Do know you what it feels like to give up? I don't just mean
give up on a project or give up on someone you thought was dependable. I mean,
do you know what it feels like totally give up on yourself? Do you know what it
feels like to give up hope, hope that people will care about you, or that you
can make a difference or hope that the world really is a safe and wonderful
place to live? Do you know what it feels like when everyone has given up on
you?
That's how I felt when I became a shepherd. As you know,
it's not a desirable job, it's not a respectable job. It's the job you do when
there's no other option besides begging or stealing. And I admit, I've done a
bit of that as well. Shepherds are known for being thieves, degenerates and
liars. Some towns won't let us into city limits. Our testimony doesn't count in
court. We're considered unclean by temple authorities and priests. I haven't
given a proper sacrifice in years; there's no way to do it. Everyone else has
given up on me, except the sheep. I gave up on God a long time ago, too,
because I figured he'd probably long since given up on me.
That's why my story is so amazing. I'd long since given up,
until one chilly winter night a few years back. My buddies and I were out a
long ways from city limits. It was a clear night and we were watching the stars
as much as we were watching the sheep. We hadn't seen any wolves in ages, so we
just let them wander. One of the guys had a few small loaves of bread, which
barely tamed our appetite. I admit, we were probably having a conversation not
fit for mixed company. Suddenly, there was a bright light. I heard some of the
other guys gasp for breath; one shouted. I was paralyzed; I couldn't say a
word. Out of the light, I saw a figure, some kind of person, or something. It
didn't seem real. I was so scared I couldn't even think straight. Was I having
a dream or a nightmare? The person, whatever it was, spoke. It said, “Do not be
afraid, for see, I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people.
To you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is the Messiah, the
Lord. This will be a sign for you: you will find a child wrapped in bands of
cloth and laying in a manger.”
I don't know if you can even believe this, because the story
is so crazy, but I swear it's true. This person, this messenger, this angel,
was actually sent to us. From God. I know, it's totally crazy. I was raised as
a good Jewish boy who went to temple regularly, before my job made me unfit. I
know that God spoke to lots of people, like Abraham, Moses and Elijah. But
there was no way God would speak to me and my buddies. But when the messenger
finished talking, I knew it was true. The messenger was from God. I wanted to
interrupt and tell the messengers that they had gotten the wrong people. If it
was true, if the Messiah had been born, the news should come first to the
priests, or the scribes or at least some faithful Jews. Not us. We're nothing.
I wanted to tell the messengers they had the wrong address. But I was too
scared. I kept my mouth shut.
And then, something even more crazy happened: dozens more of
these messengers, these shining beings, appeared. Just out of nowhere. They
started signing. They sang, “Glory to God in the highest heaven, and on earth,
peace among those whom he favors.” It was the most beautiful music I have ever
heard. The sound was so big and the music so rich. I almost forgot to be
afraid. Almost!
Just as suddenly as they appeared, they were gone. The light
went out. There was only the dark of the night, some confused sheep and some
even more confused shepherds.
We just stood there for a few seconds, staring at each
other. Then one of my buddies decided we might as well go to Bethlehem (that's
the city of David) and see if there was actually anything going on. Was there a
child born who would become the Messiah, the chosen one the Scriptures
fore-tell? We left the sheep (I know, I know) and ran toward the city. I know
it seems like we should have gone to the temple or at least to the homes of some very
important Jewish people. That's where the Messiah would have been. But they
wouldn't have let us in anyway. We didn't even talk about where we were going;
it was like we just knew. We stopped in front of a modest home, we barely even
knocked, ran inside and there they were, a woman, a man and a baby, lying in an
animal's feeding trough. We knew the child was the Messiah, and we kept
interrupting each other, stammering and stuttering out what we had seen and
heard. The couple, Mary and Joseph, didn't seem as surprised as you would think
people would be if shepherds burst into their guest quarters and called their
baby the Messiah. They listened and we talked and then we just stared at the
baby.
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