Welcome to the CommonsCast. We're glad to have you here. We hope you find something meaningful in our teaching this week. Head to commons.church for more information.

I want to look back at where we have been so far this season. We started with Joseph, and the anxiety and the worry and undoubtedly came along with the news that his fiance was Preger's. I mean, that's going to throw you even at the best of times, but there was also this deeper worry that sat beneath Joseph's story. He wants to be honorable and he wants to be kind and so he plans to leave Mary to do his best to extricate himself from this situation, but not to make things any harder than it needs to be for her. But this is where the voice of the angel comes and says, do not be afraid to take Mary home as your wife.

And here we get this perhaps little glimpse into what is really going on for Joseph. It's not just that he's worried about whether Mary has been faithful, although I'm sure that did cause some anxious nights. It's also that he is worried about what this story will mean for him as well. Reputation and respectability and the way he thought his life would unfold, all of that is unraveling in front of him. And the angel's advice is not just to trust Mary, it's to make her story his.

To embrace the gift of the mess of inviting another story into ours, and I love that as an entry into the Christmas season. Next, we saw the self consciousness of Zechariah and Elizabeth on display. A faithful, though elderly couple who had desperately wanted a child, but found themselves on the outside looking in. And honestly, that one feels a little familiar to me. I remember back when Rachel and I were in our mid thirties, and a lot of our friends were coupling and then reproducing, and we were not.

In fact, I remember the years of waiting on the adoption list, and being super happy every time someone told us that they were pregnant, but also feeling a little annoyed by that. Sorry if that was you. But imagine that wait, then compounded with an ancient culture that also ascribed a certain moral virtue to fertility. So here's Elizabeth and Zechariah faithful, and true, and stoic, and steady, and childless, and self conscious about it all. And again, the angel appears and says, do not be afraid that God has forgotten you because God has been listening to you all along.

This gracious reminder that God sees us with compassionate eyes even perhaps when we just want to crawl in a hole and never be seen again. And then last week, it was Mary who was dazzled. And I loved the way that Bobby unfolded that story with us. Mary who is approached by an angel with a very immodest proposal, but who treasures these things up in her heart and brings them carefully and safely to an old and trusted friend, her mentor Elizabeth. And I love this idea that sometimes, some things can be so dazzling, so unable to express your joy and your marvel you are at what has happened, that the only response is to keep it safe until you can bring it to the right person.

There's a kind of surprise that you shout from the rooftop and then you find a stranger to hug. You might do that. I mean, I'm not going to do that obviously, but you might. But then there's the kind of wonder that you know is too important for all that. And you are so dazzled by the goodness that surrounds you that you have to treasure it and protect it and then share it.

And all of these emotions are a little bit of what we are all probably finding our way through again this year at Christmas. We have worries about family intentions and budgets and sleeping arrangements for guests and who will fight with who over dinner. We are self conscious about what people might see if they look a little too close or discover what it is that we are really deeply longing for right now. We are dazzled by lights and Christmas movies and beautiful gifts and all of the generosity that surrounds us, but more than that, deeper than that, there is still hopefully a wonder at this season. And how an ancient story about a vulnerable baby can still inspire us to new expressions of welcome even today.

And all of these feelings, even the ones that we might want to run from, they teach us something about the God that is revealed in the Christmas story. But, we have one more Sunday of Advent, and that means we get to talk about one more feeling, the feeling of being energized with the shepherds. First though, let's pray. God of good and generous gifts, as we enter fully into these last steps of the season of Advent, this season of mystery where we wrestle with what it means that you would come to us. Help us to wait and to feel and to prepare ourselves well.

Help us to welcome family and friends, but also perhaps the lonely and the hurting that are near us. Help us to welcome those with no place left to turn, those who, you, are displaced physically or emotionally or socially in this season. We recognize that Christmas is full of so much public celebration that it can bring with it difficult memories or anxieties and hurts. And so in the light of a savior born in a stable, to parents unable to rent a room, a divine child dependent on others to care for him, help us to celebrate this story by bringing gentle hope into someone's world the same way that you have done for us. You are a great and a gracious God.

And so, in the name of the one who has and who continues to come to us, we pray. Amen. Alright. We have worried with Joseph and we have felt self conscious with Zechariah and Elizabeth. We were dazzled with Mary and today, we are energized to get up and move alongside the shepherds who watch their flocks at night.

And so today, we're gonna make our way through unhoused shepherds, mega fears, a living messiah, and finding our part in that story. But we might as well jump right in and let's read Luke's account of the angels appearance to this motley group of shepherds on that first Christmas night. It starts in Luke two verse eight. I'm gonna read all the way through to verse 19 today. There were shepherds living out in the fields nearby, watching keeping watch over their flocks at night.

An angel of the Lord appeared to them and the glory of the Lord shone round them and they were terrified. But the angel said to them, do not be afraid. 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.

This will be a sign. You will find a baby wrapped in claws and lying in a manger. And suddenly, a great company of the heavenly host appeared with the angel praising God and saying, glory to God in the highest heaven. And on earth peace to those on whom God's favor rests. When the angels had left them and gone into heaven, the shepherds said to one another, let's go to Bethlehem and see this thing that has happened which the Lord has told us about.

So they hurried off and they found Mary and Joseph and the baby who was lying there in the manger. When they had seen him, they spread the word concerning what had been told to them about this child. All who had heard it were amazed at what the shepherds said to them. But Mary treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart. Now, this is about one of the most iconic scenes in the entire Christmas narrative.

Right? This is the one that gets memorialized in all of those nativity scenes. Somehow, these shepherds have found their way to become almost as venerated as the holy family at Christmas, and I kind of like that. These unnamed, dirty, smelly migrant workers motivated by a surprise light show to find their way to this manger have earned their place in history. And so on this final Sunday of Advent, let's trace their story one more time.

Luke tells us that there were shepherds living out in the fields nearby. Now, nearby is a reference to where Mary has just given birth in a stable near Bethlehem. And the shepherds are there keeping watch over their flocks at night. But when Luke says they were living out in the fields, that is not a euphemism. The verb here is aguleo.

It's a word that was used to describe shepherds pretty regularly in a lot of different Greek writings. And at its base, what it means is to be outside, but in its Greek usage, primarily meant to sleep outside, and it's actually the verb that was commonly used to describe how animals slept outside. So when Luke says that these were shepherds living in the fields nearby, that's what he means. These were essentially unhoused men who lived and slept outdoors with their animals. Now, this is largely because these shepherds would own their flock perhaps, but they certainly did not own any land.

They would live in tents and they would move with their animals. And they would negotiate passage across different parcels of land with their flocks as they graze. So these were essentially migrant workers that provided an essential service to the larger towns and the cities that they orbited around, in this case, Bethlehem. To be perfectly honest, this is not unlike where a lot of our food comes from, particularly produce, at least if we're shopping at a larger national chain that's importing food from south. So just like today, this role, essential as it was, was not glamorous.

Homer, of Greek fame, not Simpsons, writes of poimenes agro loi, which translates to homeless shepherds. It was an epithet. And I know we kind of romanticize the idea of being a shepherd. I mean, after all, Jesus describes himself as the good shepherd who lays down his life for the flock. And many times throughout the Hebrew scriptures, God is compared favorably to a shepherd.

But by the time of Jesus, by the time the Roman Empire had established itself, and by the time Israel had basically fully transitioned from the nomadic tribe we saw in Exodus to what is essentially at this point an ancient urban culture centered around Jerusalem, the role of shepherd had taken on very different connotations culturally. There's actually a number of very critical references to shepherds in rabbinic texts. After all, they were seen as outsiders who preferred to live away from society, which made them kind of suspect. They were rough, and they were poor, and they were smelly, and they were generally considered very good citizens. I mean, they didn't pay taxes to Rome, and didn't contribute a lot to Jewish culture and society.

In fact, we have some records that seem to indicate the testimony of a shepherd was not considered admissible, at least in some religious courts in Jerusalem because shepherds were not considered trustworthy witnesses. By the way, maybe that gives you a new appreciation for Jesus' words in John 10. I am the good shepherd who lays down his life for the sheep. I am the good shepherd for I know my sheep and they know me. And, yes, absolutely.

Jesus is appropriating imagery about God from the Hebrew scriptures onto himself here, but also I think maybe he's intentionally playing with some of our expectations about who is worth following. And perhaps Jesus is reminding us here that his leadership is even less socially acceptable than perhaps we fully understand. But back to our shepherds. Luke says, they were living in a field nearby. That that is essentially the equivalent of starting a story today with there was a man sleeping on a park bench nearby.

This is not romantic. It's real. Now imagine, you're a young girl who has just given birth in a barn, and it's these guys who show up. That's kind of awkward. Although, I'm not sure the story is really meant to be any less awkward for the shepherds.

Luke says that an angel of the Lord appeared to them and the glory of the Lord shone round them and they were terrified. You may remember this better from the King James, the glory of the Lord shone round them and they were sore afraid. Now, I don't talk like that. You don't talk like that. I think we could all stand a little more Shakespearean wit in our conversation.

So I like this. I think we should use it more, and I am sore afraid. But what's going on here is an attempt to translate a specific Greek phrase, ephibotheson phobon megon, which already sounds kind of intimidating. But in Greek, phobos, as in phobia, is the word for fear, and megas, as in mega, is the word for mega, and I don't really need to translate that one. But that means that this phrase, ephibothesan phobon megon is the verb form of fear they feared, followed by the noun for fear, fear, and the adjective mega, literally, they feared a mega fear.

Now, there's a couple of vulgar idioms that come to mind as very legitimate translations of this phrase, but Luke is trying to be as crystal clear as possible here that this is some scary stuff going on in the sky. They feared a great fear. They they don't even know what they're scared of right now. They just know this is intense. So this is Christmas, or at least how our nativity scene comes together.

Scared little girl giving birth away from home in a barn surrounded by a bunch of rough and tumble terrified men. Put that on the card. Write Merry Christmas. Send it out. Yes.

It's kind of perfect, isn't it? The one who comes to bring peace enters the story in the midst of so much chaos. And honestly, how else would you do it? Right? Like bring peace from a distance with a 10 foot pole, that doesn't seem like the God we encounter throughout scripture.

This is the God that shows up after all. And so peace arrives at the nexus of worry and self consciousness and dazzling wonder and abject terror. Perhaps, specifically to transform all of it. See, there's this interesting thing about shepherds. Primarily, their livelihood was rooted in food production.

They raised flocks and sold animals to feed the towns. But a side racket was the opportunity to get a first look at all the newborn livestock and identify the potential resources that could be used in the religious system. There's all kinds of references throughout the Hebrew scriptures about the need to bring a spotless or unblemished animal to the temple. Leviticus one three or Exodus twelve five or Deuteronomy fifteen twenty one, among many, many other references. And at the time of those writings, that would have been the responsibility of the one bringing the offering to ensure an acceptable gift.

However, by the time of Jesus, things have changed a lot. And most people aren't raising flocks anymore, they're urban professionals. They're carpenters, and stone workers, and artisans, and scholars, and that means you've got to buy your ceremonial needs. So shepherds would commonly inspect their flocks and identify the best animals and price them accordingly to be sold at temple rather than market. Which is ironic considering the social stigma we've already talked about.

The fact that specifically religious courts discounted the witness of shepherds even while finding themselves dependent on the labor of shepherds. It's an interesting thing to be confronted by the fact that we still, all of us, some two thousand years later, continue to disrespect those we depend on. Migrant workers, and farm laborers, and retail service, and Amazon delivery persons. Not much of my life works without a lot of people I don't give nearly enough thought to. And yet, here are Poimenes agro loi, homeless shepherds on whom the system depends, for whom the system offers no voice.

And God, after scaring them out of their tunics, albeit, offers them the opportunity to be the first to witness the beginning of all things made new. So the ones who identify the spotless lambs are the first to see the baby Jesus, and the ones who are not reliable witnesses are the only third parties invited to the birth of the Christ. This is about more than proximity. This is about narrative. This is Luke telling us the story even before it begins.

You see in the Jewish imagination, the Messiah, it's where we get the word Christ from. It was not just a metaphysical savior who was intended to save his people by dying. In fact, just the opposite. In Jewish thought, Messiah was the one who would come to save Israel by living. Messiah was the one to lead his people as their king and religiously as their priest and militarily as their general.

This is pretty big shoes to fill. But the Messiah was about the hope of Israel restored. So restored to power and autonomy. Yes. But also restored to justice and compassion.

But even that, that's not the whole story. Because if you reach even farther back into the Hebrew memory, you find that the imagination of Messiah went far deeper. The core of the Jewish story was this idea, this this hope of one who would come to restore everything to the way it was meant to be. So not just Israel, not just the Jewish people, not just overthrow Rome and take back control of Jerusalem, but the one who would come to put history to right. Listen to these ancient words from the prophet Isaiah.

Listen to me, you islands. Hear this, you distant nations. Before I was born, the Lord called me. From my mother's womb, he has spoken my name. And now the Lord says, who has formed me in the womb to be his servant, to bring Jacob back to him and to gather Israel to himself, for I am honored in the eyes of the Lord, and my God has been my strength.

He says, it is too small a thing for you to be my servant and to restore the tribes of Jacob and to bring back those of Israel I have kept, I will also make you a light for the Gentiles that my salvation may reach to the ends of the earth. See, the Jewish imagination of salvation didn't stop at their borders or their homes or their families. It continued and it expanded and extended until all was made well. Now, did the Jewish people always live with that clear and present awareness of the all encompassing goodness of God and what it meant for them and their enemies? No.

Of course not. None of us live up to our best imaginations all the time. But the Jewish people weren't looking for a savior that would take them away from the world. They were looking for a savior who would heal the world. A savior who would enter the world and participate in the world.

A savior who would come in a way perhaps befitting this world. Maybe even through a scared little girl giving birth away from home in a barn surrounded by a bunch of rough and tumble terrified men just like all of us. See, Luke is telling us right from the start that you can't save what you won't come near to. And that is what Christmas is about. Not just the majesty of God, but the mystery of the divine.

And not just the shining brilliance of angels that trumpeted Christ's arrival, but the disheveled audience to which that brilliance is revealed. And not just the remarkable circumstances of Jesus' birth, but the utterly mundane messy humanity of it all. We sing the little Lord Jesus, no crying he makes, and it's a beautiful song, but it is absolutely not the point. Because of course he cried, of course he was hungry, of course he was cold, of course he was scared, he was a baby. The mystery of the incarnation is how the God of creation now appears in solidarity with the human experience, all of it.

So I find it fascinating that just after the shepherds are scared out of their robes by a bunch of singing angels in the sky, the very next thing they do is they say to one another, let's go to Bethlehem and see this thing that has happened which the Lord has told us about. And I read that, and I am convinced that this does not mean they were not afraid anymore. I mean, sure, the angels are gone, but it's gonna take a while for the adrenaline to subside and your heart rate to come down after something like that, I can imagine. This is their chance. It's their moment to go and run and hide and find a cave and dig down deep and close their eyes and wait till morning to see if it was all just an overactive imagination.

But that is not what they do. Instead, the movement of God that came to them inspires them to discover within themselves a curiosity that maybe they didn't even know about anymore. After all, the shepherds have largely removed themselves from polite society. They they chose this career for a reason. They want to be alone in a field.

But now there is this courage to go and see this thing, this fascinating, terrifying possibility of the presence of the divine in the world. And they are motivated, energized to go and see if maybe their hope that things could be different could actually be made real. And instead of retreating from the story and pulling away from society, this time they lean in. And I think this is important because the coming of peace is not about an escape from what's hard or even from what scares us. I think it has to be about the curiosity to wonder if perhaps God isn't present in the midst of it all right now inviting us to lean in.

So maybe you were in a relationship and it didn't work, and you're scared about trying that again, or you tried religion and that did not go well and you're scared about getting involved again, or maybe family is hard and you're just scared that this year will be one more awkward moment on a long list of holiday disasters. But somewhere at Christmas, this is where we are reminded that there was a scared little girl giving birth away from home in a barn surrounded by a bunch of rough and tumble men just as terrified as we are, and that somehow God was and is uniquely and perfectly present there in that moment turning the script upside down forever. And maybe that is where peace begins to find us again. Look, it's Christmas and it's the season of hope, and that means it's okay to be terrified or anxious or lonely because hope is inherently a risky thing for all of us. Christmas is where God meets us with just enough to get us up and out of our seats and past our carefully manicured boundaries with just enough curiosity to go and see if this hope that we've heard about could possibly be real.

Because here's the thing about Christmas. If God is really going to do all that God imagines God can, If God is really gonna carry this story through a birth and into a life and past the death and into the other side of a resurrection, if God is gonna make this story stick in a community, in a church, in a world, in a people, then God is going to have to inspire each of us at some point to get up and get past our fears and play our part in the renewal of all things right where we are. And that is what homeless shepherds got to be a part of two thousand years ago. It's what your generosity and kindness and welcome and warm heart contribute to today every time you open yourself up to another. This hope that on the other side of our fear is the healing and the welcome that we all long for.

Christmas is about the God who reinvents our stories every day. The God who meets our fear with the energy to be part of turning that story into something new. So may your Christmas hope outweigh your Christmas fear this year. And may your tired aching imagination be energized by the God who invites you to find your place in this story this Christmas. Let's pray.

God of good and generous gifts, who comes to find us this year and every year, who invites us to be part of a story that is much bigger and older and longer than we can possibly imagine, a story rooted in the founding of the universe, The love that seeks us out and transforms our fears and anxieties, our worries into curiosity and hope and purpose for what comes next. God, might we feel all of it this Christmas. Might we allow ourselves to be fully present to everything that is happening in us and around us. But then in the midst of the nexus of all of that worry and self consciousness and wonder and fear, might your peace slowly, steadily arrive. Reminding us that there is a time to heal, and then there is a time to get up and to move, and to believe that things can be different and that we can be part of your story of renewal.

God, in an ever small way, your spirit would motivate us to be kind, to be warm, to welcome, to expand your story. We pray that we would have the courage to be there. And in that, you might feel your love extended back to us in new ways. In the strong name of the one that we wait for, we pray. Amen.