Page 2 - Good News December 2009 paper
P. 2

ne of the most beautiful of all Christmas stories was told
                                                          by the American poet, Edwin Markham, about a cobbler, a
                                                   Ogodly man who made shoes in the old days. One night the
                                                   cobbler dreamt that the next day Jesus was coming to visit him.
                                                   The  dream  seemed  so  real  that  he  got  up  very  early  the  next
                                                   morning  and  hurried  to  the  woods,  where  he  gathered  green
                                                   boughs to decorate his shop for the arrival of so great a Guest.
                                                   He waited all morning, but to his dismay, his shop remained quiet,
                                                   except for an old man who limped up to the door asking to come in
                                                   for  a  few  minutes  of  warmth.  While  the  man  was  resting,  the
                                                   cobbler  noticed  that  the  old  fellow's  shoes  were  worn  out.
                                                   Touched, the cobbler took a new pair from his shelves and saw to
                                                   it that the stranger was wearing them as he went on his way.
                                                   Throughout the afternoon the cobbler waited, but his only visitor
                                                   was an elderly woman. He had seen her struggling under a heavy
                                                   load of firewood, and he invited her, too, into his shop to rest.
                                                   Then he discovered that for two days she had had nothing to eat;
                                                   he saw to it that she had a nourishing meal before she went on her
                                                   way.
                                                   As night began to fall, the cobbler heard a child crying outside his
                                                   door. The child was lost and afraid. The cobbler went out, soothed
                                                   the youngster’s tears and, with the little hand in his, took the child
                                                   home.
                                                   When he returned, the cobbler was sad. He was convinced that
                                                   while he had been away he had missed the visit of his Lord. Now
                                                   he  lived  through  the  moments  as  he  had  imagined  them:  the
                                                   knock, the latch lifted, the radiant face, the offered cup. He would
                                                   have kissed the Hands where the nails had been, washed the Feet
                                                   where the spikes had entered. Then the Lord would have sat and
                                                   talked with him.
                                                   In his anguish, the cobbler cried out, “Why is it, Lord, that Your
                                                   feet delay? Have you forgotten that this was the day?” Then, soft
                                                   in the silence a Voice he heard:
                                                   “Lift up your heart for I kept My word. Three times I came to your
                                                   friendly door;
                                                   Three times My shadow was on your floor.
                                                   I was the man with the bruised feet.
                                                   I was the woman you gave food to eat.
                                                   I was the child on the homeless street.”
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