A Shining

Luke 2:8–9 (NIV)

And there were shepherds living out in the fields nearby, keeping watch over their flocks at night. An angel of the Lord appeared to them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified.

CONSIDER THIS

Sometimes light enters in gently, quietly, seemingly unnoticed. 

Other times, light crashes in brashly, boldly, and blinds you with its glory. Like flashing alarms in the middle of the night, the light startles you into awakening and shows off with all its power. 

I’m still rather baffled by the thought that the birth of the Messiah, his incarnation, and entrance into the world arrived so gently, without notice. But the announcement of revelation to unnoticing shepherds came with such splendor. The majesty of a miraculous revelation was so surprising and so spectacular that it left those in the path of the Lord’s light absolutely terrified. Though I’m sure their fear was a response to the all-consuming light of God revealed, maybe part of that revelation was the reality that the almighty God had entered in on them, the unseen, overlooked, and often disregarded. The light of Christ shone on them.

I’ve had the great gift of traveling to the Holy Land on two very special occasions. It’s a life-changing journey as the place God’s revelation comes to life. As part of the pilgrimage to the places where Christ was revealed, we journey to Bethlehem and then to the quaint edges of town called “The Shepherd’s Fields.” There, a series of caves, and a beautiful chapel, create a holy site to reflect on this incredible announcement. When you enter the site, and then turn to leave, it’s not uncommon to see a village boy gently holding a sheep.

The reality is he’s standing there, hoping pilgrims and visitors will stop to take a picture with his sheep, to earn tips for his family, and help provide in an area that relies on tourism to meet their needs. It’s a strange combination of sad and sweet. 

On one visit, as we walked by him, my aunt and I stopped for a moment to hold the sweet little sheep. And maybe my heart is just a little too soft, but what I noticed, what still sort of aches in my spirit, is the way hundreds of people pass him by, unnoticed, totally unseen, invisible to the people bustling by, this poor village boy. You can see on their face the “unseen-ness” and the numbness of their invisibility, as those with more position, and more privilege simply didn’t notice their presence, let alone their worth. (In fact, most every tourist is told to avoid them, to avoid the expected tip or begging they may do.) Unfortunately, for the whole history of humanity’s presence on earth, nothing has changed. People have positioned themselves in places of hierarchy and overlooked the divine image in one another. And sometimes, outright abusing artificial structures of human value. 

The glory of this divine announcement is multi-faceted with spectacular beauty. It’s the fulfillment of a long-awaited prophecy. It’s the collision of heavenly beauty with humble humanity. It’s the visible radiance of God’s love—seen for the first time in hundreds of years and for the first time in this incredible way. It’s an invitation of joyful awakening to the salvation of all creation. And somehow, it’s also the narrow focus of light on the invisible and unseen. God literally shone a light on those humanity tended to overlook, bringing light into their literal and practical darkness. He saw them and brought what was invisible into divine light. You have to wonder if they felt chosen, seen, when the angels descended, and God revealed his glorious light to them, if they were too awestruck at the announcement to notice, or if they would bask in the reality of being seen by God for their lifetime. 

This Christmas, you may feel lost in the shadows, overlooked, unseen, and forgotten. You may need to hear the message of Christmas. At its center is the eternal truth that you aren’t invisible to God. He sees you. He looks in. He shines his light on you. Before you ever went looking for God and his salvation, he went looking for you. And in the most incredible expression of love, he entered in. His glory lit up a field that night, in a small town, on the edges of Bethlehem. And that same light that entered in that night enters in for you—sharing with you the same love and presence that was shared that night. As that holy day approaches, may the light of God’s love overwhelm you.  

THE PRAYER

It’s still amazing to me that you see us, that somehow, in your eternal presence and power, you chose to look upon us with love. We don’t understand how, but we’re so incredibly grateful that you do—that you see us, know us, love us, and, most importantly, desire to share relationship with each of us. Forgive us for somehow believing that you’re distant and unconcerned when your deepest desire is our belonging in you. As we prepare for the light of your coming at Christmas, and the light of your glorious return, help us to bask in the radiance of your light and deeply believe it shines on us too. In Jesus’s name, amen.

THE QUESTION

Be honest, have you sometimes felt like God is too distant, too big, and certainly doesn’t see you the way you hope to be seen? Does life leave you feeling a bit invisible and unknown? If so, how might the reminder of God’s in-breaking light on the shepherds write on your heart the reality of God’s very personal, very real love? And where might you ask him to reveal his light to see you in new ways?

THE HYMN

Let’s sing together about that glorious appearance. Turn with me to page #188 in Our Great Redeemer’s Praise, or pull up the lyrics online for “The First Noel,” verses 1, 2, 4, and 6.

For the Awakening,
Sarah Wanck

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