In those days a decree went out from Emperor Augustus that all the world should be registered. 2This was the first registration and was taken while Quirinius was governor of Syria. 3All went to their own towns to be registered. 4Joseph also went from the town of Nazareth in Galilee to Judea, to the city of David called Bethlehem, because he was descended from the house and family of David. 5He went to be registered with Mary, to whom he was engaged and who was expecting a child. 6While they were there, the time came for her to deliver her child. 7And she gave birth to her firstborn son and wrapped him in bands of cloth, and laid him in a manger, because there was no place for them in the inn.
8In that region there were shepherds living in the fields, keeping watch over their flock by night. 9Then an angel of the Lord stood before them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified. 10But the angel said to them, ‘Do not be afraid; for see—I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people: 11to you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, who is the Messiah, the Lord. 12This will be a sign for you: you will find a child wrapped in bands of cloth and lying in a manger.’ 13And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host, praising God and saying,
14 ‘Glory to God in the highest heaven,
and on earth peace among those whom he favours!’
15When the angels had left them and gone into heaven, the shepherds said to one another, ‘Let us go now to Bethlehem and see this thing that has taken place, which the Lord has made known to us.’ 16So they went with haste and found Mary and Joseph, and the child lying in the manger. 17When they saw this, they made known what had been told them about this child; 18and all who heard it were amazed at what the shepherds told them. 19But Mary treasured all these words and pondered them in her heart. 20The shepherds returned, glorifying and praising God for all they had heard and seen, as it had been told them.
Luke 2:1-20 NRSV
“Linus’ Soliloquy” in The Charlie Brown Christmas is a part of the Luke text often read on Christmas Eve. The beloved movie is a familiar one during this season, but I wonder how many people know it comes from the Gospel of Luke. And yet, it was the quiet beauty of the drama of this passage especially told through a child’s voice that I recall was even more moving during the COVID pandemic.
In 2021, the New York Times offered a thoughtful photographic essay called “Silent Night: Scenes of a Pandemic Christmas” showcasing what photographers captured across the country during the holiday season. In the midst of the global shutdown, I remember how the songs and rituals were still present although the usual excitement and wonder seemed rather muted. It was a reminder that there was no escaping the reality of disaster and change.
In one photo, I was struck by an ordinary mall with an open space decked out with huge decorations and larger than life size presents, an enormous tree, and a Disney store in the background. It should have been full of people walking by or milling around, but instead there were two people—one sitting on a bench and another standing and looking at his phone.
The next photo immediately following this one was of a neighborhood street, with some snow on the ground. Each house had decorations, and at the center of it all was a UPS delivery guy carrying 2 or 3 different packages up the walkway to one house. These two photographs together seemed to suggest what many of us suspected during that pandemic season: life as we knew it was coming undone. There was a shift occurring, and one that likely wasn’t temporary. Indeed, even several years later the effects of overwhelming loss and longing for regular life (whatever that now means) remain.
But, of course, it wasn’t like that silent night everywhere—some places were very crowded. The traffic to get into various places somehow remained high, and certainly it affirmed what many observed—things were desperate. Everywhere we looked it was hard not to feel an anxiety from the contradiction like an umbrella over all of it—the loss of so much and simultaneously a longing for regular life, as close to pre-pandemic life as possible, and then the uncertainty and exhaustion. There was a strain, a heaviness—not even the cheery, bright decorations and lights on the houses (which seemed to come out earlier and be more intense) could completely assuage it.
We may be past the pandemic but continue in a time when it feels like so much of the world is unraveling all around us—countries torn apart by conflict or terrible leadership, children continue to be locked up in cages, young, Black mothers are being killed. How might this story from Luke still speak?
Today, a few years out from those scenes during the pandemic, it seems we have resumed the familiar hustle and bustle of the season. But these Advent/Christmas scenes from the pandemic remain with me. I imagine they are perhaps not as different from the scenes that surround the nativity. Of course, there are no malls or Targets but the same desperate people exist across the ages.
Both the pandemic and the Gospels lead us to consider the slippage of time, and the realities that emerge as we consider this slippage as the past, present, and future are often entangled. For example, this text from Luke will be read on a dark silent night similar to that night long ago that Luke narrates for us in the chapter. And it resonates as people gather to keep watch, maybe not over flocks of sheep, but flocks of worries, of questions. Did I remember to pick up that item? What was I supposed to bring to the in-laws for dinner this weekend? Should I have tried the other store? Did I order the right size? Where did I put that gift receipt? Did I get enough wrapping paper?
Still others might be keeping watch over bigger worries. That cancer diagnosis. The grandchild who is on the wrong path and you’ve tried and tried to tell them but they won’t listen to you. The parent who is immunocompromised and needs extra care and attention. The teenager suffering from depression or anxiety. The friend who is lonely or isolated. The sibling who unexpectedly died. The spouse who is showing signs of dementia or decline. The school that doesn’t seem to be meeting your child’s needs. The search for a job.
I often wonder about the shepherds who were keeping watch over their flocks by night. I’m drawn to the quiet, pastoral scene, the starry night, and what seems like the chance for contemplation.
And yet, the shepherding life was not idyllic. It was likely very stressful and dangerous dealing with potential predators, thieves, all kinds of hazards. And, explains Craig Satterlee: “By the time of Jesus, shepherding had become a profession most likely to be filled from the bottom rung of the social ladder. The religious establishment took a particularly dim view of shepherds since the regular exercise of shepherds’ duties kept them from observing the Sabbath and rendered them ritually unclean. [Shepherds were classed] with tax collectors and prostitutes, persons who were “sinners” by virtue of their vocation. Society stereotyped shepherds as liars, degenerates, and thieves.”
As we continue in this post-election season, I worry about those flocks among us that are classified in similar ways, whose lives are now even more precarious with the incoming administration. Those who are viewed as expendable, deportable, and unnecessary to the common good of our life together in the U.S. They have worth and value in this world, and they have a story to tell us, too, about this existence.
Likewise, the shepherds were the first humans in the world to receive the good news of great joy. It strikes me then: to consider the witness, or the perspective and vantage point, of those whom we identify with the least—this is one of the main thrusts of Luke’s gospel.
This witness means the possibility of a completely new world. The Christmas narrative starts out with an imperial mandate for every human being-–all had to go be registered. Although the census seems like a benign thing, it was ultimately a measure of wealth and land and ultimately, an assertion of empire, of power and rule. But in inaugurating this new world through this birth, Luke shows us that God is and will not be bound by these political structures. Joseph went with Mary, but the baby was ultimately born under cover of darkness, nameless, undocumented, and outdoors.
Then, the first people to hear of the birth of the savior of the world were not those associated with the imperial state, nor were they colonial administrators – governors, officials, etc., nor were they even the religious leaders of the time, but the lowest of the low, truly, the most outside of the outsiders. They were people who regularly fell out of imperial purview which made them similarly undocumented and nameless, they were ostracized and illegitimate, and perhaps a bane to the governing agencies, a hassle and a necessary inconvenience. And so, I imagine they too were keeping watch over more than flocks of sheep but also their own worries and questions and doubts and anxieties and hopes…
In other words: the message of Jesus’ birth was brought to all people, a challenge to those in power, and given as a light to people who needed it the most.
One more thing: In inaugurating this new world through this birth, God is and will not be bound by cultural conventions, either. The passage describes the kind of message given is unlike anything else as the angel explained to the awestruck shepherds: “This will be a sign for you: you will find a child wrapped in bands of cloth and lying in a manger.”
Not a sign of a victorious, triumphant warrior.
Not a sign of a violent, military uprising.
Not a sign of a wealthy, conquering king.
But a helpless, squishy baby, with a soft spot on its head.
At this moment, the first people to hear the news have come running in from fields nearby – wondering shepherds surround our salvation and our liberation. They look down at incarnate love in this little one, smell the goodness of his beautiful head and breathe in deep. One leans in to listen to the Word that spoke all things into being making a little humming sound as he nursed at Mary’s breast. Another shepherd leans in and laughs as the creator of the universe grasps his finger and doesn’t let go. This shepherd marvels at the perfect little fingernails not knowing that the hands of the little one would grow into the strong, calloused hands of a carpenter, who would eventually feed the starving, open the eyes of the blind, touch the untouchable and embrace the unforgivable.
But Luke gives no hint that the baby Jesus is anything special: there is no star or angel over the stable because the angels are over in the field with the shepherds. Mary and Joseph only hear of angelic activity because the shepherds tell them. And this is the most remarkable piece for me. Could it be that we who feel some kind of extra privilege and special ownership of this message, the birth of the Christ Child—forget that we will receive the good news of great joy not from angelic inspiration but from someone sent to us from somewhere far afield?
In other words: the message of Jesus’ birth is given to the world by the people whom we least expect.
Love comes to us in ways we least expect, from people and places and moments that often seem to come from left field, and that love gives us what we need in these moments by shining light on what matters. It tells us that we were not created to be God, and instead shows us the beauty of our humanity and vulnerability, and like the lyrics to the classic Christmas carol remind us—when he appeared, the soul felt its worth.
God’s love, God’s hope, joy, and peace, these things are still being unleashed in the world as they were over 2000 years ago. And there are still reminders – stories and signs of it everywhere – not just manger scenes of babies and stars and angels. The signs come to us in the flicker of candlelight, in the final note of a hymn, the very breath we hold in our lungs, the touch of a loving hand reminding us we are not alone and needed for the ongoing labor of love in the world.
