It was late in the year, and cold covered the entire land. I was but a boy of 10 or 11 at the time. (My father told me some of this story, other parts I remember for myself.) A distant relative of King David, a young man named Joseph, was coming back here to Bethlehem, where I live, for the Roman census. I have to stop here to tell you that our shepherd-king, King David, is my idol. He came from right here. And, I am also a shepherd, as was my father and his father before him.

The tomb of the great woman, Ruth, is in our town also. I have been to visit there many times. But I, of course, must be mindful of my place. I am not a noble man to bring gifts of sweet-smelling incense to the graves of the great. I am a shepherd.

Bethlehem is a small place. Maybe 300 people lived here at the time. But, it is always busy. Many caravans traveling to Egypt stop here, and one inn serving the caravan traders has been here for a thousand years.

In the old days, the prophet Micah said the savior of Israel, the Messiah, would be born in Bethlehem.

After five days of walking, the man Joseph and his young wife Mary approached our town. The 90 miles of rough road from Nazareth must have been hard on Mary. I didn't see them arrive, but I myself would be weary from such a journey.

Bethlehem was crowded when they arrived. There were caravans in towns, wealthy Jews from Egypt, Greece and Rome, aristocrats from Jerusalem, peasants and craftsmen from rural Judea, Galilee and Perea. And, of course, always the Roman soldiers.

It was like a festival. The courtyard of the caravan inn was full of camels and donkeys. Even the flat roof of the inn was full of people.

And the night was cold. I tell you that I do not sleep well outside this time of year without a heavy robe, blankets and a fire.

There was not room for even one more animal in town. Joseph and Mary were forced to go to one of the many caves in the hillside outside of town where many people keep livestock. My cousin agreed to let Joseph use his cave stable and gave him a bundle of straw for bedding. Early that evening on my way out to the fields to watch the flock for my brother I brought the young couple a lighted clay lamp filled with olive oil. I could see that Joseph had made a bed for Mary out of the straw and she was bundled in his woolen cloak, using it as a blanket. I don't know how Joseph kept warm.

As I left the stable and walked up to the hillside where our sheep were bedded down, it was such a cold, still night. The stars struck crisp in the sky like so many diamonds on a field of absolute black. It was as if all light had been sucked away except for the crystalline stars. Not even the animals were making noise. The only sound I heard was my own breath, which blew past my face in a fog as I climbed the hill.

As I came near the rocky field where my two cousins sat watching over our family's flock, they called out a low greeting to me. "It's a cold night, cousin. Be warm but watch well." I knew what they meant - "Don't get too warm and fall asleep." I didn't realize at that time that I was not going to sleep this night. For this was the night the Messiah was to be born, beneath my clay lamp, in my cousin's cave stable.

I sat down on the ground and wrapped my robe tightly around me, especially my hands so they would be warm as they held my staff. I could lean forward against the staff and stay upright, but take all the pressure off of my back, and in that way get rest.

I had been with the flock no more than two hours when suddenly a light appeared from nowhere. The hillside seemed on fire it was so bright. In the middle of the light stood a man, but unlike any man I have ever seen. His face was shining. At first, I was dumbstruck. Even at my young age I was ready to defend my sheep against predators. But no one taught me how to defend against a glowing man. I immediately assumed a defensive posture - by falling to my face on the ground thinking that I was about to be struck dead. I would later find out that my two cousins had done the very same thing. There I lay, shaking as if the cold had penetrated to my soul. I am not exactly sure what the man said. My cousins, who are both older, told me later that he said, "Don't be afraid. I bring you the most joyful news ever announced, and it is for all mankind. The Messiah, the Lord, has been born this night in Bethlehem. You will find him as a baby wrapped in blankets lying in a manger." In an instant, the sky was full of glowing men and women, as if it were on fire with people. They were singing a most beautiful song. Again, my cousins remembered the words, "Glory to God in the heavens and peace on earth and goodwill to men."

After what seemed like hours but probably was no more than minutes, all of the people in the sky disappeared leaving my cousins and I to wonder at what we had just seen. My family have been shepherds for many generations, but not one person has ever reported seeing singing people in the sky.

We were filled with excitement at what we had just witnessed. We left the sheep. I also left my staff, knife, one sandal and a big piece of my robe when I stepped on it as the three of us ran to the hillside cave. Somehow, I secretly knew who had given birth to the Messiah. It was the young wife of Joseph, not much older than me, actually. She had looked so peaceful when I had been to the cave earlier that night.

I fell only once on the way. Mahlon fell twice and was bleeding slightly as we got to the cave entrance. Shem ran right into me when I stopped at the cave opening. There, in the light of my clay lamp, lying in a pile of straw, was a baby. And beside the baby were the young mother and her husband. I was speechless and shaking with excitement as I realized what I was seeing. The young mother motioned for us to come in. I think she was afraid we would make noise if we stayed at the entrance. We slowly walked in and knelt down by the baby and I tell you I felt such joy and warmth and incredible love coming from the tiny infant. My first cousin stammered out about the sky being filled with glowing people. Mary just smiled and nodded her head. Joseph seemed so quiet I thought the man was unable to speak.

I had to touch the baby, so I reached out with my own young hand and started to gently move it over the surface of the blankets, as if to smooth them. My head was full of too many things from the night's events to even attempt to understand what was happening now. I just knew that I needed to touch the infant.

I have been reminded of many things that I forgot about that night, but I will never, as long as I live, forget the feeling of that moment. I was at the birthplace of the Messiah, touching him, just after his moment of birth. Kings will never say these things. Powerful men cannot claim this. But I, a shepherd boy, was at the birth of the Messiah.

After what seems like a very long time of kneeling there, I moved back from the child, and my cousins and I bowed and paid our leave of the Messiah. We ran to our homes and told our families. I spoke so fast that my father had to keep slowing me down. At one point he brought me water because I was out of breath and my mouth was dry.

I have been a shepherd now for over forty years. Several nights every week of the last forty years I have stayed in the fields with the sheep. It is my duty and responsibility. There have been 39 years of winters since that night. Sometimes in the stillness of a cold winter night when the stars seem as though they are the lights from a million fires on a hundred thousand black hillsides, I see the angels. And if I listen very closely, I can hear their song. It is from a long way off, but I can almost make out the beautiful voices singing, "Glory to God in the highest. Peace on earth and goodwill to men."

I wish for you that you hear the angels. It is a cold winter night tonight. Listen carefully, my friends. Can you hear them?