The Righter Report

The Cobbler and His Guest – From the book, “Chicken Soup for the Christian Soul”

Now there lived in the city of Marseilles, a hundred years ago, an old shoemaker, who was loved and honored by all his neighbors, who affectionately called him “Father Martin.” One Christmas eve he sat alone in his little shop, reading about the visit of the wise men to the infant Jesus, and of the gifts that they brought him. So the cobbler said to himself, “If tomorrow were the first Christmas, and if Jesus were to be born in Marseilles this night, I know what I would give him!” He rose and took from a shelf two little shoes of the softest snow-white leather, with bright, silver buckles. “I would give him these, my finest work. How pleased his mother would be!” But then, as he turned around to place them back on the shelf, he thought to himself, But I’m a foolish old man. The Master has no need of my poor gifts.

After replacing the shoes, he blew out his candle and retired to his bed. He had barely closed his eyes when he heard a voice softly call his name. “Martin!” Intuitively, he felt that it was the Lord who was speaking to him. “Martin,” the voice said, “You have longed to see me. Tomorrow I shall pass by your window. If you see me and bid me to enter, I shall be your guest and sit at your table.”

Father Martin was electrified. He didn’t sleep that night in anticipation of what was ahead. Before it was dawn he got up and tidied up his little shop. He swept the floor and put boughs of holly and fir along the rafters. On the table he placed a loaf of freshly baked bread, a jar of honey, a pitcher of milk; and over the fire he hung a caldron of hot chocolate. His simple preparations were complete.

When all was in readiness, he took up his vigil at the window. He was sure he would know the Master when he came. As he watched the driving sleet and snow, he thought about how cold it was outside, but how warm and joyous it would be when the Master finally came.

Presently, he saw an old street sweeper pass by, blowing upon his thin and gnarled hands to keep them warm. That poor fellow! He must be half frozen. Opening the door, Father Martin called out to him, “Come in, my friend, and get warm, and I’ll give you something hot to drink.” No further urging was needed, and the man gratefully accepted the invitation.

Another hour passed by, and Father Martin then saw a poor, miserably clothed woman carrying her baby. Stung by the cold winter blast, she paused, wearily, to rest in the shelter of his doorway. Quickly, he flung open the door and said, “Come in from the cold. My shop is warm, and you can rest.” She replied, “I am going to the hospital. I’m hoping that they will take me and the baby in. My husband is away at sea, and I am ill, with no other place to go.”

“You poor child!” cried the old man. “You must eat something while you are getting warm. And let me get a cup of warm milk for the little one. Ah!. What a bright and cheerful little fellow he is! Why, you have no shoes on him!” “I cannot afford to buy him anything,” sighed the mother. “Then he shall have this lovely pair I finished yesterday,” the cobbler said. And with that Martin took down from the shelf the soft, little snow-white shoes with the silver buckles he had looked at the night before, and slipped them onto the child’s feet. They fit perfectly. Shortly thereafter, when mother and child had been rested and refreshed, they went their way full of gratitude for what Father Martin had done for them, and Martin returned to his vigil at the window sill.

Hour after hour went by, and one by one, many other needy travelers shared the meager hospitality of the old cobbler, but the expected guest, the Master, did not appear.

At last, when night had fallen, Father Martin retired to his cot with a heavy heart. “It was only a dream,” he sighed. “I did hope and believe, but the Master did not come.”

Suddenly, or so it seemed to his weary eyes, the room was filled with a warm, glorious light; and to the cobbler’s astonishment, there, in a vision before him, appeared the street sweeper, the sick mother and her baby, and all the people whom he had given comfort to that day. One by one, they all smiled at him and said, “Have you not seen me? Did I not sit at your table?” And suddenly they vanished.

Then softly out of the silence and the glorious light he heard again the gentle voice that he had heard the night before, saying, “Whoever receives one such child as this in my name receives me.” (Matt 18:5) “For I was hungry and you gave me food; I was thirsty and you gave me drink; I was a stranger and you took me in. Verily I say to you, inasmuch as you did it to one of the least of these My brethren, you did it also to Me.” (Matt 25:35-40).

This Christmas season, let the gifts that we give to each other not necessarily be found beneath the Christmas trees of our homes, but let them be the gifts of love and compassion that we shower on each other. For surely with these presents we honor our Lord and Savior.