Solidarity With The Shepherds

And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flocks by night. And lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round them, and they were sore afraid. But the angel said unto them, “Fear not, for behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, which is Christ the Lord.” (Luke 2)

The universal nature of the Christmas good news comes from the angel to the shepherds. I’m so glad!

For as the late Lutheran pastor Walt Wangerin reflects,

“This time the angel grows bright before a bunch of nameless folk. First it was Zechariah, next Mary, next Joseph, all of whom had roles to play in the coming of the Christ — but now…shepherds! These, not even the owners of their sheep, they are working stiffs who don’t even get a name….and here comes Gabriel again, and what he says is “good tidings of great joy…for ALL people!” Well, of course. That’s why the shepherds are first: they represent ALL the nameless, ALL the working stiffs, the great wheeling population of the whole world.” (preparing for Jesus)

Some years ago I tried to reflect on what the shepherds must have been thinking….I wrote: “Why us?” was the common topic. We were the last who’d expect such a visit, and any news of a messiah. We’re shepherds, with least privilege and power, many of us never even called by our names. Surely this arrival was meant for the rabbis and scribes keeping vigil at the temple in Jerusalem, a holy place where we aren’t even allowed. Why us, why us? Yet here we were, running down the hills through the city gate to look for a baby in a barn, we strangely blessed, excited and fearful to see. And we found them, I know not how, but we found them.”

The shepherds seems a parable of the whole utterly astonishing surprise of the Christmas story. Just consider it. A teenage unwed mother-to-be, and a virgin at that. A sleepy, little, out of the way village becoming the epicenter of God’s incarnation. The messiah — envisioned to come as a warrior king to take over the world by power and force — instead shows up on the scene as a baby, utterly dependent on Mary and Joseph for even one day of life. He is laid not on a throne but in a cattle trough. And to top it all off, the news comes first to shepherds at work in the fields. They’re the ones who take care of things so that others have time to be religious — domestic servants you might say. In this sense, the unexpected involvement of the shepherds at the center of the story fits perfectly, because everything about the coming of Jesus is so very surprising.

The challenge for me, for us, is to overcome our familiarity with the story, and our romanticizing of it. How to allow my life and everything about life as I know it to be turned upside down by the surprise of it all? That’s the holy question. While we, like those unnamed bedouin, just zip through life, exhausted by all the cultural trappings around us, imagine, just imagine, if you were to hear the story for the first time, and encounter an angel somewhere on Hibbard Road?

I’m so thankful for those shepherds, who are the exclamation point on what seems like only a tall tale. Without even trying they widen the net of this good news of great joy to include ALL people, everywhere, and especially those least considered and most unexpected.

I hope sometime in all your plans and parties, maybe in an anticipated moment when someone you love looks into your eyes and hands you a gift, you might get more than you bargained for — a still small voice speaking to your spirit tidings of comfort and joy that suddenly take your fear and sorrow all away, until you raise your hands to your cheeks and welcome the coming of Jesus, as if for the first time, not knowing if ever the Savior would come. And the Savior has come.

And in your own way, join the shepherd parade to go and see this thing that has taken place. SHEPHERDS!

Joy and Peace, and hope to see you Saturday at 4 p.m.!

Peter

Solidarity With The Shepherds

And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flocks by night. And lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round them, and they were sore afraid. But the angel said unto them, “Fear not, for behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, which is Christ the Lord.” (Luke 2)

The universal nature of the Christmas good news comes from the angel to the shepherds. I’m so glad!

For as the late Lutheran pastor Walt Wangerin reflects,

“This time the angel grows bright before a bunch of nameless folk. First it was Zechariah, next Mary, next Joseph, all of whom had roles to play in the coming of the Christ — but now…shepherds! These, not even the owners of their sheep, they are working stiffs who don’t even get a name….and here comes Gabriel again, and what he says is “good tidings of great joy…for ALL people!” Well, of course. That’s why the shepherds are first: they represent ALL the nameless, ALL the working stiffs, the great wheeling population of the whole world.” (preparing for Jesus)

Some years ago I tried to reflect on what the shepherds must have been thinking….I wrote: “Why us?” was the common topic. We were the last who’d expect such a visit, and any news of a messiah. We’re shepherds, with least privilege and power, many of us never even called by our names. Surely this arrival was meant for the rabbis and scribes keeping vigil at the temple in Jerusalem, a holy place where we aren’t even allowed. Why us, why us? Yet here we were, running down the hills through the city gate to look for a baby in a barn, we strangely blessed, excited and fearful to see. And we found them, I know not how, but we found them.”

The shepherds seems a parable of the whole utterly astonishing surprise of the Christmas story. Just consider it. A teenage unwed mother-to-be, and a virgin at that. A sleepy, little, out of the way village becoming the epicenter of God’s incarnation. The messiah — envisioned to come as a warrior king to take over the world by power and force — instead shows up on the scene as a baby, utterly dependent on Mary and Joseph for even one day of life. He is laid not on a throne but in a cattle trough. And to top it all off, the news comes first to shepherds at work in the fields. They’re the ones who take care of things so that others have time to be religious — domestic servants you might say. In this sense, the unexpected involvement of the shepherds at the center of the story fits perfectly, because everything about the coming of Jesus is so very surprising.

The challenge for me, for us, is to overcome our familiarity with the story, and our romanticizing of it. How to allow my life and everything about life as I know it to be turned upside down by the surprise of it all? That’s the holy question. While we, like those unnamed bedouin, just zip through life, exhausted by all the cultural trappings around us, imagine, just imagine, if you were to hear the story for the first time, and encounter an angel somewhere on Hibbard Road?

I’m so thankful for those shepherds, who are the exclamation point on what seems like only a tall tale. Without even trying they widen the net of this good news of great joy to include ALL people, everywhere, and especially those least considered and most unexpected.

I hope sometime in all your plans and parties, maybe in an anticipated moment when someone you love looks into your eyes and hands you a gift, you might get more than you bargained for — a still small voice speaking to your spirit tidings of comfort and joy that suddenly take your fear and sorrow all away, until you raise your hands to your cheeks and welcome the coming of Jesus, as if for the first time, not knowing if ever the Savior would come. And the Savior has come.

And in your own way, join the shepherd parade to go and see this thing that has taken place. SHEPHERDS!

Joy and Peace, and hope to see you Saturday at 4 p.m.!

Peter

The Holy Interruption

Well, friends, here we are.

The week leading up to Christmas.

A span of days that I think of as “Christmas crunch time,” when those of us who have delayed shopping are suddenly consumed with gift lists and delivery dates and rush shipping costs. When those of us who have been working steadily on holiday to-do’s all along are nearing the end of our lists: cards all but mailed, wrapping nearly done, most of the cookies baked and some gifts already delivered.

Students are just finishing finals or beginning to recover from them. Teachers are in those last few frenzied days before vacation begins.

Most of us, I am willing to bet, are weary. That could be the normal weariness of a season that asks a lot of us, from calendars full of gatherings, programs, special events, and concerts, to extra cleaning, extra cooking, shopping and wrapping. Or it could be the bone-deep weariness that sets in after a hard year, or a hard series of years.

It could be the weariness of those who are grieving this season. Those who are struggling with seasonal depression. Those who are overwhelmed by memories of Christmases past – good or bad – and unsure of what the present or future contains.

Take your pick, really.

And wherever you are starting this week, the intensity only seems to mount as we get closer to Christmas Eve.

Now, I tend to have one of about three reactions to this kind of mounting stress and tension.

1. I kick into high gear, as my mom might say. I make lists, and cross them off. I don’t sit down for most of the day. I get stuff DONE.

2. I get overwhelmed and do less and less. I don’t know where to start, so I don’t. And I watch holiday baking competitions on tv, and scroll through videos of dogs in Christmas pjs, and I try to ignore the list that is growing longer of things I have yet to do.

3. (This is the least likely option, if I am honest.) I take a deep breath, and look at my list, and realize that very little of it is as important as I make it out to be. I simplify. I try to be present, and loving, and kind. I pray for patience and try to show it even when I don’t feel patient.

I was thinking of all this today, as I sat down to read my Advent devotion (I’m reading this one by Kate Bowler). And today’s reading reminded me of a tradition called Las Posadas, begun in sixteenth-century Mexico, of reenacting that tender moment when Mary and Joseph seek a room at the inn. Traditionally, a small procession walks to a designated house after dark and re-enacts a dialogue between Joseph and the innkeeper, who is annoyed and stubborn and refusing him and his pregnant wife any room. But at some point, he recognizes the two weary travelers, and invites them in.

The scene is carried out for nine days, at nine different houses, culminating in a big party on Christmas Eve. People gather and celebrate the hospitality extended to Mary and Joseph and by extension baby Jesus: the willingness to be interrupted. To share when it feels like there is nothing left to give. To find a well of something – kindness, generosity – when we thought we were dry.

This, I think, is a key part of the Christmas story that we miss when we rush to the nativity scene and the birth.

That for the story to happen as we know it, someone had to be willing to stop, and look, and recognize holiness in their midst. To be inconvenienced for the sake of another in need.

It’s a good reminder for Christmas crunch time. A necessary reminder. That perhaps the best gift we can give to God, and to one another, is to be willing to be interrupted. To be kind, above all else. To make space for each other. To care for one another. And perhaps there, to find Immanuel, God with us, even where we least expect to.

I hope you will be surprised by some holy interruptions this Christmas, too.

Yours,

Pastor Jen