The little lamb: A Christmas parable

It was cold in the barn that night and the animals were huddled together to keep warm. Cows, oxen and donkeys. And a little lamb.

Little sad and thin lamb, born lame and fragile. Too fragile to go out with the herd in the fields. The shepherds had carried him to the stable, where he would be sheltered from the wind and the wolves, because the wolves and the wind came down from the hills with violence in winter.

The lamb had food and shelter, but it was not enough. It was lonely. Separated from his mother, he felt unloved. The other animals were trying to be nice, but they didn’t have time. During the day they were busy working: the cows had milk to produce, the oxen had land to plow and the donkeys had carts to pull.

At night they were all very tired. They fed on fodder, then went straight to bed. No one would talk, no one would play. No one would even sing a lullaby to a lamb who needed comfort. Every night the lamb cried and was told to be quiet, because its bleating was disturbing their sleep.

So that night the lamb cried quietly, as he had learned to do. And he looked at the strangers who shared the stable. To the man who held the woman’s hand and spoke to her so gently. And especially towards the woman, who didn’t speak at all.

Huddled together, the animals slept, and finally the lamb slept too. And the night was silent.

But then, in the darkest hours, there was no more darkness or silence. There was a baby’s cry. And the stable shone with the brightest of lights and voices echoed in the air.

The animals, awakened from their dreams, were frightened. They stamped their hooves and shook their heads and made their frightened animal noises, but the light was so beautiful and the voices so beautiful that it didn’t take long before they calmed down and began to lose their fear.

And when the light went out and the voices were but an echo, there in their manger they saw the baby, and their eyes widened with wonder. The animals murmured but did not want to come closer until the woman beckoned them. Then, one by one, the animals advanced. Everything except the lamb, who was only a baby himself and still terribly afraid. Forgotten by the others, he trembled in a corner and tried to hide under the hay.

But the baby in the manger was shaking too. The cold of the night had returned and the baby had started to shiver. When the animals saw this, they came closer to the cradle.

The man took off his coat and made a blanket out of it, but the coat was thin and worn and provided little warmth.

The woman held the baby to her breast. He shivered again and she began to cry.

And the lamb, who knew what it meant to cry, got up from the hay. Although he was still afraid, he left his hiding place. He made his way through the legs of the larger beasts, until he stood beside the woman and rested his head on her knee.

And the softest hands reached down and stroked its wool.

And the gentlest hand picked him up and put him in the straw of the manger, and tucked the baby in next to it, and covered them both with the mantle. The baby snuggled up to him, smiled and closed his eyes.

And the lamb was very happy to have learned to cry quietly. Because he was crying now and didn’t want to wake the child.

But the lamb didn’t cry because he was sad. He cried because, finally, he no longer felt alone. Or fear. Or unloved.

Then the lamb also closed its eyes. And the woman sang a lullaby.

Zautyk, a former Daily News editorial board member, wrote this for her father, John.