Difference between revisions of "Sermon for December 22nd, 2013"

Revision as of 23:57, 21 December 2013

Luke 2:8-20

8 In that region there were shepherds living in the fields, keeping watch over their flock by night. 9Then an angel of the Lord stood before them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified. 10But the angel said to them, ‘Do not be afraid; for see—I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people: 11to you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, who is the Messiah, the Lord. 12This will be a sign for you: you will find a child wrapped in bands of cloth and lying in a manger.’ 13And 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 favours!’

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.’ 16So they went with haste and found Mary and Joseph, and the child lying in the manger. 17When they saw this, they made known what had been told them about this child; 18and all who heard it were amazed at what the shepherds told them. 19But Mary treasured all these words and pondered them in her heart. 20The shepherds returned, glorifying and praising God for all they had heard and seen, as it had been told them.

The Love of Shepherds

I'd introduce myself, but my name doesn't really matter, and by tomorrow you wouldn't remember it anyhow. Names are for prophets, for cities, for angels, for kings...for important people. In the Bible, my kind are just "some shepherds" who were abiding in the fields. Just...some shepherds. I'm a shepherd.

I bet you think that Shepherds are a thing of the past? Or that we're out there somewhere with our sheep, "abiding" in our fields by night. Actually, we're everywhere you are--in the cities and towns, in houses and workplaces, at the bus stops and in the check-out line at Wal-Mart.

Shepherds are the people who do the jobs that no one else wants to do. The dirty, smelly jobs that keep everyone else clean, safe, and well-fed. We're the ones you see but don't see, the ones without names or faces, the ones usually left out of the story altogether. But not this story. I'm a shepherd, and this is my story.

Back in Bethlehem, the job no one wanted was taking care of the sheep. I don't blame them.

Sheep are not the cute little fuzzy furballs you see in hallmark cards and cartoons. Sheep smell. Really bad. Worse than cows. And sheep bite. Hard. They don't particularly care whether or not you're the person who feeds them and protects them day in and day out. Sheep only have two reactions to pretty much anything they encounter: Bite it...or run away from it. Grass? Bite it. Thunder? Run away from it. The Shepherd? Bite it, then run away from it.

It's hard to love sheep. But that's ok; it's hard to love shepherds, too. We don't live in houses with friends neighbors: Out of necessity, we roam from pasture to pasture. Like gypsies, carnies, migrant workers. So when something turns up missing in town, it's pretty easy to blame the stranger, the one passing through. After all, you don't know me, and tomorrow I'll be gone. Thief, robber, criminal. Shady character. I've been called a lot of names in this job.

It's hard to love a shepherd, but it's also hard for a shepherd to love: You can't raise a family out in a field. Other shepherds come and go. Even the sheep, if they stop biting long enough for you to get to know them, well...we know what happens to them in the end. It's what they're raised for. It's best not to get too attached. There is nothing, no one for a shepherd to love. It's a hard, lonely, thankless, loveless job.

But there is one thing--just one thing, that I have always loved about being a shepherd. Sometimes, late at night, when the sheep have finally quieted down, when we have wandered far away from the lights of the city... Sometimes, lying on the hard ground among the sheep, I gaze up into the night sky...and there are stars. Millions of stars, shining, twinkling, dancing in infinite beauty and silence. During the day, I count the sheep. But at night, I count the stars.

I remember a story my grandmother used to tell me when I was little--a story about Father Abraham. One day God brought Abraham outside and said to him, ‘Look towards heaven and count the stars, if you are able to count them.’ Then God said to him, ‘So shall your descendants be.’ And then my grandmother would tell me, "You are one of those descendants. You are one of those stars. You are a child of Abraham, and a child of God. You are important to God." I was important to my Grandmother, at least. But to God? There are millions of stars. How could God possibly love all of Abraham's children? Especially one who is...just a shepherd.

[Cue Music: O Come All Ye Faithful/O Holy Night, Trans-Siberian Orchestra]

0:00 - piano

0:18 - first guitar peal

0:35 - skies open up

0:48 - piano

1:05 - skies open again

1:44 - galloping music

2:01 - O Holy Night

2:40 - A thrill of hope

2:57 - Fall on your knees

3:32 - peak

3:53 - back to piano