THE ‘Night before Christmas’ is not a new story, as it was used in last year’s Christmas column and has been published elsewhere.

For what it’s worth, readers have asked me repeat it and this is done with the greatest of pleasure as the Christmas story as told in the Bible adds so much meaning to our lives at this time of the year. So here goes.

‘Twas the night before Christmas and the hosts of Heaven were on their toes as they waited in anticipation of what would be the world’s most significant event since the act of creation.

There was subdued excitement along the great corridors of the universe as millions of angels took up their places for the well-ordered symmetry of events that had been planned ever since the ages began.

The time had come to make that most supreme gift to mankind when God would become flesh and the most important delivery of a baby in the history of humankind would take place.

The choir was tiptoeing into the stalls and whispering to each other in hushed tones, as the Father had ordered complete quiet for the final countdown.

Gabriel, the choirmaster, hushed the gathering and ordered them back in line.

Arcott, Cecile and Spencer, who were standing at the four corners to draw the curtains, took up their places.

Suddenly a door opened and the Archangel Michael came out from the Throne Hall to stride down the passageway lined with thousands of angels who granted proper obeisance to the majestic figure headed towards Earth to announce the birth.

Inside the room he had gone through the final checklist.

Yes, Mary and Joseph were now in Bethlehem.

Yes, they had found rest at the back of an inn.

Yes, the shepherds were out on the hillside.

Yes, the star was in place.

And the wise men, still arguing and debating each other on points of astronomy and mathematics, had managed to get lost, finding themselves in Jerusalem.

“Go and search for him, you see, and when you find him come back and tell me so that I can go worship him too, you hear?” the crafty King Herod was telling them.

Ah, this was going to be a night.

Meanwhile, Bethlehem had taken on a festive air as hundreds who had turned up for the census were making time for partying and joyful reunion with family and friends. The streets were crowded with shoppers seeking souvenirs. It was Grand Market time, with hawkers peddling, customers bargaining, pickpockets carrying out their trade, and music and dancing at every street corner.

No one had time to notice the nondescript couple who moved anxiously from building to building trying to find a haven for the pregnant mother astride the donkey.

“No room”, “sorry we’re full”, “try elsewhere”, “booked out, can’t you see”, were the cryptic responses as the innkeepers sent the haggard pair from door to door.

One person finally took pity and led them to the little stable around the back, “It’s not much, you can rest on the hay, a little water, and that’s all I have, take it or leave it, Sir.”

On Earth, that moment was just a minor distraction from the music and the lights and the dancing as the street-goers partied like never before.

But in heaven, that was the signal; the time for go, the finger-snapping moment for God to come into the world, not as a spirit, but as a humble, frail, mortal man in flesh.

And as the baby made His first cry, a most marvelous thing happened on a hillside several miles away.

The mightiest of archangels presented himself in a flash of light to a nervous, frightened, quivering set of shepherds.

He made the formal announcement, and then the rustics, spellbound, saw the curtains of the sky rolled back to the four corners of the world as a host of angels filled the heavens singing that first Christmas carol, “Glory to God in the Highest, and on earth, peace and goodwill to all men”.

It made music around the world, but for those magical moments only the shepherds heard it, and only the shepherds saw the angels. Not the merrymakers, not the shoppers, not the dancers, not the innkeepers, not the noisemakers.

But in the stable behind the inn, the baby suddenly stopped crying and His eyes opened, His lips pursed into a smile, his hands curled up into a gentle applause, and His mother knew that He was listening.

On the hillside, the concert was over. The heavenly choir took their exit. The curtains were restored.

The shepherds wept. They were considered the lowest caste in the society of that time, yet God had chosen them for one of the greatest honours in the whole of human history.

For a few hours that night a little stable at the back of an inn, crammed with animals and hay, and bleating, became the centre of the universe. In a few minutes it would be graced by royal visitors from the east, plus a group of anxious, awestruck, dazed shepherds. The presence of God was in that humble hovel.

Flash-forward to December 24, 2014. The message is still compelling, the joy is still fulfilling.

It’s the night before Christmas.

“Let us now go to Bethlehem and see this thing which has come to pass.”

“For unto us a child is born, unto us a Son is given, and the government shall be upon his shoulder. And His name shall be called Wonderful Counsellor, the Mighty God, the Everlasting Father, the Prince of Peace.”

Lance Neita is a communications and public relations specialist. Comments to lanceneita@hotmail.com or to the Observer.