In those days a decree went out from Caesar Augustus that all the world should be registered. 2 This was the first registration and was taken while Quirinius was governor of Syria. 3 All went to their own towns to be registered. 4 Joseph 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. 5 He went to be registered with Mary, to whom he was engaged and who was expecting a child. 6 While they were there, the time came for her to deliver her child. 7 And 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 in the guest room.
Luke 2:1-20
8 Now in that same region there were shepherds living in the fields, keeping watch over their flock by night. 9 Then an angel of the Lord stood before them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified. 10 But the angel said to them, “Do not be afraid, for see, I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people: 11 to you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is the Messiah, the Lord. 12 This will be a sign for you: you will find a child wrapped in bands of cloth and lying in a manger.” 13 And 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 favors!”
15 When 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.” 16 So they went with haste and found Mary and Joseph and the child lying in the manger. 17 When they saw this, they made known what had been told them about this child, 18 and all who heard it were amazed at what the shepherds told them, 19 and Mary treasured all these words and pondered them in her heart. 20 The shepherds returned, glorifying and praising God for all they had heard and seen, just as it had been told them.
My sermon from Christmas Eve (December 24, 2025) on Luke 2:1-20.
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A couple nights ago around midnight, my dog – Pepper – needed to go out. I put on my biggest coat and warmest boots before the two of us headed out into the cold crisp air. The recent wind storms had pushed the clouds, haze, and pollution away so I saw more stars than usual. While we walked, I started to count them which didn’t take very long. Even though the wind blew through this area with a vengeance, the light from our cities, cars, and all those LED icicles hanging off the gutters on our homes overwhelms all the light that took hundreds and thousands of years to get here. It’s not always easy to remember if we wanted to look up and see what the shepherds outside Bethlehem saw 2000 years ago, we’d need to drive, fly, or sail hundreds of miles into the middle of nowhere and turn out the lights. Then, after giving our eyes a minute to adjust, we’d witness the entire cosmos come to life. A wispy ribbon of light from the top to the bottom would reveal our place in the Milky Way while thousands upon thousands of white, blue, red, and orange twinkling lights would look more grand than any Christmas tree. But for those shepherds who spent their lives on the boundary between civilization and the wilderness, what we have to work so hard to see was, to them, completely normal. A night sky full of stars, planets, asteroids, supernovas, and comets from all over the universe was a part of their everyday life. And yet, one night, while they were busy doing what they always did, the sky above them suddenly changed.
Now we know, during the time of Jesus and even today, being a shepherd wasn’t easy. The work was difficult, dangerous, and required protecting animals from predators, sudden storms, and anything else life threw their way. Most shepherds, especially the ones located near a city, would be handling sheep that belonged to someone else and it’s possible some of them were enslaved. These shepherds worked on their own or as part of a team and couldn’t always count on each other having their back. And when the sky grew dark and the rest of us went to bed, their work had only begun. Shepherds were necessary but they didn’t always find dignity in a world that refused to value who they were. But then, on that very first Christmas Eve, while some wondered how difficult that night might be, something unexpected shimmered along with the light that traveled light-years to get here. An angel – a messenger from God – showed up and these shepherds were terrified. We don’t imagine angels as something frightening since these messengers from God embody God’s peace and care. Angels, we assume, are strong but gentle, soft and mighty. Luke, though, gives us a word to help picture what this moment was like. After this first angel appeared, the sky was filled with a divine symphony we’re told was a host. In the Bible, a host isn’t the one who invited you to a party or takes you to your seat at a restaurant. The host the shepherds saw was an army. The angel who announced Jesus’ birth wasn’t a soft beam of light with large feathery wings like something out of the movie It’s a Wonderful Life. This angel was armed with everything needed to keep the night and the Roman Empire at bay. And then, after sharing a few words, this angel was joined by a bazillion friends, looking like an invasion force that was about to descend. This host was God’s version of light pollution and the only thing these shepherds could do was cower in fear. But while they waited for them to lower their spears and announce Doom had come, the angelic army started singing a song. It wasn’t, however, a warrior’s song about what God was about to do. It was, instead, music about what God had already done. While the shepherds were busy tending to their everyday life, taking care of their responsibilities, and dreaming of what might happen when the dawn finally broke, the One who they didn’t know was on its way was already here.
So after that kind of announcement, it would be reasonable to expect their meeting Jesus would be full of light too. The sign they were given was, though, a tad ordinary. They would find the One meant to heal the world not in the beauty of creation or showing off an overwhelming expression of might. Instead, a baby wrapped in cloth and resting in an animal’s food dish would be what they were given. Life is a miracle and before the invention of vaccines, modern medicine, and prenatal care, surviving giving birth was a miracle too. These shepherds, though, had seen life happen and so I wouldn’t be surprised if they expected something bigger when they knocked on a stranger’s front door. After seeing soldiers in the sky armed and ready to fight, they probably emotionally prepared themselves to see another armed angel, prophet, priest, or king ablaze in divine energy and power. The light that shined would glitter off the gold, silver, and wealth a newborn king should have. But the only light in that space wasn’t going to blot out the night sky. The light to help the shepherds see how the Divine entered the world was an overworked cooking fire. While the shepherds were living their life, tending the sheep, helping their friends, and staring at the ribbon of light they saw every night, Christmas came through a young family sleeping with animals in a house that wasn’t their own. The God who made the Milky Way, who would do the work of reconciling our lives and our world, didn’t come with a sword and spear. The very first experience of God’s kingdom come near was in One who needed protection, care, and love.
Now I know not all our Christmas’ will be full of light this year. We might not have hung every bulb or wreath we wanted and too many of us are spending tonight in hospital rooms and rehab centers. The sparkle, glitter, and shine of this sanctuary is a tiny reflection of the Christmas we want where the Milky Way is lost in all kinds of light. Yet we might also want to do anything we can to make tonight’s sorrow, grief, and worry go away. It’s hard to not internalize and believe that if we’re not the right amount of jolly, happy, and doing what we can to hide how we feel, that we’ll ruin Christmas for ourselves and those around us. But God’s love came not because we’ve been particularly faithful, awesome, or because we’re on Santa’s nice list. Christmas came because the world – and you – deserve a new chapter full of grace, mercy, and hope. The Christmas that came to Mary and Joseph, that was announced to the Shepherds, and that we live out in so many imperfect ways, in the words of Kate Bowler, is a “Love that remakes the whole world, [a love that’s] not quick and efficient, but slow and human. [It’s a] Love that needs to be changed and fed and rocked back to sleep. [And it’s a] Love that will grow up to sit with outcasts, to weep at grave sides, and promise nothing – not even death – can separate us from the heart of God.” For every Christmas that sparkles as bright as looking up in the sky in the middle of nowhere on a crystal clear night and for those Christmases that don’t – trust you are already part of what God is up to in the world. And we are here not to try and create the kind of light that blocks out the stars in the sky but to sing of how God’s light will always show how you, your neighbors, the world, and the entire universe really are treasured by God.
Amen.