The Song of the Shepherds: Sermon for Christmas Eve

It was surprisingly cold on the Migdal, or Tower, of Eder. It was normally windy and dry this time of year, but perhaps being up in the tower exposed us to more wind than we would have expected. The last lights of the houses in Bethlehem had faded out hours before, and it felt like we were the only people for miles around who were still awake. 

Nonetheless, I and my fellow-shepherds spent every night while we were on watch overseeing the flocks below from this tower, and so had fellow shepherds generations before us. This tower, after all, had been standing since before the days of Jacob and Rachel, our patriarch and matriarch. Rachel had even been buried near here, back when the town was called Ephratha. In fact, another term for this tower was the Tower of the Flocks—that’s how long the flocks had been pastured in the fields below.

After all, we watched not just any flock. These flocks were holy. The rabbis had set aside our flocks for a special purpose—these were the lambs that would be sacrificed at Passover, so they had to be without blemish or imperfection. We had to watch them especially carefully, therefore, and keep them clean with special soft cloths given to us by the priests, that we always carried with us.(1)

So we were passing the long hours of the night, shivering slightly in the wind, when suddenly the stars overhead seemed to whirl and spin. They danced so much, at first I thought I was getting dizzy and in danger of falling from the tower, and I gripped the parapet tightly—it was hard to tell if I wasn’t already leaning over. Or which way was up.

Then the heavens tore open like a curtain being ripped in two, and light like the sun at noonday dazzled us as a rush of noise broke over us like a wave on the sea. We were driven to our knees, with our hands over our heads. Yet, within seconds, the sound resolved into the most beautiful, most heavenly song of praise I had ever heard, but from no instruments from which I was familiar—and we often soothed the herds by playing the pipes and the lyre. Even I, the one who sang the most of all of us, had never heard such music. It entwined itself in my ear and in my heart, and even while I trembled I also marveled and rejoiced at such beauty.

And then! A terrible, yet beautiful being appeared in our midst. He shone with an inner fire that shimmered with colors of garnet, jade, jasper, carnelian, opal, and sapphire, yet also seemed whiter than salt. Surely, I thought, I was going to die—yet he turned his gaze to me and took in each one of us as we cowered, and I managed to gather my courage to look upon him.

“I AM the Angel of the Lord. Do not fear,” he said, in what seemed like the most ridiculous thing to say to anyone ever, and if we hadn’t been terrified, we might have laughed a bit hysterically. Instead, we were simply shocked into an awe-filled silence. Then he swept his arms open wide. The wind around us stopped, and a soothing, honeyed warmth began to spread through my bones, an abiding peace and calmness, and I felt more alert and alive than I had ever felt before. It gave me the courage to do as he said, and we all slowly got to our feet before him, although we still shielded our still-dazzled eyes with our hands as the light danced above us and around us.

He continued. “Again, do not be afraid; for see-- I am bringing you good news of great joy for all people: to you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is the Messiah, the Lord.”

Can anything good ever come from Bethlehem, I wondered? Its time of glory was long since past. And why would the angel of the Lord come to us, of all people, in the middle of the night, to announce the coming of the Messiah, the long-awaited king? Why wouldn’t the Messiah be proclaimed from palaces and even from the top of the Temple itself? I felt a surge of doubt sweep over me so strongly that I began to suspect I was having some sort of dream.

It was only then that I realized I had asked my questions out loud, and I feared I had angered the self-proclaimed messenger of God. Yet he merely continued talking. “This will be a sign for you: you will find a child wrapped in bands of cloth and lying in a manger.”

And with that final word, the angel rose overhead, and the parted curtain of stars into which he ascended was pierced by an army of winged cherubim and seraphim, singing a holy melody of praise as they zoomed and dipped in formation like a murmuration of starlings—yet rather than being black forms against a white backdrop, they were pure white against an inky expanse of sky such as I had never seen before.

And then, just like that, with glorious songs of praise resounding, in formation the heavenly host ascended back into heaven, and sky sealed itself back up. The stars again shone forth in their flickering constellations, but their light now seemed diminished and hesitant in comparison to what we had just witnessed. We all looked at each other, to make sure we had all seen and heard the same thing—and soon we were talking all at once, trying to make sense of our last few minutes together

We all agreed on the details we had just seen and heard, and we were shaken to our cores. Surely, we thought, lights would be blazing on in the town. Surely, the entire region had seen and heard the amazing things we had just experienced. Surely, we had totally forgotten about the sheep down below and they had scattered to the four corners of the earth is terror. We looked down, though, and the sheep were still placidly grazing or sleeping, head to butt in clumps down below, right where we had left them. It seemed like time had stopped, and then just resumed; the wind swirled faintly around us on the top of that tower, the sheep grazed on, but our understanding had just been completely altered forever.

“What just happened? What shall we do?” wailed Chaim, the youngest of us.

Isaac, the wisest among us and also the most quiet, raised his hand to speak, and when he had our attention, he stunned us. “The prophet Micah foretold what just happened when he wrote,

'And you, O tower of the flock, The stronghold of the daughter of Zion, To you shall it come, Even the former dominion shall come, The kingdom of the daughter of Jerusalem.'”(2)

Isaac looked at all of us, and then continued, “If the Messiah is to be born in Bethlehem, it would be announced from this tower, and the child should be in one of the cave-stalls that we sometimes rent out to shelter our sheep before driving them to Jerusalem.” We were stunned. But that made sense, and agreed with what the rabbis had explained to us in shul. 

 “The angel said for us to go. I think we’d better go,” declared Yossel, who was always the bravest (some could call him the most foolish and reckless among us). But his next words made sense: “If we don’t go, the messenger might come back, and I don’t think I could survive it.” Yet all of us couldn’t go, so Chaim volunteered to stay behind to watch the flocks. The rest of us clambered down the tower and headed into town.

As soon as our sandaled feet touched the ground, a misty, shimmery light shone down from heaven and danced before us, and began to lead us into Bethlehem. We walked past the shelter at the tower’s base where the ewes were kept when they were giving birth, and the light moved ahead of us toward town. This was actually the least incredible thing that had happened to us in the last many minutes, and so without even marvelling we fell into step with this light. When we slowed, it slowed; when we sped up, it sped up too.

Soon it came to rest near one of the caves we used near town—a place that also had rooms to rent as we waited to depart each spring for Jerusalem, and not far from the main road-- just as Isaac had predicted. We had to duck down to enter the cave, and as we entered, we heard the sound of sheep and cattle and donkeys—but also, the low murmur of voices: a man and a girl’s. Soon we saw them—a man, a young woman laying back against a bale of straw, not much older than a girl, really-- and there, in a feeding trough, was a newborn child, his brown, curly hair pressed down flat and moist against his forehead. The young woman started as she saw us, because she had been preparing to wrap the babe in her hijab, and her hair was uncovered.

But we couldn’t back out now. We hurriedly cast our eyes downward, but our gaze kept being drawn to the baby in wonder. It was just as the angel had said! We were rooted to the spot.

It was Rueben, the oldest among us, who figured a way out of our predicament. He reached into his pouch and drew out some of the linen cloths purificators that we used to keep the lambs clean. Keeping his eyes averted from the young woman, he offered the cloths to the man. “For the baby,” Rueben whispered. And the man knelt down next to the young woman, and they swaddled the baby in the cloth strips weaving them snuggly until the child was wrapped securely against the night.

The baby, soothed, opened his eyes and looked right at us. His parents motioned us closer. His eyes were clear as the centuries, and the light of the angel host that had accompanied the announcement of his birth danced and swirled across his dark pupils. I felt all the weight of care and want and fear leave me. Just the brush of his gaze against me healed the broken places within my very deepest being.

In the stillness, as we gazed at each other, we heard an echo of that heavenly song of praise. Hosannas faintly swirled overhead. Then he turned into his mother’s arms and drifted to sleep. Could this truly be the Messiah, the longed-for savior and rescuer anointed by God to reign over Israel?

Yes. This is the lamb of God, we breathed to one another. That’s why he was announced to us, lowly shepherds that we are. Here was the true lamb without spot or stain. And we knew that this holy child would show us the way of peace. The way of truth. The way of shalom—of contentment, of wholeness, and well-being. The way of life eternal, right now.

We looked at each other in wonder, shepherds and parents, and then introduced ourselves. Together, we told the parents how we had been drawn here and what we had seen and heard, even as we knew we must sound insane.

Yet instead of disbelief, they nodded, and greeted our tale with one of their own. They told us how they, too, had been visited by angels and led by miracles and wonders to this place and this time.

Soon, Isaac prodded the rest of us. Surely, the new family needed rest. We promised to bring them food and more cloths when we could. Since our own shelter as shepherds for the temple flock was not any better than this cave, that was all we had to offer. And with that, we backed out of the cave and headed back to the tower just as dawn began to glow in the east.

Yet even as we left and returned to our tower, that song stayed within us. And we began to sing our way through the night—singing out the glory of God, echoing as best we could that song of praise. This was now our mission: to share that song of wonder, to announce the marvels we had seen with our own eyes. To proclaim to the world the coming of the Holy One of God. That song echoed within us even through the coming years. 

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 Won’t you join us? Join us, even in our wonder and praise, in proclaiming the light that has come into the world! Join us in carrying that wonder, love, thanksgiving, and praise and sharing it with the world. Tell out the story of God’s love made visible, come for the sake of us all, as the poet proclaimed about us:

The Shepherds watch their flocks by night,
Beneath the moon's unclouded light,
All around is calm and still,
Save the murm'ring of the rill:
When lo! a form of light appears,
And on the awe-struck Shepherds' ears
Are words, of peace and comfort flowing
From lips with love celestial glowing.
Spiritual forms are breaking
Through the gloom, their voices taking
Part in the adoring song
Of the bright angelic throng.
Wondering the Shepherds bend
Their steps to Bethlehem, and wend
To a poor and crowded inn:--
Tremblingly their way they win
To the stable, where they find
The Redeemer of mankind,
Just born into this world of danger,
Lying in an humble manger.
And they spread abroad each word
Which that joyful night they'd heard,
And they glorified the name
Of their gracious God, Who came
Himself to save from endless woe
The offspring of this world below.(3)

Amen.

Preached at the 8:00 pm Christmas Eve service at St. Martin's Episcopal Church, Ellisville, on December 24, 2019.

Readings:
Isaiah 9:2-7
Psalm 96
Titus 2:11-14
Luke 2:1-14(15-20)

Notes:
1. For a history of this theory, see https://www.patheos.com/blogs/faithwalkers/2012/12/was-jesus-born-away-in-a-manger-at-migdal-eder/
2. See Micah 4:8, at https://bible.oremus.org/?ql=444250871
3. Christina Rosetti, “A Hymn for Christmas Day,” at https://www.accuracyproject.org/t-Rossetti,Christina-Christmas.html