Of all the players in the Christmas story, the shepherds are my favorite. If I could go back in time and shadow anyone involved that night, I’d hang out with the shepherds. For just that one evening, I wish I’d have been with them.
First: the night. Cold, wintery, fresh air makes the stars in the velvet darkness vivid and close. No light pollution. Can you even imagine what the stars looked like? Then, add to that a new, bright star. Unexplained. Perhaps they felt a bit apprehensive when it appeared, not exactly sure what it meant, but unable to take their eyes off its twinkling beauty.
Can you picture those men? One, sitting with his back against a rock, is wrapped tightly in a blanket with his toes and nose frosty (low temps in Bethlehem in the winter hover in the low forties). Another hums quietly to himself, thinking of the girl he met on his last trip into town. Another one is strolling calmly through the dark, making sure all the sheep are safely bedded down.
Then blam! A creature – stark white and shining – appears, hovering just overhead, but near enough. It is magnificent, imposing, unfathomable. The men’s eyes are riveted on him, their hearts pounding. These are fellows who can routinely vanquish the hyena, the wild dog, the lion that accosts their sheep, but now, in this moment, their legs are water, hands are shaking, voices falter. They stare. Then a voice like they’ve never heard before. Quiet but commanding, warm yet icy. “Don’t be afraid.”
Yeah. Right. But, really, there’s something in the timbre of his greeting that steadies the pulse and fills each soul with peace they’ve never imagined. “I bring you good tidings and great joy for everyone.” Everyone? Even a lonely, lowly, uneducated, and smelly shepherd? The question doesn’t linger. As the night around them shimmers with iridescence they know, they feel that the words are true.
They glance at each other as they listen, shy smiles, shoulders and fists relax. They are all on their feet now standing shoulder to shoulder, as this heavenly being tells them the Christ has come. Then, just when they’ve begun to believe their own eyes are actually seeing this extravagantly beautiful angel in front of them, dozens more appear. A song begins above their heads then permeates the night and their souls. By the second chorus, the shepherds know the words and the tune, they dance with abandon, joining the choir in praising God. It is the most simple and the most complicated moment of their lives. Pure joy, perfect faith, complete gratitude.
I can’t help but think that the angels lingered, singing and dancing their praise, treasuring their time with these mortal men, these precious first-to-knows. Later, when the sky was once again black and the music faded, perhaps the shepherds still felt like dancing. There’s no doubt they couldn’t sit down. No one was drowsy or bored or cold. They looked at each other and decided in one heartbeat what they’d do next. With certainty that the sheep would be tended from above for a while, they took off running for town, anxious to find this promised Child. It didn’t take them long, I’m certain. At the door of the stable, they hesitated. They straightened their tunics and smoothed their hair. They each took a deep breath, then went to meet their Savior.
In the Bible, we don’t know the shepherd’s names, we never meet them again outside of Luke two. Yet, I can’t help but be certain of one thing. That night changed them. I’m sure they still had struggles, tick bites, cold toes. They had normal lives. Except – their normal lives had been made extraordinary thanks to a battalion of the Heavenly Host and a Savior that came first to them that night. Troubles were forever put into perspective because of what they’d experienced. My prayer this Christmas for you and for myself is that life’s struggles will always be overshadowed by the gift of Salvation Jesus brings us.
