The night is cold. As cold as ice. Black trees stand still, pasted against a deeper black sky. The stars stand at attention, waiting, holding their breath, yet motionless in the moonless sky. Moist breath escapes into clouds, quickly rising, leaving behind the cold earth. Wooden staffs, like cold metal in the hand, stand in watch over the rising stench of sheep. All is quiet. All is still. The sound of one's breathing is lost in the dull and lonely landscape. And then... a light, brighter than the sun, descends and hovers midair above the ground and declares, "Peace. Do not fear." The radiating warmth of this celestial being begins to melt the fears and slow the beating hearts. But only just begins before he declares his message. "Unto you a child is born. Unto you a son is given." Fear and beating heart return. "In David's City you will find Him." Did he just say 'lying in a manger'? But the question dies on the lips as every anxiously-waiting star begins to race to join the bright one. As they come closer, they increase in speed and heat, and by now it is quite warm. The host is blinding. In a pool of water, one sees the reflection on hands and knees. The sky is full of luminosity. The sky has come alive. All heaven has broken loose. But the light isn't the only sensation, nor is the warmth, nor the rushing wind from beating wings. The music. The music is beyond anything ever heard before. The song seems to fill the air beyond its natural capacity for sound. For a brief moment, the sky has no ceiling, and the lords and ladies of the heavens join the angels' song. Terrifying glory explodes in harmonic beauty and real, pre-earthly joy erupts in resplendent wonder. Unable to stand, the shepherds lie prostrate on the grassy hillside. Hoping the awesome immortal creatures would quickly depart, lest their mortal bodies expire, incapable of receiving such unmediated glory, they forever find themselves longing to hear that brief chorus one more time. As the heavenly host completes their song, or perhaps simply takes their singing elsewhere, darkness once again fills their fields. And yet, was it quite as dark as it was before?
I am almost convinced that Luke thought he needed to add the words the shepherds said to one another after the angels departed. Not having been there, I'm sure he wasn't able to grasp fully the horrifying intensity of the experience. I imagine the shepherds lying stupefied in their fields, unable to move. When they do finally get up, I can't imagine a calm discussion about what to do next. I imagine shared looks of incredulity, followed by all-out sprinting. It is hard to run and belly laugh and weep at the same time, but they must have managed somehow.
We have been to services. We have read the texts. We have had only a very small taste of an experience distantly related to that of the shepherds on that cold night so long ago. And yet we fully know the joy they felt. We have been told the whole story, the good news that even the heavenly choir longs to look into. It is telling that anytime good news is heard, singing is sure to follow. Good news requires good song. And as we sing, as we throw back our heads and raise our voices to the heavens, we invite the angelic choir to join in our praising. As they join their voices to ours, we realize that all of creation has been singing without rest since that cold moonless night. We are the late comers, bringing our small and humble voices to creation's community sing. We join our heavenly governors and lift our hands and praise the Child laying in the manger.
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