Young Shepherd Comes to the Light

The Blind Beggar is a short Christmas story by FR RALPH DE HAHN – a shepherd’s story

From the age of nine I had cared for the lambs on the hills outside Bethlehem’s hills. It was such joy to cuddle those woolly bodies.

Then one night a furious storm broke over the hills. I hurried to take shelter under a tree; it was there that a bolt of lightning threw me to the ground and blinded me. Still, the touch of the lambs in my arms was my joy.

I will never forget that very peculiar night when my brother shepherds experienced a visitor from the heavens.

We all heard some heavenly singing; I saw nothing, but with them I felt that terrifying thrill as the visiting angel announced the birth of a Messiah.

Through my blindness a rich glow filled my mind and my heart thrilled with delight; I knew something extraordinary was happening.

My brothers were instructed to find a child in a stable, wrapped in swaddling clothes and lying in a manger. I remained with the sheep.

On their return my brothers spoke of a young mother and a beautiful babe; it was just as the angel had said.

A “Saviour”, said the angel—one hopefully sent to rescue all of our land from foreign domination.

But my brothers said that there was no sign of a conquering Messiah, but only of sheer poverty. Yet, somehow, despite the veil of darkness, I thrilled at the power I felt in the name “Saviour”.

It was many years later, while I was on a journey along the river Jordan, when I sensed some unusual excitement in the air. I was told crowds were gathering on the banks of the river around a wild man of the desert; he was demanding them to come forward for a baptism of repentance.

As I drew closer to the crowds I heard the preacher call upon the “Lamb of God”.

I wondered—indeed, I was troubled deep within—which of my lambs could possibly belong to God alone! This precious hour I have never forgotten.

Then followed weeks and months of rumours and astonishing stories of some remarkable prophet performing miraculous acts, healing the deaf, the blind and the dumb. He even made cripples walk again, people said.

People were murmuring that he might be the promised Messiah. They said his name was Jesus of Nazareth—but surely no prophet would ever come from a little village like this Nazareth!

In my darkness there is so much time to reflect and ponder and search the heart and memories.

I know the prophecies speak of a Messiah of David’s line to be born in David’s city. It was as I pondered just that when a bright light flashed behind my dead eyes. Bethlehem!

The angel’s message all those years ago. The stable! “A saviour is born to us!”

Could this baby be the Lamb of God whom that desert preacher at the river Jordan had proclaimed. This strange traveller moving from place to place proclaiming the coming of the kingdom with a power and majesty beyond the power of our magicians, a power unknown to man, or to Caesar, or Rome, or even Israel.

It was then that I decided to search for him, for I was touched by the belief that I was present that night when he was announced by the heavenly visitors on the Bethlehem hills.

I was now a beggar, a blind beggar among friends who served as my guides. We had settled in Jericho, not far from the river Jordan.

One day I was seated on the pavement when a multitude of people passed by, and there was great excitement in the air.

“What is it?” I asked my friends. “It’s a crowd, like a procession, leaving the city,” they replied. Then they added: “Yes, it appears they are following Jesus the Nazarene.”

My heart told me I had found him. Was the Nazarene Jesus of Bethlehem; the Jesus of David’s line? The Saviour announced by the angel? The excitement kindled a fire within me.

“Son of David,” I cried, “I know you! I was there! Have pity on me!”

My friends scolded me and pushed me down. But again I stood up, crying out with all my vocal power: “Son of David, babe of Bethlehem, have pity on me!”

The crowds were hushed; I sensed a strange waiting silence. The procession seemed to have stopped. I heard some murmuring. My friend touched me and said: “He is calling for you.”

I was gently led to him; a holy fear seized me. I stumbled forward.

I stood before a presence such as I had never felt before. A gentle hand touched my shoulder. “What do you want me to do for you?” spoke a kindly but majestic voice.

“Master,” I stuttered, “Lord, that I may see you…that I may see again.”

A silence hung heavily over the huge crowd, suddenly filled with love-filled words: “Open your eyes, receive your sight—your faith has saved you!”

Before my tearful eyes stood the Lamb of God, the Babe of Bethlehem, in a light that could come only from above. The crowds broke into praise glorifying God.

I followed him into the heart of his kingdom. This is my story.

My name is Bartimaeus, son of Timaeus (Mark 10:46).

Fr Ralph de Hahn’s collection of short stories, Let Me Tell You a Story, was published earlier this year. It can be ordered at R100 from the Cape Town chancery, Catholic Bookshop or parish repositories. All proceeds go to the building fund of the archdiocese of Cape Town.