Demetrius' Story

Well, it’s time for my yearly Christmas trek. This morning I started my advent reading with Genesis chapters one through three. I know it’s an odd place to start, but I like remembering why I need advent, my own intransigent pride. But, that’s another story altogether. This year I’d like to try something new. I want to tell a story, a story that has formed in my mind in bits and pieces over the past few weeks. Like a view that clarifies as the mist rises, this story has slowly taken shape, resolving and gaining solidity each day. I invite you to join me as we walk this path; a path that ultimately leads to a manger in the small Judean city of Bethlehem, David’s city. The city of the king.

Part I

“I hate sheep!” The thought reverberated in his mind as Demetrius glowered at the fuzzy tawny shapes seeking scant fodder on the rocky hill. “I hate sheep! I hate itchy wool! I hate the way they smell! They are the stupidest creatures of all creation! What did I do to make the gods so angry as to make me a shepherd!” Demetrius adjusted his cloak, hoping to find the right placement, one that kept most of the chilly wind out. No matter what he did, nothing seemed to work. There was always someplace where the cold wind could slip through. “Why did he have to work for a man too cheap to provide decent warm clothing?”

“Demetrius! Hey, Demetrius! Look alive,” Alter’s piercing voice annoyed almost as much as the cold east wind. “Demetrius, one of your sheep is cast down. Take care of it!”

Demetrius shot a withering glare at Alter’s back. “Silly old man. Why did he care? He was not the owner. He endured the same miserly treatment that Demetrius did. And what was one fewer sheep to look after anyway?” These and other darker thoughts lurked in Demetrius’ mind as he slouched over to the cast sheep. There it lay, with legs flailing uselessly in the air. As Demetrius approached, the frightened sheep, sensing his foul mood, flailed all the more. One of its flinty hooves clipped his hand as he reached out, cutting it slightly. Angered even further, Demetrius cursed and struck the sheep with his staff.

“Hey!” called Alter, “Don’t do that. Be gentle.”

Sighing and muttering under his breath, Demetrius bent over, grabbed the sheep’s fleece, and pulled it over. Righted, the still dizzy sheep staggered away. “I hate my life,” thought Demetrius as he once more adjusted his cloak.

Check in tomorrow for the next step in the journey.