Luke 2: 7-14 New Revised Standard Version
REJECTED AT HOME
There were likely no “inns” in Bethlehem, which was a small, suburban village whose main industry was sheep, and also perhaps bakeries, since Bethlehem means “house of bread.” Joseph and Mary arrive in Bethlehem, but the village is already crowded. They stay with family, but all the guest rooms are occupied, so they have to sleep in the ancient equivalent of an attached garage.
Why the garage? Why wouldn’t their extended family members send someone else to the garage and give the guest room to a pregnant woman on the verge of giving birth? There may have been more prominent visitors, or paying visitors, but equally likely it is because Mary and Joseph were pregnant but not married. In the eyes of the world, they deserved no better; they had brought shame to the tribe and family name.
Even family members would not have found the “miraculous conception” story easy to swallow. Can you imagine what the cousins might have said? “Miraculous conception? Now that’s a new one! My sister-in-aw Sophie should have thought of that one when she was great with child.”
There was no room, which means none were willing to make room. The Messiah would be born in the garage and wrapped in shop rags mere feet away from the goats, sheep, or donkeys that would have been there.
SHOCK AND AWE
The shepherds doing night watch were generally the low rungs on the social ladder, even for shepherds. At night, the sheep were corralled for safety. Watching the flocks by night is like being a security guard in a perfectly empty building. Your main job is to stay awake in case someone or something tries to break in.
They were likely boys—younger brothers of the older shepherds—like paperboys. It is to these that the glory of the Lord is revealed.
You’ve heard me say before that the Hebrew word for glory—often pronounced as Shuh-KAI-nuh—is actually pronounced more like Shock and Awe. The glory of the Lord creates Shock and Awe indeed. The shepherd boys were seized with terror. They were terrified not because they were simple shepherd boys, but because the glory of the Lord is terrifying.
Question: Were we to see it happen today, what would our reaction be?
Answer: Absolute terror.
“The Glory of the Lord” is not merely light and sound, but an invasion of the supernatural, infused with the power and presence of God. The angels’ first words of any message from God begin with “Fear not.” “Easy there, don’t panic.” Why would we ever think that the appearance of God’s glory would be pleasant or easy for us? We are mere people. To see an angel—let alone greater than an angel—would not be a comfort, but a distress. Goodness—real goodness—is as much of a terrifier as powerful evil, perhaps more so.
The Glory of God immediately reveals to us that we have been living in darkness. The light that shines brings a knowledge of our sinfulness. When holiness is revealed, we see ourselves in its light. And only by remaining in darkness, embracing it, surrounded by darkness, can we imagine ourselves in any way “good.” Only in comparison to meaner or more selfish people can we think ourselves better than average, but when the glory of God is revealed—even a smidgeon—our souls are lit up in comparison to true holiness and we can only see ourselves as standing far below, like people looking up from the bottom of a dark well. God’s glory reveals our true state, our actual distance from God, and the effect of it can only be described as terrifying.
Imagine being a mouse—a church mouse, if you like—living among other mice. Imagine that you are the most intelligent mouse of the bunch, but then walks in a human being. You immediately can tell—because you are a smart mouse—that this human is not only far taller, but of vastly superior intelligence. Imagine trying to comprehend human consciousness from the point of view of a mouse brain.
The shepherds—whether they had even a day’s worth of religious instruction or not—might have felt they deserved no better than to be struck dead on the spot by God’s holy angels. You and I would feel the same. This is why angels always begin with “fear not.” Our nature is to run away, flee, and not be met by God’s consuming holiness.
Even so, I suspect that angelic terror has another flavor as well—goodness and a longing for something within that glory that is more wondrous, more valuable, than anything in this world. For all the terror, there remains a heartfelt “yes!” to the angels and the glory they carry.
From here, the rest is all good news. The Messiah has come. The sign? A baby dressed in rags.
TRANSFORMATION
The response of humanity—and even angels—to an appearance of God’s glory is always one and the same: worship. Worship is the sign of transformed lives. Shepherd boys, once speaking like Beavis and Butthead, now speak Shakespearean English with an Oxford accent:
“Let us go now to Bethlehem and see this thing that has taken place, which the Lord has made known to us."
It reminds me of this passage from Steinbeck’s Tortilla Flat, where one wino is after another wino’s brandy. Danny sees Pilon, and wants to get what the other has:
[read]
“Let us go now to Bethlehem and see this thing that has taken place, which the Lord has made known to us."
The shepherds are ennobled by the event. These lowly of lowly shepherd boys are changed—elevated and transformed—by the experience. They are no longer lowly because they now have a mission.
They have changed lives. They think differently, talk differently, and act differently. Their souls have been switched on. They feel themselves becoming the men they always hoped and dreamed they might become. Though outwardly poor, within they are royal. And though grown from the manure heap of history, they are now blossoming—like a time-lapse film of exploding flower blossoms—the light and glory of God’s presence coaxing new growth out of their souls.
And this is Christmas. Into a sin-sick and darkened world, God enters in. God self-reveals not as an earthly power—we think far too highly of political powers, military powers, and the powers of economics— but as the other-worldly power—a greater power from a greater world. One touch can change us forever.
Plato argues in the Republic that this world is a world of shadows. He conjures up the image of a man in a cave seeing shadows from the fire cast up on the wall, and he thinks this is his real life. C.S. Lewis plays on the idea of the Shadowlands in knowing that this life and this world are only partial expression, and that true life and being exist in a much more real world yet to come.
It is the light of God’s glory—terrifying glory—that shines into the darkened cave of humanity and reveal to us the true nature of our world as one of mere shadows. We can—because we are called to do so—step away from the wall of shadows, out of the cave and into the clear light of day, where we are revealed.
REVEALED
We are revealed not as lowly shepherds, not as an oppressed and herded people, but as sons and daughters of our Heavenly Father: princes and princesses, ennobled people who now know the difference between light and darkness, the real world and the cave of shadows, the Manor House of God and the manure pile of humanity.
Glory changes us, transforms us, and imbues our otherwise pointless pursuits with mission, purpose, and meaning.
It is good news, indeed, and we don’t have to wait around for angels to appear to us. That appearance has already taken place and we are here because of it. Therefore we are no longer herded, but rather we are on a mission. Like the shepherds, it is our purpose to go and see, go and tell, go and love, go and worship.
From Bethlehem, the “house of bread,” we get the bread of Heaven which feeds the world. This table is the ongoing version of the manger. A manger is where animals eat; the table is where we eat. This little loaf of bread in a basket reminds us of infant Moses among the bullrushes, and it reminds us of the baby Jesus, wrapped in rags and set in a feed trough. Here is the bread of life. Here is the body of Christ, given for us. God revealed to humankind. The Son of God sent to redeem humanity—to forgive our many sins and to give us new life to be lived beyond the mere shadows on the cave wall The promise is to us and our children: we can overcome this world and live forever.
Repent and believe. Turn, and receive. Like the shepherds, we are to go and see, go and tell, go and love, go and worship.
All you and I have to do is to trust Him. Receive Him. For God’s sake, say yes. †