Song of Silence

The sun hovered above the horizon, casting long, purple shadows on the cobblestones as Simeon trotted home. The skies already welcomed the first of the evening stars and the ten-year-old boy knew he needed to hurry. But something slowed him. Time and again he threw a look over his shoulders. The cold air that nipped his exposed nose felt heavy.

Simeon reached the street where his home was located and spotted his mama standing in the doorway. Watching for him, no doubt. His steps quickened and he ran into her arms.

“Simeon, my son, where have you been?” Her cloak smelled of spice and flour.

Simeon drew back to watch her lips form the words. He pointed back to the fringes of town, knowing his mama would understand that he had been with the shepherds again. She pretended exasperation, but deep down he knew his mama was happy he had found friends that accepted him.

“Come inside and clean up,” she drew him through the door. “You know I worry when you are late.”

Simeon dropped his head. He did know and felt bad about it. He fingered the pendant hanging from a cord around his neck. It was shaped like a king’s crown, his papa’s reminder to him that he was still a prince in the eyes of his papa, even though he was deaf. Papa had been a metal worker, so skilled in shaping and bending metals that people from all around came to buy at his shop. Since Papa had died and it was just him and his mama, she was always hovering, always worrying about him. He tried hard to make things easier for her, but it was difficult when most of the people called him a half-wit and chased him away when he came near.

“Simeon!” they would taunt. “He who hears! Where was Hashem when your papa named you?” It was true, he was the most misnamed boy in all of Bethlehem. The silence that pressed into his faulty ears didn’t stop the hurt from pricking his heart. One did not need to hear to know what the village boys were saying.

So, when he discovered the sheep caves, quite by accident one day when fleeing from a crowd of rowdy boys, the kindness of the shepherds captured his heart. Old Reuven, the head shepherd, took him under his wing and treated him like the son he never had. Simeon spent as much time there as he possibly could, helping out and running errands. Today he lingered later than usual. Old Reuven had finally pointed him homeward, giving him a teasing swat on his backside. But there was something in the air. Something that drew Simeon outside to look at the sky even now, when Mama had his supper all laid out on the table.

After his third time opening the door and peering out, Mama watched him with troubled eyes. “What is it, Simeon?” He shrugged his shoulders. How could he explain what he did not understand? He sensed vibrations, currents, that unnerved him. The hairs on his arms stood on end, but when he tried to show Mama, she looked puzzled.

By the time Simeon finished his supper of bread and soup, night had descended on the town and blackness coated the streets. Simeon climbed the ladder that led to the roof of their tiny house, poking his head out the hole at the top. The sky was clear, speckled with millions of stars. He pulled himself up and stretched out on his back, tucking a warm blanket around his body. The silence surrounding him seemed magnified, a pulsing thing that echoed and rang without sound from cobblestone to rooftop. A long time passed and slowly his eyes drifted shut. He fell asleep clutching his pendant.

On the other side of town, Old Reuven and his shepherds dozed on the hillside, lulled by the soft snuffling of the sheep. It was a cold, clear night, and the animals were quiet. It felt good to rest. The town was bulging with visitors, many of them wanting to buy lambs to offer at the temple in Jerusalem. The census was drawing travelers from all over Judea, and they combined duty with a chance to worship at the temple. For many it would be a once-in-a-lifetime experience. The extra income was nice, but Old Reuven looked forward to the return of his sleepy little Bethlehem.

A rustle at the far end of the sheepfold drew his attention. The sheep stirred, some of them staggering to their feet. Reuven got up too, leaning on his staff. On a night like this, he felt his bones aging. As he got closer to the gate, the forms of a donkey and two people emerged from the darkness. The man, dressed in a rough garment that Reuven recognized as Galilean, stepped forward, urgency evident in his movements. “Please, can you help me?” he clasped his hands together. “My wife’s time is very near and the inn is full. The innkeeper sent me out here, but we need shelter. Now!” Reuven looked past him at the woman seated on the donkey. Her head drooped, exhaustion leaking from her eyes.

“Yes, of course,” Reuven opened the gate and reached for the little donkey’s halter. He led them to the closest of the lambing caves, jutting out above the hillside meadow. “It’s not an inn, but you’ll be out of the wind and it’s snug and warm.” He pointed out the straw in the back and tied the donkey to a post near the door. “We’ll be out there all night, you know, if you need anything.” Reuven glanced once more at the young woman, who now lay on a bed made of straw and the man’s rough cloak. She managed a smile, and her husband uttered a hoarse word of thanks.

Reuven backed out of the cave and trudged back down to the sheep.

Simeon stirred, something brushing his cheek. He opened his eyes. The stars dangled above him, extra bright now in the lateness of the night. He sat up, the blanket falling away from his shoulders. A glow in the sky caught his gaze and his eyes widened in awe. A dazzling star shone brilliant and clear, appearing to hover across town right over the sheepfolds. Simeon scrambled to the outside ladder and eased down to the cobblestones, fearful of waking Mama. The brightness of the star drew him on and Simeon hurried through the village until he reached the gate to the sheepfold. All was still. The glow from the star cast a white light over the hillside, illuminating sheep and shepherds both. They slept, fleece and robes keeping out the cold.

Simeon hesitated. Should he try to awaken Old Reuven? There was something so peaceful, so holy about the starlight, that it kept Simeon glued to his spot by the gate.

As he wavered, unsure what to do, a distant sound riveted him to the spot. What was… what was happening? A tall, shining being appeared, standing over Old Reuven, close to where Simeon had paused. A golden glow surrounded him and Simeon shrank into his blanket, clinging to the gate post.

“Do not be afraid,” the angel said, “For behold, 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 Saviour, who is Christ the Lord. And this will be a sign to you: You will find a Babe wrapped in swaddling cloths, lying in a manger.”

As Simeon watched in amazement, the sky opened and thousands of angels appeared. A deep, rolling song wafted from the host of beings, and Simeon heard every note. “Glory to God in the Highest, on earth peace, goodwill to men…” Over and over, the triumphant words rang over the meadow, the shepherds now wide awake and on their faces in the grass of the field. All but Simeon. He stood, face upturned, ears drinking in the glorious sound echoing off the mountains to the north. Gradually the song faded, and Simeon turned to the shepherds. Their faces reflected shock and fear, awe and wonder.

“Let’s go,” Simeon’s tongue tried out the words. They came out garbled but decipherable. The shepherds stared at him; eyes wide. “Let us find this baby,” his lips felt strange, shaping words he had seen all his life, but never heard.

Old Reuven recovered first. Gently he placed his gnarled hands on Simeon’s head. “A miracle, yes? Of course, a miracle.”

Simeon clutched his pendant. How the night sounds tickled his ears. Already they were filtering the different noises. That gentle bleating must be the lambs, disturbed by the upheaval of the heavens. The clipping sound he heard must be the sheep, cropping the blades of grass at their feet. It was all so new, so glorious.

And the star! The brilliant star now shone with a new glory, directly over the door of the nearest lambing cave. “The young couple,” Old Reuven muttered. “It must be them.” He looked back at the other shepherds. “Come! Let us go and see this thing that has come to pass.” He led the way to the door. Reuven knocked softly and a low voice bid them enter.

Eager, but unsure, the shepherds shuffled inside and clustered in a knot, peering through the dim cave at the man and his wife. The woman looked up and smiled. Her husband got to his feet, moving to stand in front of a manger, his stance tense. Old Reuven stepped forward, his face aglow. “We were just now in our fields,” he swallowed hard, voice shaking. “And there appeared to us an angel, telling us that we would find the Christ Child, lying in a manger.”

The man and wife exchanged glances. Slowly, the man backed away from the manger and beckoned them forward. “Come, see our new baby.”

One by one, the shepherds fell to their knees, tears streaking down their weather-beaten faces. Simeon crept closer, wanting to see the Baby, to thank Him for healing his ears. He reached the manger and peeked inside. A Baby, wrapped snugly in the wrappings used for newborn lambs, lay sleeping soundly in a bed of soft straw. Slowly, Simeon lifted the cord with the crown from around his neck, then placed it in the manger at the Baby’s feet. The Baby’s mother watched him, a smile on her face. And Simeon knew, though he was only ten years old, that he was in the presence of Someone so wonderful, so holy, that Simeon’s life would never be the same.