Unexpected Witnesses
Luke 2
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.” So they went with haste and found Mary and Joseph and the child lying in the manger. When they saw this, they made known what had been told them about this child, and all who heard it were amazed at what the shepherds told them. (Luke 2)
If you read the entire story about the shepherds, you will remember that we were “living in the fields.” That’s right. You might think that shepherds lived in town and worked in the fields according to a schedule of sorts. But that’s not the way we did it, at least not in our day. We did not live in town; we lived, as the scripture says, “in the fields.” And we worked every day! And every night!
How do I know? Of course, you have already guessed that I am one of those shepherds, one of those who were visited by the angels.
You might imagine the monotony. Yes, day after day, night after night, out on the fields, with no company except fellow shepherds, flocks of sheep, and a few dogs. Yes, it was monotonous, but at the same time, peaceful. And at night, the stars were amazingly beautiful!
We had seen and heard a few strange things in the night sky before. Sometimes, stars seemed to literally shoot across the sky. Storms produced spectacular lightning, accompanied by sharp strikes of thunder. Strange, far-off noises – were they animals? Were they humans? We couldn’t say. And clouds came in all shapes and sizes, prompting us to guess what animals they resembled.
But we’d never seen anything like what appeared that night. First, the stars began to move, literally across the sky, not shooting across, but pulling together into clusters, accompanied by singing. Yes, voices singing; but they were not human voices, nor were they birds or any animal we’d ever heard before.
You can read the story in your Bible. Were we visited by angels? Were we? I am just a poor shepherd, but I believe that we were. Yet I cannot describe them. No, they did not look like anything I’d ever seen or imagined. And when they sang and when they spoke, it was not with human voices. As I heard them, it was not so much with my ears, but with my entire body, as if my human form was literally absorbing their music, my body singing in a rhythmic harmony with their otherworldly form.
12th Century
Does this make any sense to you? I fear not. I’m sorry but it’s the best that I can do.
We left the sheep. Yes, we left them on the hillside, while we rushed into Bethlehem, just as the angels had commanded.
You know what happened, so I won’t repeat it here. Yes, we visited the manger and we praised the new baby, who we were told would be a king. Then we returned to the fields, grateful to find our sheep still there, waiting for us. We have our dogs to thank for that!
We told everyone we knew. You should understand that shepherds were not at the pinnacle of our culture. In fact, our lot in life was just about the lowest of all in the classes of people in our day. That did make us wonder why we’d been selected as witnesses to the birth of the new king. We truly were “unexpected witnesses.”
Yet when we told others, they listened. Of course, those we told were, like us, low on the ladder of our community. When we tried to tell more prominent folks, like rabbis and Pharisees, they refused to even listen. We got nowhere with them. People like that don’t talk to us.
So, you may wonder what happened next? I mean, if this baby was born to be a king, surely he would become known, emerging from the obscurity of his birth. You no doubt know how unusual it would be for a king to be born, not of royal parents, but of a poor peasant couple, and not in a palace, but in a stable.
Our expectation was for this baby to escape the poverty of his birth and advance to a much more elevated position, one that would afford him the praise and adulation that kings deserve.
Only that didn’t happen, as you no doubt know. Of course, we already had a king of sorts, Herod, who reigned at the pleasure of the occupying Romans. We thought that in some way, Herod would announce his approval of this baby, who we learned had been named Jesus. But in fact, Herod said nothing publicly about this baby. Yet though he said nothing, in fact, there were rumors that he sought out the baby so that he could kill him.
For a long time, years in fact, we waited, expectantly, for the new king to assume his throne. It was puzzling. I mean, after so long, we began to doubt our entire experience of the angels and the manger and the baby. Did it really happen? Was it just some kind of dream?
Because we never saw the young couple again. They just seemed to disappear, along with their son. Were they real? Perhaps some product of our imagination and of our longing for a king, someone who would redeem Israel? I don’t know, I really don’t.
Now, one by one, my fellow shepherds have died. I am the only one left, still out in the fields, still tending the sheep. Younger shepherds have taken the places of my friends. As you might imagine, I don’t get around as easily as I once did. The hillsides have become very steep to me, and I must sit and rest while my younger friends do the hard work.
But even in my old age, I am still a witness, still telling the story to anyone who will listen. For some reason, I just can’t let it go, can’t let it die, even after thirty years. I still feel called to share what we saw and experienced. I don’t know why, honestly, I can’t just forget all about it. I wish I could. I am haunted by it. It keeps me awake when I am trying to sleep.
And night after night, ever since that night, I have looked up at the sky, searching, wondering, and hoping to see even a glimpse of the angelic host that we saw so long ago. And night after night I finally fall asleep, but only after exhausting my thoughts and feelings about the baby king.
When I tell the young men who are with me on the hillsides, they call me an “old man who dreams dreams of what can never be.” They laugh at me, they ignore me and they tell me to keep my dreams to myself. But I can’t do that. I feel compelled to be the witness that the angels called me to be.
But now there is a new figure in my world, a man named John. Yes, John, called John the Baptizer. This new figure is a strange one, a man of the wilderness, clothed in camel hair, living around the Jordan River. He is a preacher and some call him a prophet, like the prophets of old.
I have heard about him from others, and have felt called to go myself and hear him preach. Here is what others have told me about John:
He is telling us that a new king is coming, yes a new king, one who will judge the world and deal with the sin of it. A king! And he says that he is preparing the way for this new king, and that we must repent before the new king arrives. Which, he says, is upon us! Yes, he says that this new king is almost here, and that we’d all better get ourselves ready.
Can this new king can be the same one, the same one promised by the angels to us on the hillside? Can that be? And how can this strange man, John, have anything to do with royalty? I mean, you can tell that John has never, ever been anywhere close to a king’s palace. What can he know about kings?
And yet, John’s words seem to mirror what we witnessed so many years ago. Perhaps, just perhaps the new king we witnessed, born to a peasant couple in a stable, perhaps that baby, who just disappeared thirty years ago, perhaps he is now a man. And wouldn’t it be fitting for that baby, now a grown man, to reappear to us after thirty years, introduced by the man of the wilderness, John the Baptizer?
I am reminded of a passage of scripture from the prophet Isaiah:
For my thoughts are not your thoughts,
nor are your ways my ways, says the Lord.
For as the heavens are higher than the earth,
so are my ways higher than your ways
and my thoughts than your thoughts. (Isaiah 55)
So, after thirty years of silence, perhaps our God is speaking again. Perhaps the baby we witnessed really will become a king, just as the angels promised so long ago. Perhaps. And perhaps our thoughts of a king and what he would be like, are nothing like God’s thoughts. Perhaps, in God’s way, a king really can be born in a stable, with peasants for parents. And perhaps, in God’s way, a king really can be introduced by a man of the wilderness. Perhaps, in God’s way, He is showing us what a King, one sent from God Himself, will really be like.
And for me? I am going to go and see and hear for myself. And maybe, just maybe, I might, for a second time, be an unexpected witness!