The Star is Gone

Recently I entered the following short story in a Christmas contest sponsored by Journezine, the online magazine for Heart of God International Ministries. I'm excited to say that my entry won first place in their annual contest. The topic, "According to the Plan", pushed my imagination to think of the Christmas story from a totally new angle in which I let my Biblical fiction brain weave this story. Journey with me as I ponder how God's plan could not be destroyed by the evil, insecure King Herod. 

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THE STAR IS GONE

                At last our small village appeared to be returning to normal. The recent census had stirred up a hornet’s nest with so many people arriving in the land of their fathers to be counted. Then there were the rumors of the shepherds encounter with angels on the hillside announcing the birth of the long awaited Messiah.

                People traveled to the shepherd’s fields to see the exact location of the supposed materialization of the angelic host and hear their stories. Then they would journey into town to the place where the brilliant new star appeared to hover over a baby in a manger. Not to mention the latest unusual caravan; men in their extreme finery, asking questions about a king being born and how they had followed the vivid star right to our town.

                Father said people believed it because they needed something to hope in. That everyone was piecing together prophecies of old to fit what they wanted to be true. Mother loved to tell us girls the latest information she’d gathered after going to the market. Father, the pessimist, doubted the Messiah would ever come or that Yahweh even cared about his chosen people anymore.

                After last night’s terror, he may never believe.

***

                I bolted out of bed when I heard an ear splitting scream in the distance. I peeked out the window and saw men on horses, carrying torches and rushing through the streets, barging into homes. When our door burst open my eyes locked with the dark ones of a soldier.

                “I’m here on official business for King Herod.” His piercing gaze and gruff announcement backed me into the darkness of the far wall. “Is there a baby boy residing in this home?”

                I shook my head no. My knees quivered and I was fearful he might consider our Elias a baby, when in fact he was a toddler. Just then Elias cried out for Mother.

                “He’s not a baby!” I shouted with more bravery than I knew existed within me. Instantly my legs propelled me towards the back of our home darting in front of the soldier. My three younger sisters, Mother and Father, and our beloved only male child Elias, were stirring on the other side of the partition.

                With a shove of his meaty hand, my body flew through the air. The flash of his sword was the last thing I saw before my head hit the wall and I slumped to the floor. When I awoke, a blood smear marked where my skull had connected. I reached up and felt my head. My fingers became sticky and caught in a matted, tangled mess.  I winced in pain.

                Then I saw Mother. She lay on her bed, soaked in blood. I could see Elias’ tiny hand poking out from under her…lifeless…blue. My sisters were huddled in a corner, crimson splatters on their night clothes and faces. The more my eyes could focus the more blood I saw.

                “Where’s Father?”

                My sister’s all glanced towards the door. I stumbled to my feet and ran outside. Father knelt in the street, tearing at his clothes and his hair, throwing dirt and rocks over his head, beating his chest and crying out in anger to the heavens. 

                “Why?” He cried over the wails of several neighbor’s equally mournful shouts. “My only son! You took my only son!” He shook his fists at the dark skies.

                Four-year-old Miriam wrapped her arm around my leg and stared up at me. I scooped her into my arms and attempted to wipe the dried dots off her innocent face. I turned to go inside to protect her from the angry mournful scene in the streets.

                “They were looking for the Christ child,” she whispered. “But Rebekah… He’s gone now.”

                Her soft voice stopped me in my tracks. I stared into the distance and listened to the moans of all who appeared to be grieving their infant sons’ gruesome death at the hand of King Herod’s soldiers. “How do you know anything about the Christ child?” I asked, processing my own gleaned information from the many months of gossip.

                Light began to break in the east. The terror of the dark now gave way to the reality of our living nightmare. Father, despondent and filthy, collapsed on the floor near Mother who sat rocking the slaughtered body of our beloved Elias.

                After cleaning my sisters up and feeding them a small meal, I took them out of the house.  We crept around the inn and wandered the well worn path to the stable. Instantly I knelt at the feeding trough and wept, letting the strain of the vivid night’s events be released into the musty hay spilled on the ground around the manger. Miriam found her way into my lap while Rachel and Mary scooted in close.

               I wiped my nose on my sleeve. “Do you girls believe the Christ child was born here like the shepherds have told everyone?” My hand rested on the edge of the temporary baby bed.

                Miriam nodded emphatically but the other girls shrugged their shoulders.

                “There’s been a lot of talk about the old time prophecies that have been fulfilled when that baby was born here. The shepherds, those rich men that came through following that star we see every night and now Herod having baby boys killed…” I gulped and choked on my tears. “If that baby was the Christ child, did they kill him too?”

                “But Rebekah…” Miriam’s little face was so close to mine I could smell her breakfast on her breath. She placed her hands on my cheeks and stared me straight in the eyes. “The star…it’s gone.” She nodded as the impact of this realization hit me.  

                “We must have hope in Yahweh’s plan,” I announced to my little sisters in a motherly tone. “The Christ child...the promised Messiah…He is safe.”

 Proverbs 21:30 There is no wisdom, no insight, no plan that can succeed against the LORD. (NIV) 

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Oh My Emmanuel

I stuffed a stick into the fire and watched the sparks fly. I wasn’t worried about wild animals. The old men’s snores would scare away any threats to the flock. Being the youngest, the lot fell on me to stay awake through the night.

A random bleat mingled with the dull clang of a sheep’s bell startled me and forced my chin off my chest with a jerk. I couldn’t risk getting caught nodding off or I’d forever be stuck on night watch until I learned my lesson.

I stoked the fire again. The sensation of blazing heat on my face, coinciding with the cool night air on my backside, inspired me to spin around to warm my hind-end. Facing the inky blackness, my eyes struggled to adjust.  I rubbed them with my fist but a blurred, halo-white form remained.

“What is out there?” I swiped at my watery eyes with the back of my hand.

“Don’t be afraid,” a voice boomed out of nowhere.

I jumped back and felt my foot land in the warm ashes. In the heart of the whiteness, a figure moved towards me. Cornered, I reached for my staff but froze when the voice spoke again.

“I bring you good tidings of great joy which will be to all people. For there is born to you this day, in the city of David, a Savior, who is Christ the Lord. And this will be a sign to you: You will find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes and lying in a manger.”

Afraid I’d gone mad in my sleepless imaginings, I was thankful to hear the others stumble to their feet.  Just then, the horizon lit up and crystal clear voices cried out saying: “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth, peace and goodwill towards men!”

Everyone fumbled over the partial words they heard, piecing them together to make sense of it all in their grogginess.

“Father, Father,” I shoved my way through the men. Toe-to-toe with the man who diligently taught me the scriptures, I whispered for his ears only. “Emmanuel…from the words of the prophet Isaiah…could it be?”

Father stroked his beard and gazed past me to the city below. “The house of David...”

The others huddled in closer. Father placed the palm of his hand over my heart. I’m sure the sound of it thumping could be heard by everyone.

 “Indeed, it could be.”

We rushed down the hillside and through the streets of Bethlehem, not knowing where we were to turn next, yet we ran straightway to the place where He lay.

I stared at the tiny swaddled infant. We could see His eyes, nose, and His sweet lips were pursed, freshly satisfied with nourishment from His mother. Before I dared to step forward, I glanced at my father, his beard moist with tears. 

The mother nodded to welcome me. She couldn’t have been any older than I, yet I stood looking into the eyes of the virgin we all spoke of from the familiar prophecies. The magnitude of it hit me and I fell to my face and whispered, “God is with us…Oh my Emmanuel.”

***

I stumbled through the streets, balking at the crowds, with my sacrificial lamb wrapped around my neck. The preparations for Passover caused mayhem in the city, but an unmistakable tension filled the air.

My father always called me a tender soul, able to sense when the Spirit of God mingled among us. Today my heart hammered in my chest. I remembered a time long ago on a grassy hillside when it pounded so hard. I sensed the Almighty’s presence, but not in the same way.

Ahead of me a mob shouted, “Crucify him!”

I could barely breathe. I used my bulk to force my way through the masses and followed the throng to Golgotha. One quick glance into the eyes of a distraught woman and I knew who hung on the cross.

The prophecies swirled through my memory. I clutched my bleating sacrifice to my chest in an effort to quiet my heart. Intermittent words from the Man on the cross pierced through my soul. The guttural cries of His mother’s agony ripped at me.

“Father, into Your hands, I commit my spirit.”

The animal in my arms quivered.

“It is finished.”

Instantly, the earth shook and darkness enveloped us. I fell to my knees, buried my face into the snow white fleece of the lamb, and whispered, “Oh my Emmanuel!”

_________

** Portions of scripture have been quoted from the NKJV.

Luke 2:10-14

Matthew 27:46

John 19:30

Luke 23:46

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Beautiful Feet

My nostrils stung from the assault of dust I inhaled when I was thrown in the street. I swiped at the tears on my cheeks and smeared the salty dust mixed moisture and noticed a muddy mess on the back of my hand. My head ducked low, I saw feet begin to form a circle around me; dirty, hairy man-toes, disgusting.

To the left, I recognized the toes. They were clean. Only moments ago I held those feet in my lap, seductively washing them. I always start with their feet. After he laid a few coins on the seat next to him, I let my hand wander up his firm calf gently massaging the muscles before they gradually found their way to his thigh. 


I stared at those clean feet and noticed his outer garment askew, hastily thrown on. Husky men’s voices screamed “Stone her, stone her.”

Two pairs of thick, meaty hands dug into my armpits and hauled me to an upright position. I clutched the folds of the bed linens and held them securely around me. The linens I was fortunate enough to grab when the men barged into my chambers and wrenched me out from under him…the one with the clean feet.

My eyes wandered towards the cockeyed outer garment, which abruptly shifted into place. In my peripheral vision I saw heads turn and spot this nervous act. I had to force myself not to sneer with satisfaction that he, too, was now under the judgmental glares of ignorant accusers.

The pious Pharisee smoothed his beard over his chest and intentionally waited for the crowd to grow before he spoke. “Teacher, this woman was caught in the act of adultery.” He pointed his gnarled finger in my face. “The law of Moses says to stone her. What do you say?”

Go ahead and stone me, I thought to myself. I don’t have anything worth living for anyway. I’ve shamed my family.

This teacher crouched down in front of me and wrote in the dust, ignoring the badgering demands of the Pharisees. The crowd’s angry taunts turned to confused murmurs. Finally, he faced the robed, self-righteous, keeper of the law.

“Who is without sin among you,” he paused and looked each man straight in the eyes. “Let him throw a stone at her first.”

He proceeded to squat down and continued to write in the dust. Deliberate, gentle authority could be observed in his speech and his ledger of dust.  

Stones dropped to the earth with thuds. One-by-one, the men dispersed until I was left staring at the feet of the one they called Teacher.

“Where are your accusers?”

His feet looked different from the numerous ones I’ve held in my lap. I couldn’t take my eyes off of them.

“Has no one condemned you?”

I clung to the wad of linen in my hand and forced myself to look into his face. “No one…Lord.”

“Neither do I condemn you. Go and sin no more.”

My eyes darted to his feet when I turned to leave. Such beautiful feet. Sin no more? I’m not sure I know how to do that. Exposed, I gathered the excess bed-sheet at my feet and turned to leave.

I heard him speak to the handful of men that stayed with him. “I am the light of the world. He who follows Me shall not walk in darkness, but have the light of life.”

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But Wait...

I haven't posted a Fiction piece in a long time. Friday Fiction is hosted this week by Catrina Bradly at A work in Progress. 

Have you ever thought of well known Bible stories and wondered...what if...? This is one of those stories I dared to imagine outside the small boundaries of a few verses and used what my childhood pastor, John Tappero, used to call our sanctified imagination. What if...?

♥ ♥ ♥

“Yes, I’ve been redeemed,” I assured the dear girl who took time to care of an old woman like me. “I had a personal encounter with the Promised One.”  I struggled to sit upright. I needed to tell this young soul my story. “But wait…there’s more.”

I can’t help but think how blessed I am to have walked in the footprints of the promised Messiah.  From the seed of Abraham, to the house of David, and the fulfilled prophecy of Isaiah…for unto us a child is born…and his name shall be called Wonderful!

He is Wonderful. I remember when I first saw Him. I watched from a distance when He healed the lame and the blind. I heard what people said about His miracles. I knew if I could get close enough, He’d sense my need and heal me, too.

I watched Him leave in a boat and the crowds gather on the shore. They knew eventually He’d be back. I waited too.

When He returned, people swarmed around Him. I eased my way through the crowd hoping no one noticed me because I was unclean. Suddenly, a leader from the synagogue pushed through the crowd and fell at His feet. He begged Jesus to come heal his dying daughter.

 I panicked. Not yet! I screamed in my mind. I need His touch, too!

In a final desperate effort, I did the unthinkable. I reached out and touched the edge of His cloak. Instantly, I felt whole. Amazed, I stood still while the crowds forged their way around me, my mission complete.

But wait…there’s more.

He stopped and looked among the throngs of people. “Who touched me?”

Fear welled inside me. His disciples tried to brush it off and continued toward the dying girl’s home, but Jesus wouldn’t have it.

“I felt power flow from me.”

Somehow I knew He knew. How could He not know? I sensed He was calling me out for a higher purpose. I fell at His feet and confessed my unclean condition, weakened by years of blood loss. I told Him I knew He had the power to heal me if I could only get close enough.

Amidst the shoving and pressing crowd, He took the time to assure me my healing was complete. “Your faith has healed you. Go in peace.”

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