I tried to envision what it would have been like to be a shepherd on a night just over two thousand years ago. After a few minutes of brainstorming, I finally got some thoughts down. I would be, in no particular order: terrified, awestruck, joyous, unworthy, apprehensive, nervous, unworthy, dumbfounded, and unworthy. (Did I mention “unworthy?”) The birth of Christ is good news to all people, as the angel in the account below reminds my shepherd. In the rush for gift giving, traveling, and completing those last-minute work assignments, it is helpful to remember that Christmas is a season of hope for Mankind. I would challenge you to take a moment and forget all of the cultural baggage that is attached to our “holiday” season and remember the timeless message of peace and love.
I owe special thanks to two authors from whom I took some source material. One of them started out as a tax collector and became a loyal friend of Christ, the other was a physician and assistant to Paul on his missionary journeys.
Thank you, Matthew and Luke.
The sheep wanted to stray that night. Normally, the flock would bed down shortly after sunset, huddling together in the chill night for warmth and comfort. I sat before a small fire and sighed inwardly as I realized that the ram on the edge of the flock was restless, moving nimbly between the sere grasses and rocks in search of a midnight snack. I tiptoed through the slumbering animals and gently hooked the ram’s neck with my shepherd’s crook. He bleated in protest before turning to the rest of the flock.
“Easy, there,” I said quietly. “Lay down with your brothers and sisters.”
A long “Baaa!” was his only reply as he reluctantly flopped himself down on the edge of the flock.
I returned to my fire and gazed skyward. A single star shone almost directly overhead. For the past several weeks it had been growing brighter. It was brighter than the star that always showed north, even brighter than the lone star that shone in the evenings and the early mornings as a harbinger of darkness and sunrise. Tonight, it seemed as bright as the crescent moon. I pulled my knees up underneath my chin and gazed upward. It was such a beautiful star.
When my neck began to hurt, I reached into my leather pack and began to worry at a piece of hard bread and some cheese. I listened to the sounds of the slumbering sheep, letting the chill of the night seep into my joints. Reluctantly, I dug out my heavy cloak and wrapped myself in it, rocking slightly before the slowly dying flames. I began to drift as the shifting wind blew wood smoke into my face. I came to with a start, hearing the distant jingle of harnesses. Curious, I crept to the edge of my circle of firelight and saw three men, richly garbed as only a well-to-do merchant or a noble would be. Behind them trailed two camels, a lean Arabian horse, and a donkey. Even from a distance they looked worn and weary, but they did not seek the hospitality of my fire.
One of them pointed upwards in the sky at the single bright star. I could hear his exclamation of glee. With renewed vigor, they began moving again. As I watched their course, I realized that their destination might very well put the star directly overhead.
What did they seek? The town of Bethlehem lay in that direction, but I knew from discussing with other shepherds that it was bursting at the seams due to the census decreed by the Romans. The only thing the men would find there would be crowds and a cold bed in a stable…if they were lucky. Nothing of importance had ever happened in Bethlehem, unless you believed the Rabbis who claimed that King David had been born there. There was certainly nothing to warrant a visit from three so obviously important people. Shrugging, I went back to my fire, which had burned down to embers. I wrapped my cloak tightly around me, preparing to sleep.
I finally entered the warm state between sleep and wakefulness, but the flock gave voice as I had never heard before. Startled, I jumped to my feet and reached for my sling and a bag of small, round stones. As I came to my senses, I let the sling and the bag of stones fall to the ground. Hanging in the air above the flock was a man, but not a man. It was something that I had never seen before. Garbed in glowing white linen, with wings as white as a dove, what had to have been an angel of the Lord settled gracefully to the earth. As one, the sheep crowded around the angel, baaing and bleating in their attempt to be closer to this holy visitor.
Radiant light surrounded the angel, and I fell to my knees, raising my arms in front of my eyes. I was terrified. My body began to shake uncontrollably. The light was of the same quality of that perfect star in the sky; I don’t know how to describe it other than to say that it was pure, clean, and holy. It was the essence of joy. My heart leapt in my chest as I glimpsed, for just a moment, what standing in the presence of Jehovah would be like.
“Do not be afraid,” the angel said. “I bring you good tidings of great joy that will be for all the people.” His voice was deep and musical. It reminded me of the hill streams as they flooded in the spring time, or the roar of a lion stalking its prey. The words wove a spell about me as I finally lowered my hands and gazed upward into the angel’s face.
To this day, I cannot describe how beautiful this vision was. Every form, every feature, was perfection itself. “Today in the town of David a Savior has been born to you; he is Christ the Lord.” I was startled. A savior? The Rabbi had just been reading to us out of the prophet Isaiah, saying that one would come who would be called Emmanuel. Could it be? Could our people, so long under the yoke of foreign kings, finally have our Messiah? “This will be a sign to you: You will find a baby wrapped in cloths and lying in a manger.” A vision was given to me of a babe, lustily crying and wrapped in a woolen blanket, resting in a manger full of straw.
Behind the angel, the sky brightened with a great host. The angel’s brothers and sisters settled into ranks behind him and began to sing, more sweetly than I had ever heard in my life. The sound was liquid and overwhelming, suffusing every fiber of my body. I didn’t just hear the song; I felt it deep within the confines of my mind and heart. I fell to my face, not daring to look, but trying desperately to hear the words of their melody. “Glory to God in the highest, and on Earth, peace to men on whom his favor rests.” They repeated this chorus in multiple harmonies. I completely lost all sense of time before finally, the sound died away with the lingering clarity of a bell.
The angel still stood before me, absently patting the heads of the gathering sheep. “You must go and greet the Savior,” he said to me. I felt a heavy desire to do exactly as he said.
I spluttered. “Me? I’m just a humble shepherd.” I gestured at the flock. “I cannot leave my flock untended.” I shook my head. “Kings and queens…even the Emperor Augustus, should be attending his birth. Not low folk like myself.”
The angel chuckled with an infectious mirth. “Do you not listen to the Lord’s message? This good news is for all people, the humble and the mighty. Go and honor as you desire. The flock will not stray.” There was such assurance in the angel’s words that I did as he bade me.
I ran to Bethlehem, trusting to my agility to help me dodge obstacles in my haste. As I neared the town, I could see that even at this late hour, people were still up and about, crowing the streets, spilling out of inns and taverns into the thoroughfares. A sense of desperation welled up inside of me. I would never find an infant in all of this commotion. I almost turned back to my flock, but I happened to look up and see that the star was nearly overhead. I took courage from the sight, and began to weave my way through the crowds. Several people held their clothes away from me as I brushed past, but I was too eager to find the child to notice how they were slighting me.
I rounded a corner at a run and tripped on an uneven cobblestone, sprawling flat on my face. When I looked up, I was pointed directly at a stable beside an inn. Outside, I could see the two camels that I had seen earlier. I stood up, brushed myself off, and straightened my tunic.
Had I not tripped, I would have slipped right by.
Inside the stable, the three men had prostrated themselves before the manger, bearing gifts of gold, frankincense and myrrh. A young couple, the man scarcely older than I, occupied a hasty pallet of straw. The woman had a face that was radiant, despite the sweat of labor and the dirt of hard travel.
Everyone looked at me as I entered the stable. I, a humble shepherd, standing before a babe that an angel told me was the Christ. “Uh, an angel sent me here,” I said, somewhat foolishly. I approached the manger and knelt beside the three men. I felt the gaze of five people. Hesitantly, I put a hand on the baby’s forehead, marveling at the warmth and peace that I felt when doing so. No one seemed to find it strange that I had been directed to find a baby at the behest of an angel.
One of the men, dressed in a flowing, purple silk robe, placed a hand on my shoulder. “Surely you are blessed today, to see your prophecy fulfilled.” His voice had the accents of Persia, but there was awe and wonder in his tone.
There was a commotion behind me as several other shepherds filed in.
“An angel!” One exclaimed.
“We saw an angel. He told us to come,” another interjected.
“There was a great host, singing praises to God!”
“He told us to come here and see the Messiah!” They talked over the top of each other in their excitement. Mary smiled as the three richly dressed men stepped back, allowing the rest of the shepherds to come close.
“Angels are watching our flocks,” they said to me, in a conspiratorial whisper.
“Mine, too,” I replied, removing my hand from the baby’s forehead.
“Who are we,” another shepherd asked, “to be honored so before God?”
One of the men behind us cleared his throat. “Who are any of us?” He knelt with us beside the manger. “In all my travels, in all my studies, I have come to the conclusion that man cannot comprehend the mind of God.” He shrugged his shoulders beneath his heavy robe. “One can only take joy in his creation.”
I pondered this as we all exited the stable, the better to give mother and baby peace and quiet through the long night. As I walked back to the flock, I whistled a merry little tune, trying to capture the essence of the praises that the angels had sang. When I finally arrived, I felt a sense of overwhelming peace. The fire was nothing but ashes, and I knew that dawn would come sooner rather than later, but my soul was content. I had witnessed more miracles than any man had a right to see. My daily toil, never so onerous in the first place, was now filled with hope and joy.
Who else could claim that they had looked on the face of the Son of God?
