of splendid palaces and towers, with aqueducts and bridges, and massive walls, the stones of which are still a marvel for their size. Upon the ridge of Mount Zion stood the marble palaces of the king, his noblemen, and the high priest; on the opposite and lower hill rose the Temple, built of snow-white marble, with cedar roofs, and parapets of gold, which, glistening in the bright sunshine and pure moonlight, could be seen from afar off in the dear, dry atmosphere of that eastern land. From ridge to ridge a magnificent viaduct was built, connecting the Temple Mount with Mount Zion and its streets of palaces.
Every Jew had a far more fervent and loyal affection for the Temple than for the palace of the king. It was, in fact, the palace of their true King, Jehovah. Three times a year their law ordained a solemn feast to be held there, grander than the festivities of any earthly king. Troops of Jews came up to them from all parts of the country, even from northern Galilee, which was three or four days’ journey distant, and from foreign lands, where emigrants had settled. It was a joyous crowd, and they were joyous times. Friends who had been long parted met once more together, and went up in glad companies to the house of their God. It has been reckoned that at the great feast, that of the Passover, nearly three millions of Jews thronged the streets and suburbs of the Holy City, most of whom had offerings and sacrifices to present in the Temple; for nowhere else under the blue sky could any sacrifice be offered to the true God.
Even a beloved king held no place in the heart of the Jews beside their Temple. But Herod, who was then reigning, was hateful to the people, though he had rebuilt the Temple for them with extraordinary splendour. He was cruel, revengeful, and cowardly, terribly jealous, and suspicious of all about him, so far as to have put to death his own wife and three of his sons. The crowds who came to the feasts carried the story of his tyranny to the remotest comers of his kingdom. He even offended his patron,’ the emperor of Rome; and the emperor had written to him a very sharp letter, saying that he had hitherto treated him as a friend, but now he should deal with him as an enemy. Augustus ordered that a tax should be levied on the Jews, as in other conquered countries, and required from Herod a return of all his subjects who would be liable to the tax.
This command of the Roman emperor threw the whole nation into disturbance. The return was allowed to be made by Herod, not by the Romans themselves, and he proceeded to do it in the usual Jewish fashion. The registers of the Jews were carefully kept in the cities of their families, but the people were scattered throughout the country. It was therefore necessary to order every man to go to the city of his own family, there to answer to the register of his name and age, and to give in an account of the property he possessed. Besides this, he was required to take an oath to Caesar and the king; a bitter trial to the Jews, who boasted, years afterwards, under a Roman governor, ‘We are a free people, and were never in bondage to any man.’ There must have been so much natural discontent felt at this requirement that it is not likely the winter season would be chosen for carrying it out. The best, because the least busy time of the year, would be after the olives and grapes were gathered, and before the season for sowing the corn came, which was in November. The Feast of Tabernacles was held at the close of the vintage, and fell about the end of September or beginning of October. It was the most joyous of all the feasts, and as the great national Day of Atonement immediately preceded it, it was probably very largely attended by the nation; and perhaps the gladness of the season might in some measure tend to counteract the discontent of the people.
But whether at the Feast of Tabernacles, or later in the year, the whole Jewish nation was astir, marching to and fro to the cities of their families. At this very time a singular event befell a company of shepherds, who were watching their flocks by night in the open plain stretching some miles eastward from Bethlehem, a small village about six miles from Jerusalem. Bethlehem was the city of the house of David, and all the descendants of that beloved king were assembled to answer to their names on the register, and to be enrolled as Roman subjects. The shepherds had not yet brought in their flocks for the winter, and they were watching them with more than usual care, it may be, because of the unsettled state of the country, and the gathering together of so many strangers, not for a religious, but for a political purpose, which would include the lowest classes of the people, as Well as the law-loving and law-abiding Jews.
No doubt this threatened taxing and compulsory oath of subjection had intensified the desire of the nation for the coming of the Messiah. Every man desires to be delivered from degradation and taxes, if he cares nothing about being saved from his sins. It was not safe to speak openly of the expected Messiah: but out on the wide plains, with the darkness shutting them in, the shepherds could while away the long, chilly hours with talking of the events of the passing times, and of that promised king whom, so their teachers said in secret, was soon, very soon to appear to crush their enemies.
But as the night wore on, when some of them were growing drowsy, and the talk had fallen into a few slow sentences spoken from time to time, a light, above the brightness of the sun, which had sunk below the horizon hours ago, shone all about them with a strange splendour. As soon as their dazzled eyes could bear the light, they saw within it a form as of an angel. Sore afraid they were as they caught sight of each other’s faces in this terrible, unknown glory. But quickly the angel spoke to them, lest their terror should grow too great for them to hear aright.
‘Fear not,’ he said, ‘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 Saviour, which is Christ the Lord. And this shall be a sign unto you: Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger.’
Suddenly, as the angel ended his message, the shepherds saw, standing with him in the glorious light, a great multitude of the blessed hosts that people heaven, who were singing a new song under the silent stars, which shone dimly in the far-off sky. Once before ‘the morning stars sang together, and all the sons of God shouted for joy’ because God had created a world. Now, at the birth of a child, in the little village close by, where many an angry Jew had lain down to a troubled sleep, they sang, ‘Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men.’
The sign given to the shepherds served as a guide to them. They were to find the new-born babe cradled in a manger, with no softer bed than the fodder of the cattle. Surely, the poorest mother in the humblest home in Bethlehem could provide better for her child. They must, then, seek the Messiah, just proclaimed to them, among the strangers who were sleeping in the village inn. All day long had parties of travellers been crossing the plain, and the shepherds would know very well that the little inn, which was built at the eastern part of the village, merely as a shelter for such chance passers-by, would be quite full. It was not a large building; for Bethlehem was too near to Jerusalem for many persons to tarry there for the night, instead of pressing forward to the Holy City. It was only on such an occasion as this that the inn was likely to be over full.
But as the shepherds drew near the eastern gate, they probably saw the glimmering of a lamp near the inn. It is a very old tradition that our Lord was born in a cave; and this is quite probable. If the inn were built near to a cave, it would naturally be used by the travellers for storing away their food from the heavy night dews, although their mules and asses might stay out in the open air. A light in the cave would attract the shepherds to it, and there they found Mary, and Joseph, and the babe lying in a manger. A plain working man, like themselves, his wife, and a helpless new-born child; how strangely this sight must have struck them, after the glory and mystery of the vision of angels they had just witnessed! How different was Mary’s low, hushed voice as she pointed out the child born since the sun went down, from that chorus of glad song, when all the heavenly host sang praises to God.
A strange story they had to tell Mary of the vision they had just seen. She was feeling the first great gladness and joy of every mother over her child born into the world, but in Mary's case this joy was brightened beyond that of all other women, yet shadowed by the mystery of being the chosen mother of the Messiah. The shepherds’ statement increased her gladness, and lifted her above the natural feeling of dishonour done to her child by the poor and lowly circumstances of his birth; whilst they, satisfied with the testimony
