I think I was beginning to understand that, even before the astounding, joyful news that he was alive again. Without that final defeat of death, his mission would not have been complete.

Fear and love. Anxiety and comfort. Sorrow and joy. He brought me all that and more, and brought the world hope in the darkness. I will never forget.

Elizabeth's story

I’d thought I was long past the possibility of having children. Sometimes it got me down, made me feel that I’d done something wrong. At least Zechariah, my husband, had his work at the temple. But in a culture where success, status, fulfillment depended on having children, there was little for me.

That was until Zechariah came home from the temple that day, literally struck dumb. Eventually we found a way to communicate and he told what had happened to him- that he’d seen an angel who had told him that I would bear him a son who was to be called John. Not just that, but our John would be a special child. Like the prophets of olden times, he would be blessed with God’s Spirit, to remind people of what being God’s people was supposed to mean.

No wonder Zechariah was speechless. It was hard enough to believe it myself until the unbelievable happened. But I wasn’t the only woman in Israel with an unexpected pregnancy. My little cousin Mary came to visit about three months before the birth. She’d just found out she was expecting too. When Mary arrived, John wriggled and squirmed inside me, just at the sound of her voice. He knew, somehow, what I would only understand later. Her baby was even more special than mine. He was the one that my John would be preparing the way for, the one foretold by prophets like Isaiah, the heir of David, the one who would restore the relationship between people and God.

When John arrived, Zechariah found his voice again in praising God. I wasn’t far behind him. It was a day I’ll never forget.

Isaiah's story

Hope. People think prophecies are all about foretelling the future, but that’s not exactly how I saw it. To me it was about speaking God’s truth to whoever I could get to listen- and perhaps especially to those who didn’t want to. Telling them that if they didn’t sort themselves out the natural consequence would be that their world would be a mess. And sadly that’s what happened. But they needed to know that this wasn’t the end of the story, that God’s people weren’t going to just be left to suffer the consequences of their actions without any end. There was hope, light for those walking in the darkness. Hope for defeated people at their lowest point, exiled to a foreign land, far from their homes- but not from their God. Hope that they would know joy once again.

And more than that, it wasn’t just a message for those people at that time. It was a message for all people, everywhere. That our God cares about everyone, no matter what their background, that anyone who chooses to follow him will be included, loved. And that God would bring this about through a person, God’s servant, who would suffer, who would be despised and rejected, taking the place of the lamb offered in the temple as a symbol of our sinfulness. Someone who would be born as a child, to reign on David’s throne forever with justice and righteousness, unlike the all-too-human kings who had inhabited it since David’s day.

I won’t be there to see it. But the day that child is born will be a day to remember.