Christmas - The First Christmas Roses - Library Lady's Storytime

Here is another story in Library Lady’s Christmas Stories series.

THE FIRST CHRISTMAS ROSES

ADAPTED FROM AN OLD LEGEND

Edited by Jane Mouttet

The sun had dropped below the western hills of Judea, and the stillness of night had covered the earth. The heavens were illuminated only by numberless stars, which seemed brighter due to the dark sky. No sound was heard but the occasional howl of a jackal or the bleat of a lamb in the sheepfold. The shepherd, Berachah, and his daughter, Madelon, slept inside a tent on the hillside. The little girl lay restless—sleeping, waking, dreaming until she finally roused herself and looked around

“Oh, Father,” she whispered, “wake up. I fear for the sheep.”

The shepherd turned and reached for his staff. “What do you hear, daughter? The dogs are asleep. Have you had a bad dream?”

“No, but Father,” she answered, “Don’t you see the light? Don’t you hear the voice?”

Berachah gathered his mantle about him, rose, looked over the hills toward Bethlehem, and listened. The olive trees on the far slope cast shadows in marvelous light, unlike daybreak, sunset, or even the moon’s light. The shepherds on watch were rousing themselves by the campfire on the hillside. Berachah waited and wondered while Madelon clung to his side. Suddenly, a sound rang out in the stillness. Madelon pressed still closer.

“It is the voice of an angel, my daughter. What it means, I don’t know. Neither do I understand this light.” Berachah fell on his knees and prayed.

“Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, which is Christ the Lord. And this shall be a sign unto you; Ye will find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger.”

The angel’s voice died away, and the air was filled with music. Berachah raised Madelon to her feet. “Ah, daughter,” he said, “It is the wonder night so long expected. We have been given a sign to see. The Messiah has come. His name will be Wonderful, Counselor, the mighty God, the Everlasting Father, the Prince of Peace. He will reign on the throne of David. He will redeem Israel.”

Slowly up the hillside came the shepherds to the tent of Berachah, their chief, who rose to greet them eagerly.

“What do you think of the wonder of the sign?” he asked. “Are we not, above all others, honored to learn of the Messiah’s coming!”

“Yes, Berachah,” replied their spokesman, Simon. “Do you believe that we should worship the infant King? Let us now go to Bethlehem and see this thing which has come to pass.”

A murmur of protest came from the edge of the circle, and one or two turned impatiently away, whispering about duty toward flocks and the folly of searching for a newborn baby in the city of Bethlehem. These were hardheaded, practical men whose hearts had not been touched by vision or song.

The others, however, turned expectantly toward Berachah, awaiting his decision. “Truly,” said Jude, “the angel of the Lord has given us the sign so we can go worship Him. How can we do otherwise? As we have heard, we will find Him lying in a manger. Let us not wait but gather our choicest treasures to lay at His feet and set out without delay across the hills toward Bethlehem.”

“Oh, father,” whispered Madelon, “let me go with you.” Berachah did not hear her. He turned and told the men to gather their gifts.

“Me too, father?” asked Madelon. Still, Berachah said nothing. Madelon slipped back into the tent, threw her arms around Melampo, her shepherd dog, and whispered in his ear.

Soon, the shepherds returned with their gifts. They were simple treasures—a pair of doves, a fine wool blanket, eggs, honey, and late autumn fruits. Berachah had searched for the finest of his flock—a snow-white lamb. Across the hills toward Bethlehem in the quiet, star-lit night they journeyed. As they moved silently along, the snow beneath their feet was changed to grass and flowers, and the icicles that had dropped from the trees covered their pathway like stars in the Milky Way.

Madelon came following at a distance, yet close enough to see them, with Melampo at her heels. Over the hills, they traveled on until Madelon lost sight of their own hillside. Farther and farther the shepherds went until they passed David’s well and entered the city. Berachah led the way.

“How will we know?” whispered Simon. The others answered, “Hush, we must wait for the sign.”

When they finally reached the crescent of Bethlehem’s hills, they stopped by an open doorway at a signal from their leader. “The manger,” they joyfully murmured, “the manger! We have found the newborn King!”

The shepherds entered one by one and fell on their knees. Away in the shadow stood the little girl, her hand on Melampo’s head. In wonder, she gazed while the shepherds presented their gifts, and they were permitted each to hold the newborn Savior for a moment.

Melampo, the shepherd dog, crouched on the ground as if he, too, like the ox and the ass within, would worship the Child. Madelon turned toward the darkness, weeping. Then, lifting her face to heaven, she prayed that God would bless Mother and Baby. Melampo moved closer to her, dumbly offering companionship, and, raising his head, seemed to join in her petition. Once more, she looked at the worshipping circle.

She grieved, “I have no gift for the infant Savior. I wish I had a flower to place in His hand.”

Suddenly, Melampo stirred by her side, and as she turned again from the manger, she saw before her an angel, the light from whose face illuminated the darkness and whose look of tenderness rested on her tear-stained eyes.

“Why are you sad, child?” asked the angel.

“That I come empty-handed to the cradle of the Savior. That I bring no gift to greet Him,” she murmured.

“The gift of your heart is the best of all,” answered the angel. “But so that you may carry something to the manger, I will strike my staff against the ground.”

Wonderingly, Madelon waited. Beautiful white roses popped up from the dry earth where the angel’s staff had touched. Timidly, she stretched out her hand toward the nearest ones. She gathered them in the light of the angel’s smile until her arms were filled with flowers. Again, she turned toward the manger and quietly slipped to the circle of kneeling shepherds.

Closer she crept to the Child, longing, yet fearing, to offer her gift. “How shall I know,” she pondered, “whether He will receive this gift as His own?”

Berachah gazed in amazement at Madelon and the roses she held. How did his child get there? He had left her safe on the hillside. And where did the flowers come from? Truly, this was a wonderful night.

Step by step, she came closer to the manger, knelt, and placed a rose in the Baby’s hand. Mary bent over her Child as the shepherds watched silently, and Madelon waited for a sign. “Will He accept them?” she questioned. How shall I know?” As she prayed in humble silence, the Baby’s eyes opened slowly, and a smile spread over His face.

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