“Gloria!”
Original sermon given on Christmas Eve, December 24, 2024, written and delivered by Pastor Jeff Leininger at First Saint Paul’s Lutheran Church.
Watch the sermon live.
“Gloria!”
Luke 2.8-20
Luke 2.8-20
In the name of the Living God and the Christ who has come to us. Amen.
“And there were shepherds living in the fields, keeping watch
over their flocks by night.” (Luke 2.8)
Some in our congregation might be aware that I have recently completed what I might humbly describe as one of the better acting performances of my career. I played random shepherd # 1 in this year’s Children’s Christmas pageant. After last year’s rendition of random cow # 1 — a deeply moo-ving performance, indeed — I got promoted to shepherd. (Next year, who knows? I’m shooting for the donkey.)
I think it went pretty well — even if I was rather upstaged by little three-year old Gavin. He was supposed to be random shepherd #2, mind you, but managed to get more attention in the scene than me. (I’m not bitter. Really, I’m not. It’s supposed to be all about Jesus, anyway, right?)
But as I was preparing for this part of “random shepherd # 1”, taking off my liturgical costume and putting on my shepherd’s robe, I had this brief thought: I don’t even know this guy’s name. St. Luke records lots of details of this Christmas account. He consults eyewitnesses and historical documents. He did his own research of Old Testament prophecies under the guidance of the Holy Spirit. He tells us the names of priests and kings and governors and emperors. He gives specific locations and travel patterns. He grounds his narrative in externally verifiable events, like a Roman worldwide census. But when it comes to the first ones to hear the news that first Christmas night, not one of them is named. This might at first bother us a bit — didn’t the Shepherds matter? Wouldn’t it have been helpful? But the more I thought about it, the more appropriate I think it is that we can’t name one shepherd. This is because the gift of Christmas is also for the no-names as well. It is for the “random ones” as well as the main characters. It is for those not seen or heard or written about in the history books, which means it must be for you too, this evening.
We have this rather idyllic view of shepherds: relaxing in the fields, playing harps and lyres, sleeping on the meadows, maybe a basket of wine and cheese shared among them. Such was not historically the case in first century Israel. These are working men. They’re more likely to appear on the cable show “Dirty Jobs” than with “the Kardashians”. They sleep rough, drink often, and are disparaged as thieves. So unreliable is this lot that a shepherd was not even allowed to give testimony in the law courts.[1]
If you transport this scene from Luke 2 onto Chicago, you might be surprised who the angels first appear unto. All the more reason then, that they “fear a great fear” (literally) and are given a message of great joy. Of course, they’re afraid because an angel warrior speaks directly to them and because the very glory of the Lord (Yahweh) shines around them. But I imagine there’s a bit more here too: maybe their first thought is that this is their great com-up-pence. God’s going to get them now. Rather like when you get called down to the police station, or into the principal’s office, or suddenly to the HR director.
But not here. Not this time. Not in this muddy pasture with these dirty, roughhewn laborers. The angel tells them to stop fearing, but also tells them why: “Behold, I bring glad tidings unto you… and to all the people. I gospel to you (literally) that is born for you today a savior, who is messiah, Lord.” (Luke 2.10-11)
They’re commanded not to fear because the good news is for them. Right there. On that hillside. Right where they’re at. Not in the palaces of kings, or the brains of the theologians, or the purity of the Pharisees, or in the coffers of the wealthy, or in the well-kept homes and hearths of the pious and put together. The first to see the glory of God shining and to hear the heavenly hosts singing are the last you would expect… and so they’re filled with the greatest joy and wonder.
This is the way it has always been with God’s people, and indeed must always be: from Abraham and Sarah old as dirt; Hagar and Ishmael abandoned, alone, and afraid; Hannah praying unceasingly through her tears; David caught out with lust and lying and murder; Peter sinking in the storm; Saul flat on his face and blinded: Mary and Joseph alone on their journey — the God of power and grace shows up for the powerless and the sin-filled, stilling their fear and bringing them peace.
It’s no surprise then that the Gloria they sing is the one of our greatest Christmas songs. We’ll sing a version of it in a few minutes, and we’ll conclude Christmas Eve worship with it this evening. Because the church is precisely the place where the troubled receive comfort; the sinners, grace; the lowly, exaltation and exhilaration. We also often sing the Gloria during the communion liturgy, as we prepare for heaven to meet earth and the divine to come down among us.
The angels’ song is a heavenly reminder while we’re still on earth. 1) First, a reminder of who we truly are — more like shepherds than kings. 2) A reminder with joy and passion to bring others in, to hear the message and be uplifted. Perhaps we can start even with the lowest or those most different from ourselves who are, in reality, just like us. 3) A reminder to never lose sight of this good news for you. Now. Tonight. In whatever pasture you’re lying in, however dark the night around you, however dirty or unclean or unnoticed you feel. God comes tonight for you. He knows your name. You’re not just “random” to him. You are the recipient of the greatest gift that could be given.
Rejoice and sing the song of the angels with the no-name Shepherds: “Glory to God in the Highest!”
Merry Christmas!
Come soon Lord Jesus. Amen.
[1] Morris, Matthew, p. 84