Witnesses At the Manger Part III – A Shepherd

 

Rev. Moira Finley

Trinity United Church of Christ and St. John’s United Church of Christ

12 December 2004

Third Sunday of Advent

 

 

 

Nothing exciting ever happened in my life.  I always wanted something to happen, but eventually I realized it just wasn’t meant to be.  I inherited the family business.  My father, my grandfather, his father before him, and back as far as anyone can remember we’ve been doing the same thing.  Our lives revolve around sheep.  We think about what they eat, where they’ll graze.  We worry about where to find them water when they’re out in the pastures.  We fret that they might be carried away by hyenas or jackals, or stolen by our less law-abiding neighbors.  Day in, day out, I think about sheep – how many are in our flocks, what price will they bring at market, will it be enough to sustain our family for another cycle of the moon?

 

At home there’s nothing else to talk about, but in the fields it’s different.  Out there the rhythm of life is different.  We go where there’s grass for the seep to eat.  We live out under the skies, subject to the whims of the weather.  And it’s quiet.  The sheep make some noise while they graze, but the other shepherds and I hardly speak to one another.  It’s about the only time we have to ourselves, alone with our thoughts, free to think about whatever crosses our mind, free to dream about what might be.

 

I’m lucky really.  My grandfather was a teacher in the synagogue and so my parents could read.  They were some of the only people in our village who could.  And they saw to it that all their children could read.  My mother said it didn’t matter if we were only simple shepherds, we should still be able to open up the scriptures and discern what God wanted for our lives, and for the world.

 

When I’m in the fields I like to think about God.  I have a book I carry with me in my satchel.  It takes up a lot of room, but I’d rather go without a bit of food in exchange for having the book.  My favorite part of the book contains the sayings of the prophet Isaiah.  Every day in the fields I read from it, read the promises that God made to my ancestors, to all the people of the earth.

 

The other day, the day before the miracle happened, I was reading what Isaiah said would happen when God delivered the people from all their troubles.  It was very comforting.  It’s hard these days.  The Roman governors make it hard.  We can still worship in the way we want, but we’re not free.  They tax us, our income, our land, our flocks.  They take a tenth of all the sheep in our flocks every year.  The official word is that we are supposed to get better roads, more security, help with buildings in the village, but I haven’t seen any of that happen yet.  Instead, the governor’s palace keeps getting bigger and bigger, more and more luxurious.

 

Times are hard for shepherds too.  We’ve had a few years where the rains just haven’t come quite right.  It’s been worse, the years of the famine were terrible, but still, we’ve lost sheep to the lack of grass.  We’ve had to spend our resources on extra grain.  And during the last month, seven sheep died at the mouths of jackals.  We still have a good flock, and I’m sure pretty sure we’ll make it, but I still worried.  That’s why, in the fields, I was thinking about Isaiah, reading the words that God had spoken through him.

 

I looked around at the dryness, at the places where the rains hadn’t come in their fullness, and I read, “The wilderness and the dry land shall be glad, the desert shall rejoice and blossom.”  It sounded just this side of impossible.  How could God do it?  Could God really reach down into a world struggling to yield enough for the people to survive and turn it into a garden of wealth and abundance?  I knew that God had done it before, had returned the earth to its glory, had watered the plains and caused them to produce enough for everyone to eat their fill.

 

Was it possible that God could come and ensure that all people would live in abundance, would be able to eat until they were filled and drink until they were happy?  Was it possible that God could change the ways of violence into peace, could make the blind see, the deaf hear and the lame to walk?  If it could happen, then I wondered how would it happen?  Pillars of clouds and fire, or maybe God would do it through revelations on the mountaintop like Moses received?  Too many thoughts filled my head and I knew it was time to stop, to let the words I had been reading just sit awhile in my heart.

 

The other shepherds were gathered around the fire, talking of the census that the emperor had ordered.  Everyone had to go to the town of their ancestors to be registered, to make sure that the taxes in the coming year would be properly calculated.  I had been down to be registered the previous week.  I didn’t have to go far.  My family has always lived in Bethlehem.  The talk that night was of how much more it was going to cost us, how much we’d have to learn to do without, all because of the registration.

 

I sat down with them, listening to their complaints on everything, from the emperor, to the current synagogue leaders, to the taste of the food our families had sent with us into the fields.  The hours passed.  One of us was always on alert, looking out into the darkness hoping to spot a predator before it got too close, or did too much damage.  Then, just as I was beginning to think about sleep, the miracle happened.

 

Suddenly, the darkness and quiet of the night was shattered.  A light as bright as the sun shone directly down on us, illuminating the field.  And there was a sound like trumpets.  Some of us stared up, looking for the source of the light, but others were afraid and they stared at the ground, worried about what might be causing the music and the light.  It felt like hours passed, but I’m sure it was only moments.  Then, out of the light came angels.  I’m not quite sure how I knew, but I knew, deep down in my soul that they had come to bring word from the living God.  The light dimmed, enough for us to see rather than be blinded.  The trumpets’ call softened and then the angels began to speak.

 

They told us that we shouldn’t be afraid, that their presence among us was a good sign, a sign from God.  They said that they had come to bring us incredible news, that the one who we have been waiting for, the promised Messiah of God, had been born this very day.  What’s more, they said that he had been born, not in Jerusalem, the dwelling place of God, or even in the glorious cities like Joppa and Jericho.  No, they said that the Messiah, the Holy One of God had been born in lowly little Bethlehem.

 

They said that this child would be the savior of the people, would deliver them from all their sins, would help us and all the world restore our relationship with God and with one another.  What’s more, the angels told us exactly where we could find this baby.  They said we would find him, not in the palace or some impressive house, but in a barn, lying in the feed trough wrapped in the simplest of cloth.

 

Then, without another word, they broke into song.  It seemed, suddenly, that there were hundreds of thousands of voices singing, praising God and celebrating the reign of peace that had come to earth with this baby’s birth.  And, in an instant, they were gone.  The sky seemed to close back up around them, the light dimmed and then faded completely, the trumpets were silent.

 

The other shepherds and I stood around looking at each other.  For several minutes none of us could find the words to speak.  We had heard the incredible, the unbelievable.  The Messiah had been born on that very night.  We started talking, wondering why the angels had visited us, lowly shepherds, unimportant in the political world.  Then we wondered what we should do next.  How would we respond to the visitation?  They turned and looked at me.  They knew I studied the scriptures, was familiar with what God had promised to the faithful.  They asked what I thought we should do.  I knew we had to go to Bethlehem.  We had to find this baby, wherever he might be, and worship him, give him honor and offer him our lives.

 

We left the sheep in the fields.  It didn’t occur to any of us to make sure they were looked after.  We didn’t even pick up our bags.  We just walked back towards the village, into Bethlehem, to see if the wondrousness of the angel’s message was true.  On the way we talked, trying to decide how we would know where to find the baby.  There are lots of stables in Bethlehem, dozens and dozens of barns.  Surely all of them had feeding troughs where the baby could be sleeping.  We wondered why God would choose to send the Messiah to such a small town, into such underprivileged conditions.  Why Bethlehem instead of Jerusalem?  Why a barn instead of a palace?

 

As we walked, I thought and thought about Isaiah’s words.  The tables are turned when God comes to the world.  In the fullness of God, the poor are lifted up, the rich are brought down.  The weak are made strong and the strong are made weak.  The hungry are filled, and the prosperous are sent away empty-handed.  Maybe that was the point of all this.  The angel’s message had come to us, to shepherds at work in the fields, not to the leaders of our faith or our country.  The baby was born in the backwaters of a Bethlehem stable, not in the splendor of Jerusalem’s temple.  The tables really had been turned upside down.  God had come into the world to save it, to deliver its people, not as a mighty king followed by a huge army, dressed in the finest robes, housed in the best palace.  No, God had come into the world to save it, to deliver its people as a baby, helpless and needy, worshiped by shepherds, dressed in simple cloth bands, sleeping in a trough.

 

When we got to Bethlehem, all our fears about where to find the baby were unnecessary.  The spirit of God must have told us what to do.  We knew exactly where to go, which barn door to open.  When we did, there was the baby, lying in a trough, surrounded by his parents.  We fell to our knees.  I was crying.  It was magnificent.  The baby looked at us, but no one said anything.  We stayed some while, eventually finding our words and telling the baby’s mother and father all that the angels had told us.  They smiled at us.  There, in a barn, was the Almighty and Everlasting God, living and breathing just like we were.

 

When we left we couldn’t keep it to ourselves.  We told everyone we met about what had happened, everything from the angel’s wonderful message, to our journey to Bethlehem, to finding the baby and worshiping him.  No one we told believed us, but we knew in our hearts that the truly miraculous had happened – God had reached across the divide from heaven, had come to earth, had been born in flesh and blood.

 

From that moment on I knew my life would be different, that I would give my life to whatever that baby would say and do, dedicating myself to his message.  I pray that you can have the same experience, that you can know the living God who dared to become human, and that you will give yourself over to him, to his reign of peace and abundance.  I hope you’ll come to Bethlehem and stand in the manger and see the incredible thing that God has done, see the hope of the world breathing in that little baby.  Come, come to Bethlehem, and meet the Messiah.  Amen.