Psalm 96:1-3, 11 Sing to God a new song; sing to Abba God, all the whole earth. Sing to God and bless God’s Name; proclaim the good news of Abba God’s salvation from day to day. Declare God’s glory among the nations and wonders among all peoples. Let the heavens rejoice, and let the earth be glad; let the sea thunder and all that is in it; let the field be joyful and all that is therein.

Introduction

The Psalmist exhorts their audience, “Sing! Sing to God a new song! Sing to Abba God, all the whole earth! Proclaim the good news! Declare God’s glory! Rejoice!” These words beckon cheer and joy, soliciting from the intended audience a response that joins in with the earthly and celestial symphony affirming God’s goodness and greatness. The psalmist beseeches help from the heavens, the seas, the fields, the trees and woods to join in this chorus of praise for God’s glory, power, might, honor, majesty, splendor, and beauty. The psalmist—caught up in the majestic splendor of God’s goodness, righteousness, and truthfulness—invites the cosmos into their celebration, from the peaks of the mountains to the depths of the seas everything is summoned to this banquet and feast of praise and worship.

The psalmist offers us a truly glorious invitation to join in the festivities surrounding God; we are invited to sing a new song. And the only thing I can muster in reply is: in this economy?! Days in and days out, one foot in front of the other, walking slow and steady through a myriad of troubling and disturbing events marking the land and the world…how can I find language for a new song when I’ve lost the language of the old song? Exhaustion wearies the soul and fatigue wearies the bones. So many of us are fighting our overworked nervous systems and rampant anxiety, we’ve run out of energy to make dinner most nights let alone craft a new song. I don’t want this invitation from the psalmist; I don’t have the stamina for such celebration and festivities. In my heart I decline, No, thank you. In my body, I stay home: turn off the lights and bury myself deep into my comforters and try to sleep. I want silence, darkness, stillness; I want to care less, to be less close to despair, to be numb. Sorry, Psalmist, I cannot sing with you; I cannot sing an old song and definitely not a new song.

Then, in the midst of that stillness, the silence, that darkness, succumbing to heavy sleep a still small voice penetrates through it all: oh, dear one, I was not asking you to sing but to listen to a new song…for you…

Luke 2:1-14(15-20)

Now, Shepherds were in that same land living in the fields and guarding over their flocks keeping night guard. And then an angel of the lord stood by them, and the glory of the lord shone around them, and they were afraid with a great fear. And then the angel said to them, “Do not be afraid! For, Behold!, I proclaim good news to you of great joy that will be for all people: today a savior is begotten for you in the city of David who is Christ the Lord. This is a sign for you, you will find a newborn child having been wrapped in swaddling clothes and lying in a manger.” And suddenly a great host of angels of heaven appeared with the angel, praising God, and [singing], ‘Glory to God most high and upon earth peace among humanity of [God’s] good pleasure!’”[1]

Luke 2:8-14

Luke begins by telling us a familiar story of Joseph and Mary traveling from Nazareth to Bethlehem to fulfill the demand of a census from Caesar Augustus. We know this story. They are both tired; Mary is very pregnant. They come to the town of David, to Bethlehem, and there’s not one available room for the unwed young couple expecting their first child. Without a room available, the couple finds comfort among animals, straw and hay, and an empty manger. According to Luke, Mary gives birth soon after arriving in the stable.

The birth of the Christ into the world is God coming low to be further in the world. God did not go to palaces and castles; rather God went so low as to be born into meager and rather desperate circumstances. Nothing about Joseph and Mary was particularly unique; they were not married yet, they were not wealthy, they were not royalty, and they were not powerful and privileged. They were simple people in meager circumstances pulling together the bare necessities for their son who was coming into the world, the long promised divine savior of God.[2] I think we forget this part of the story when it’s told year after year; God made God’s self known in flesh, vulnerable and soft flesh, in a stable, in the dirt, among the lowly, among the animals and the poor.

That story is remarkable on its own. But Luke doesn’t stop pressing home his point. The next seen brings us to fields at night and into the world of the shepherds keeping watch over their sheep at night, guarding their flock from predators—both wolves that walked on four legs, and those masquerading as humans walking about on two.[3] These shepherds were downright oppressed under an oppressive regime; this census wasn’t merely about tallying up how many people there were, but, rather, about finding out how much wealth was in the region with an eye to maximize taxes.[4] Thus, this census would create financial havoc for the everyday lives of the shepherds already living (barely) from one day to the next.[5]

So, here they are, the shepherds, cloaked by night and alert for fear of wolves; they are unseen and worried. And then Luke tells us that suddenly! An angel of the lord appeared and brought with them a glory of the lord that engulfed in bright light the field in which they were standing. These humble shepherds froze in fear. But then the angelic visitor spoke, Do not be afraid! For, Behold!, I proclaim to you good news: a savior is begotten for you in the city of David who is Christ the lord! And this announcement wasn’t only a proclamation of good news, but an invitation to come in, come closer, to enter the realm of God’s glory come down low and take hold of the good news. And as if that wasn’t enough, the angel is (suddenly!) accompanied by a great host of heaven who sing to these tired and anxious shepherds,

Glory to God in the highest
and peace upon earth
among humanity of God’s good pleasure!

The whole host of heaven came to these dirty and poor, worried and anxious shepherds dwelling in the dark and on the boarders of despair.[6] Those who were unseen were now seen—seen by the host of heaven. They were drafted into the divine limelight by God[7] to receive the good news and to go. Go and see the savior, the one who will liberate—from sin and oppression[8]—the people, the shepherds, the poor, those meagerly surviving day to day, those shoved off to the fringes of society, those exhausted in soul and fatigued in body, those without a song.

Conclusion

And they went. Luke tells us that as the host of heaven returned to celestial heights, the shepherds, turning one to another, spoke, “Let us go until we reach Bethlehem and see this word that has come into being that the Lord made known to us.” The shepherds dared to go, to obey God, to go into the stable, to see the unwed woman of color who is the mother of God, Jesus the Christ, God come low, Immanuel, God with us. These unknown shepherds were beckoned into the luminescent glory of God and dared to be seen and known by God. They came close, Luke tells us, they found Mary and Joseph, and they saw the infant wrapped in swaddling clothes lying in the manger. Those who were once too dirty to be in God’s presence now not only stood in God’s presence but could reach out and touch God as they were.

Rather than being far off and distant, on Christmas, in the nativity of the Christ, God came low, born a baby, held by the arms of the poor, embraced by the oppressed, surrounded by animals, and resting atop hay, straw, and dirt. God came low on Christmas for no other reason than to bring love and life to God’s beloved, the people of God’s good pleasure, to liberate them from sin and oppression. On Christmas God came low to hang out with those who had lost all their words to give them a new song, to sing over them.

And here we sit, peering over shepherd shoulders, tippy-toe, eager to see the scene displayed before us. We are a part of those gathered to gaze upon the newborn babe, the Christ, and his mother, Mary. We stand among the menagerie of animals; we stand with the humble shepherds finding their words again for the first time. In them we see ourselves. And, in time, as we listen again and again, as we listen anew to this old, old story, we find our words, too—new words, lifegiving words, love filled words, liberating words. This is God for us, heaven singing over us, God come low to be with us, where we are, as weare.

God comes to us to sing over us tonight, amid our darkness, as we try to numb out the chaos and tumult of a world on fire, as we try to forget the pain of our loss and grief (those far off or gone), and as we collapse in our exhaustion and fatigue. Here, we are taken up into that ancient celestial song of ancient days, interrupted long enough to lift our heads and dare to have hope, faith, joy, and peace. Tonight, the Christ is born anew among us, in our heart, for us. Breathe deep, rest, be comforted, and rejoice. Again, I say, Rejoice.

[1] Translation mine unless otherwise noted

[2] Ernesto Cardenal, The Gospel in Solentiname, trans. by, Donald D. Walsh. Eugene: Wipf & Stock, 2010. 20. “Rebeca spoke: ‘From the moment of his birth, God chose conditions like the poorest person, didn’t he? I don’t think God wants great banquets or a lot of money…’”

[3] Gonzalez, Luke, 33-34. “Given those circumstances, the setting of the shepherds keeping their flocks at night is much less tranquil and romantic. They live out in the fields, suffer all kinds of deprivations and even dangers, in order to protect their flocks. But the census threatens a new danger, a wolf more dangerous than nay four-legged beast, a wolf that will probably decimate their flocks, and whom they cannot fight, for it is too powerful It is not difficult to imagine what would be the talk of such shepherds as they sought to remain awake through the night…the setting itself was one of fear and oppression.”

[4] Gonzalez, Luke, 33. “A census had sinister implications. It was not just counting people in order to see how many they were, and what population trends were. In ancient times, and long thereafter, a census was in fact an inventory of all the wealth of a region—its people, its animals, and its crops—so that the government would be able to tax people to the maximum. A census usually announced greater poverty and exploitation.”

[5] Justo L. Gonzalez, Luke, Belief: A Theological Commentary on the Bible Eds Amy Plantinga Pauw and William C. Placher. Louisville: WJK, 2010. 33. “That is not the setting in which Luke presents the story. The setting is rather that of people living under an oppressive regime…As usual, oppression is not a merely political matter, the concern only of those directly involved in politics. It also reaches the everyday lives of people, as is seen in the very fact that Joseph and Mary have to travel to Bethlehem even though she is about to give birth.”

[6] Cardenal, Solentiname, 26. “Felipe: ‘But the angel didn’t go where the kings was but where the poor people were…’”

[7] Gonzalez, Luke, 34. “One of the ways in which the ‘little people’ manage to survive under oppressive regimes is not to call attention to themselves. They seek to go on with their lives unnoticed by the powerful, who could easily crush them. Now these shepherds are literally in the limelight, and an obviously powerful personage confronts them.”

[8] Gonzalez, Luke, 36. “The ‘saviors’ in the Hebrew Scriptures liberate Israel from its political oppressors so that the people may be free to serve and obey God…But the title ‘Savior’ was also used by rulers who claimed special powers over their subjects…Thus when the angel announces Jesus as ‘Savior,’ his declaration has both political and religious overtones. The child who has been born will free the people from bondage—bondage both to their sins and to their oppressors.”