I began to write this book at Christmas 1993, while thinking back with gratitude over the best Christmases in my life, which were in the four years I spent in Rome with Blessed Josemaria Escriva…, says Henry Hernandez in the introduction to his book The Christmas Crib that God Made. The following is one of the chapters.

There is a crib in Rome which I shall certainly never forget. It’s in a glass-fronted cupboard which is only opened when Christmas comes. People like me from all over the world have held their conversations with God while looking at that crib. There in front of it, Blessed Josemaria taught us to pray by letting our imagination play, contemplating a tiny little Baby Jesus, who has his eyes shut and his little fists clenched, like all new-born babies. The Virgin Mary is absolutely beautiful, close beside her Son: she is lifting back the blanket so that we can see him and kiss him. St. Joseph is a strong young man, contemplating the scene beside his Spouse. On guard at his feet there is a little mongrel dog with a friendly face, who is trying to look fierce and not managing it at all. Above them there are the angels: dozens of great angels with every kind of musical instrument. And right at the front, at the entrance to the stable, are the shepherds. There are three of them: the oldest is about fifty, kneeling before Jesus and stroking a lamb with his left hand. The second is younger, and is leaning forward slightly as he waits for his turn. Behind them, with wandering eyes, perhaps watching the angels on the roof, there is a boy of twelve or thirteen years of age, whom we all recognise because he has an unmistakable, endearing face. He is the stupid little shepherd boy. We can call him that, and he won’t mind. He’s a great strong boy, and in his left hand he is holding an enormous goose that is doing its best to get away. Sometimes, in front of that crib, I have played at taking the place of the dog, to guard Baby Jesus; or the donkey who is right up close to the manger. And how often have I wished I were the stupid little shepherd-boy!

Jesus, I’m called Zabulon, I’m twelve years old, and I’m a shepherd, like my father. The angel we saw before told me that you know everything, because you are the Messiah and the Son of God, but I’d rather tell you myself because you look so tiny, and so fast asleep, that I’m not sure if you took it in.

My mother was called Johanna, and she died when I was born, and so my father says that I have to love her more than anyone in the whole world. But I love him the best (please don’t tell him, because he might get cross), because he’s with me all day long, and he teaches me lots of things. He’s taught me the names of the winds that bring the rain, and the ones that come from the desert and upset the sheep. And I know the names of the birds, and I’m starting to learn the different stars. That’s a bit harder, because there are lots and lots of them, and I’ve got a bad memory, but I can see that a new one has appeared, right above where you are.

You see, Jesus, I’m a bit stupid. Don’t say I’m not: you can see it straight away. I suffer from Down’s Syndrome. Everyone knows. It seems that all of us stupids look alike, and some people stare at us as if it was our fault. I feel like saying to them that I’m not stupid on purpose, I was born like that because it was God’s will, and anyway there’s nothing wrong with it. At any rate, I’m good at making children laugh. As soon as they see me they get really happy, and they joke at me and throw things, and I act even stupider than I really am, to make them laugh even more. You just don’t know what a great time we have together!

You see? I’ve just said another stupid thing – you just don’t know. The angel told me that you know everything, and I forgot.

That dog next to your manger is mine – well, my father’s really. He’s called Tiny, and he’s my best friend, because he never laughs at me. He listens to everything I tell him with his mouth open and his tongue out, and he never interrupts. I’ve brought you a goose. That way your family can have something to eat. She’s no good at playing, because she’s half crazy and she pecks. So tell your father he needn’t worry about killing her. And he can use the feathers, too, to make you a nice comfy pillow.

Shall I tell you something? I’ve never been able to think of so many things in one go without getting tired. I know why it is: it’s because I’m with you, and I’m talking to you inside myself, sort of secretly. But if I tried to tell you all of this aloud, you’d laugh at me just like everybody does.

It’s funny, the same thing happened to me with the angel. When he appeared to us on the other side of the gully, I didn’t take in anything. He said such difficult words that not even my father and the others could understand much of it, so imagine how much I got, being so slow. But the angel knew that, and after he’d talked to the other shepherds he came up behind me, and we started to talk to each other, just like you and me now, not talking aloud, and without anybody noticing. I bet you can’t guess what he told me!

Oh, dear, another stupid thing came out – of course you know. You know everything. But anyway, the thing is that the angel (he’s called Gabriel, by the way – you probably know him) was very happy but a bit worried at the same time, because he said God had given him a very hard job to do.

Just think, Zabulon, he told me, God told us to announce the birth of the Messiah to men of good will. It sounds simple, doesn’t it? That’s what I thought to begin with. But when the six of us archangels in the team got together to make a list, things began to get complicated. We had to go back to God three times to ask him what exactly he meant by ‘good will’. Obviously, we knew what the words meant, but we wanted him to let us interpret it a bit loosely. Even so, we couldn’t manage to find more than half a dozen from around Bethlehem.

I didn’t know what ‘good will’ meant either, so I asked the angel, and he said lots of lovely things that I might not get quite right if I try and say them. He said, Look, Zabulon, you’ve often seen birds, haven’t you?

Oh, yes, I said, and my father has taught me which are the good ones and which are the bad ones. There are some that come and drink up the goats’ milk, and – And you know, don’t you, that some of them always fly close to the ground, pecking at everything, like sparrows and blackbirds; some get into bins and stables; some are only happy at the top of the lowest trees, or in the eaves of houses. But some birds belong to the heights, like the golden orioles, that build their nests at the very top of the poplar trees and never come down to the ground, or the great eagles, which rise effortlessly up to the sky, like great majestic gliders…

While Gabriel was speaking I’d lost the thread a bit, and I’d forgotten the thing about ‘good will’. So I was a bit surprised when he said, Something similar is true of human beings. God has created them to fly very high –

We can fly?!

I should think you can! Doesn’t your imagination fly – and your heart – and your wishes – and your memory? Your soul can fly! Do you understand that?

I think I do.

– And yet there are people who insist on fluttering about among the dung-heaps or the muddiest puddles they can find. Others use their wings not to achieve a goal, not to get anywhere, but to show off by doing acrobatics. There are very few who really want to reach what is highest of all.

You mean God?

Yes, God. You can understand that, Zabulon. And those are the ones who have good will, and achieve wisdom.

Then I’m not one of them. How can a stupid like me be wise?

You are, because you have always kept your heart with God, and you have been longing to know him and love him. Don’t worry that you haven’t got much intelligence, as long as the intelligence you have reaches the Truth. The birds that fly the highest are not the ones that flap their wings the most, but the ones that let themselves be borne along by the wind and learn to move almost effortlessly, spreading their wings without fear of the spirit that is carrying them.

Just imagine, Jesus: while the angel was saying all that to me, I could understand it all, and I didn’t get tired of listening to him or of thinking about it. Then I thought that perhaps I was getting clever. But I looked at my reflection in the river, and my face looked just the same as always, thank God. Then I heard my father’s voice calling me, so I grabbed the goose, and here I am.

Do you know something, Jesus? I’m really happy to be here with you. I don’t feel a bit jealous of my brother Andrew or my sister Hannah – they’re both rich, and they’ve got big herds of sheep and lots of olive-trees, but they’re a long way away. Thank you for choosing a stupid to be wise, and I’m very sorry for the wise people who seem to be stupid – who I think really are stupid.

The angel said that God has chosen me to be one of the crib figures because people need to understand that the only lives that are useless, are the lives of people who refuse to come and find you – they’re like birds with no wings. And he said that God sometimes chooses stupid people to confound the clever ones.

There’s only one thing that makes me a bit sad, Jesus. I told you about how my mother died when I was born, and although I love my father very much, I do miss her sometimes. If I told you that I sometimes feel jealous of the lambs in our flock when they are sleeping close to their mothers… You can see that I’m still very silly, can’t you, Jesus?

But what I want to tell you is that now I’ve met your mother. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I can’t take my eyes off her – and she smiles back at me, just as if I was good-looking. Will you let me come back sometimes, to be near her? I don’t think your mother will mind, or your father either. I’ll bring them food to eat, and chop all the wood you need. And I can tell her things that perhaps she doesn’t know, and she’ll talk to me as well – not like you, sleeping away like that.

Jesus, I’m going to give you a kiss. Please don’t wake up, because I don’t want your mother to get cross.

Henry Hernandez The Christmas Crib that God Made, Scepter (UK) Ltd, 2002. Chapter 7, The Stupid Shepherd Boy.

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There is a great simplicity also about his birth. Our Lord comes without any fanfare. No one knows about him. On earth only Mary and Joseph share in the divine adventure. And then the shepherds who received the message from the angels. And later on, the wise men from the East. They were the only witnesses of this transcendental event which unites heaven and earth, God and man.

How can our hearts be so hard that we can get used to these scenes? God humbled himself to allow us to get near him, so that we could give our love in exchange for his, so that our freedom might bow, not only at the sight of his power, but also before the wonder of his humility.

The greatness of this Child who is God! His Father is the God who has made heaven and earth and there he is, in a manger, because there was no room at the inn — there was nowhere else for the Lord of all creation.

- St. Josemaria Escriva

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