The Invited “Inviters”
The following narrative from the perspective of a shepherd outside Bethlehem in first century Palestine was performed on Sunday, December 18, 2022.
Appearances can be deceiving. When you look at me, what do you see? You can be honest—you won’t hurt my feelings.
You probably see—well—a kid. And actually, you’d be right. You probably see that my clothes are dirty. If you looked closely enough, or if you were standing close enough, you may see—or smell—that I could use a bath. And again—you’d be right.
But what you probably can’t see—unless you’ve been given the “eyes to see”— is that I’ve experienced something that has changed my life. I’ll try to put that into words for you in just a minute, if I can.
My clothes, my appearance, my smell—they’re all occupational hazards. It’s what happens when you spend your nights outside in the fields, keeping watch.
The sheep always need help. They need us to make sure they have enough to eat and drink. We must pay attention not to drive them to exhaustion. It still happens—and when it does, we toss the weary lamb on our shoulders, or wrap her in our arms, and keep going.
Sheep need us to protect them from predators, and thieves, in the night. That’s why when we can’t find a cave, we build “walls”—if you can even call them that—from tangled bushes, anything we can find, to keep our sheep safe.
Which is what we were doing when it happened.
It’s funny, the part about this crazy moment most etched into my mind is the very thing I can’t fully put into words: the flash of light. It was as if the north star had crashed to earth, erasing any and all of the darkness of the night. Standing before us was a creature I can only describe as larger than life and brighter than bright.
Naturally, we were scared, almost to death, by this sudden, unexpected, supernatural visitor. But when he spoke the words, “Do not be afraid”, a peace unlike anything I’ve ever felt began coursing through my body like a river.
I’m really glad about that too, because otherwise, I may have missed what he said next: “I bring you good news that will cause great joy for all the people. Today in the town of David, a Savior has been born to you; he is the Messiah, the Lord.” He told us how to recognize this Savior Child, who was wrapped in cloth and lying in a manger.
And then…then…the entire sky lit up. All the angels, the entire heavenly host, were there, singing “Glory to God.”
The memory takes my breath away. No words could ever do it justice.
After that, we went straight to Bethlehem to see what the Lord had revealed to us, telling everyone we saw along the way.
Imagining yourself in my shoes trying not to step in sheep dung (which is impossible, by the way), you may wonder why the angel of the Lord would visit us. Why were we chosen to receive this “good news of great joy”? Why did God trust and empower us to tell others what the angels told us—that this Child would bring peace to humankind?
I wondered the same thing.
You may think that God chose us because of the long line of shepherds in our people’s history. After all, our scripture tells us Abel was a keeper of sheep. Jacob cared for his flocks. Rachel looked after her father’s sheep, and of course, when he was a boy, our greatest king, David, did too.
It’s possible. But I think it’s much simpler.
Why did the angel first come to us shepherds? I think it’s because God knew we’d recognize one of our own.
You and me—we all are like stray sheep, and the baby boy, the child, the Messiah—He is the Shepherd, carrying us in His arms.
