“While Shepherds Watched”

Luke 2:1-20

Sermon by Rev. Caela Simmons Wood

Christmas Eve | December 24, 2024

I wonder how long the shepherds wore their halos. 

The author of Luke tells us that “In that region there were shepherds living in the fields, keeping watch over their flock by night. Then an angel of the Lord stood before them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them.” How do you envision this in your mind? 

Up until this week, I always kind of saw the shepherds with a spotlight on them. As if they were on stage, perhaps in a Christmas pageant. “The glory of the Lord shone around them.” CLICK. Spotlight!

But then I looked up the Greek in the dictionary and it said the word means “to illuminate all around, i.e. invest with a halo.” 

Oh. 

“The glory of the Lord shone around them.” What does that look like, exactly? God’s glory….shining….around them? 

Regardless of how we envision it, the text says God’s light appeared and shone brightly around the shepherds. Enclosing them. Highlighting them. Marking them as important, special, holy. 

What do we know about shepherds? We know that they lived outdoors, in the elements. And so I imagine their skin was a bit weathered by the elements. I assume they were physically fit from days and weeks and months of walking long distances with their flocks. I am guessing they traveled light - carrying only what they absolutely needed. Perhaps a bedroll, a cup and plate, one change of clothes. In my mind they are rugged-looking…not surprising for a group of people whose literal job is to keep watch and protect.

If you’re thinking of them as big, burly, middle-aged men, though, you might want to reframe that a bit. Shepherds were probably much younger - what we would call teenagers or even tweens. And they may have been boys or girls. So maybe think more of a gaggle of middle school kids, right? 

And this particular group of shepherds were perhaps entry-level shepherds, not too high up in the hierarchy. Because whatever manager emailed out the weekly schedules and put them on the night shift. 

And so it was that the glory of God came to kids working the night shift in a field. Maybe they were playing a game of Marco Polo in the dark, trying to stay awake. Or just scrolling aimlessly through TikToks with one eye on the sheep. 

Scrolling, playing, pinching themselves to stay awake, yawning. Whatever they were doing, we are told, 

“an angel of the Lord stood before them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified. But the angel said to them, ‘Do not be afraid; for see—I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people: to you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is the Messiah, the Lord. This will be a sign for you: you will find a child wrapped in bands of cloth and lying in a manger.’ 

And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host, praising God and saying, ‘Glory to God in the highest heaven, and on earth peace among those whom God favors!’”

In case the one angel and the glory of the Lord shining around them isn’t enough, there’s a follow-up act: “Suddenly! There was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host…” 

This multitude is not the kind of hosts we would think of. No one is wearing an apron here. This heavenly host is an army. A multitude of troops. And so, to this small group of young sheep guards comes a flock of soldiers. Are they in camo? Dress blues? Do they carry weapons? I have no idea. But I imagine them to be a powerful, intimidating group. 

Strong, confident soldiers, lined up in rows, standing at attention. The message they bring is simple, but I can hardly say it aloud without tearing up: “Glory to God in the highest heaven, and on earth PEACE….”

This army from heaven brings news of peace: a sense of safety, harmony, prosperity, calm, tranquility, connection between humanity; an end to strife, conflict, and war. 

Soldiers that bring peace. Shepherds who are given halos. A young, unmarried couple who accept the invitation to bear Christ to the world. And a baby who comes to disrupt Empire - claiming the title of Anointed One, Heir of the Most High - though he cannot yet speak or walk or talk. The most vulnerable of human creatures - a newborn infant - laid to rest not in a gilded palace but in a pile of hay in a feeding trough. 

Overnight, the world shifts on its axis. Imperceptible, perhaps, except to those who are working the night shift. Bleary-eyed, exhausted, underpaid and overworked, sleeping out, keeping watch. 

The good news of peace is not heard in the halls of power. The revolution is not televised. It seems as though Caesar may have slept through the whole thing. 

But when the heavenly visitors departed, the shepherds were guided by the light of their halos. They made haste and found the holy family and shared all that was told to them. In this way, they became not only recipients of good news, but messengers, too. 

Tidings of peace. News of extraordinary, revolutionary love. Found outside the confines of Empire. The light sneaking over the hills and shining into the crevices of our despair. 

The gift of Christmas. Not just for shepherds in the fields. 

For you. For us. For our loved ones and our enemies, too. 

Peace. An end to violence and strife. 

Emmanuel - God with us. Then. Now. Always. 

May it be so. 

“Beginnings and Endings”

Luke 1:26-38

Sermon by Rev. Caela Simmons Wood

December 1, 2024

Our family went to see Wicked on Thanksgiving. Did anybody else see it yet? It’s so good, right? Now, it turns out that our kids have never actually seen the Wizard of Oz. So we were talking on the way to the theater about the main plot points of the movie, to see what they knew about the world of Oz. It turns out that they knew pretty much everything they needed to know, even without seeing the movie. Maybe if you live in Kansas, it’s just in your blood? 

I didn’t know until last week that the movie adaptation of the musical is actually two parts. So the movie that is out right now is just the first half of the musical. And although the end of part one certainly feels a bit like an ending, we left the theater wanting more. 

Except: part two of Wicked won’t be the end, either. Because in the Oz universe, canonical events and prequels and spin-offs abound. The singular story that Baum created in 1900 has inspired so many adaptations. And Wicked, itself, begins at the end. The show opens with the death of the Wicked Witch of the West and the rest of the show is a flashback and forward through the main characters’ lives. Endings and beginnings are all jumbled up, seamlessly flowing one into the other. 

And isn’t this the way of life? It can be difficult, at times, to tell if what we’re experiencing is an ending or a beginning. More often than not, it’s both. 

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Mary’s story is like this: an unmarried teenager receives an unexpected visit from an angel. Is this the culmination of her life up until this point? Or the beginning of a new story? 

Yes. 

Perhaps this is why the angel says “do not be afraid.” Endings and beginnings can both feel profoundly unsettling. We get the sense that the ground is shifting under our feet and we feel unsteady. And, so often, when we’re living through these cataclysmic shifts in our own lives or in the world at large, we’re just not sure where we are on the timeline. Is this the end? Or the beginning of something new? 

Yes. 

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Rabbi Marc Gellman has written a wonderful collection of modern midrash titled Does God Have Big Toe? Stories About Stories in the Bible. One of the stories in this collection is “The First New Year.” In this story, Adam is surprised by the setting of the sun in the Garden of Eden on that first day. The garden is suddenly dark, cold, and scary and the animals crowd around Adam for reassurance. Adam eventually falls asleep and is awakened by the warmth of the sun on his neck that next morning. He jumps up and rejoices with the animals. He assures them that the sun must be here to stay this time…..but eventually the sun begins to sink and they frantically try to build a barrier to keep the sun from setting. It doesn’t work, of course, and the animals and Adam are plunged once again into darkness and fear.

But this time God takes Adam aside and explains that everything is okay. This is just “time,” God says. The sun will do this over and over again and it will divide time into days and nights. There will also be weeks and months. Reassured, Adam starts keeping track of the passing of time – one day, two days, three days, a week, three weeks, a month, three months, and so on. All is well, until….

One day Adam notices he has marked off 11 months, 3 weeks, and 6 days. He becomes worried. “I’ve used up all the time!” he exclaims. “Tonight the sun will sink and it will never rise again because this is the end of time. I am going to have to wander around in the dark and it will be cold and I will trip over things. O, Lord, what will I do now?” Adam gathers together the animals and explains that he’s not sure if there will be a tomorrow. They huddle together for warmth and cry as they watch the sun set for the final time. 

But then….the sun begins to peek up over the edge of the garden. Just as it always has. Just as it always will. And Adam hears God counting, “Ten years is one decade….ten decades is one century….ten centuries is one millennium….ten millennia….” And Adam falls asleep to the sound of God’s voice and the birds chirping. 

Every time I read this story, I get a little misty-eyed. There is something so powerful about their innocence and confusion about endings and beginnings. It’s a theme that echoes down through the rest of the Bible, too:

It’s Noah and the animals shut up tight in the ark, wondering if the rain will ever end. It’s Queen Esther standing afraid and brave outside the King’s door, preparing to go in and plead her case. It’s the Psalmist singing that we are all like grass, here for only a short while before the world changes again. And it’s Jesus’s disciples huddled together on the night of Good Friday, weeping - for the world as they know it has ended. And it’s the women who went to the tomb on Easter morning, only to discover that the ground has shifted right under their feet. 

It’s death and it’s Resurection and it’s hopelessness and a sliver of hope. It’s broken and it’s being made whole. It’s the end and the beginning and it’s messy and it’s beautiful and it’s all wrapped up together. 

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Our Advent theme this year is “words for the beginning.” As we near the end of 2024, we remember that, in the church year, Advent marks the beginning of a new year. Every year, the liturgical calendar starts over with the first Sunday of Advent. As our world here in the Northern Hemisphere grows cold and dark, we remember that sunlight may grow scarce, but winter is just a stop on the cosmic timeline of creation. The days will lengthen again. God will keep counting off the decades and centuries and millennia. We exist in this one moment in time but there are countless spin offs, prequels, sequels, and alternative timelines yet to be written. 

As we step into a new year with intentionality, how can we find a way to welcome the beginnings and endings that are all around us? Next week we’ll be doing this in a very tangible way as we mark the transition to Common Table that’s coming up in January. It can feel difficult to say this out loud, but Second Helping is coming to an end. Yes, it will continue on in new ways through our connections to Common Table. There are many things to celebrate as Common Table begins its new life at the Lincoln Center. It will be easier and more welcoming for guests and volunteers. We will meet the needs of our community more effectively. And at the same time, Second Helping as we know it, will be ending. No more lunches piled up in the fridge during the week. No more store rooms in the basement. No more meals around our tables every Sunday night. It’s an ending. And there is grief there, even as we celebrate the new beginning taking place at the same time. 

And we are also celebrating another new beginning! Week before last, Deane and I cleared out half the closet in Blachly Hall to make space for the Center of Hope Ministry. They’ll be providing warm, overnight shelter in Pioneer-Blachly beginning tonight. And it turns out that some of our neighbors that we’ve welcomed on Sunday evenings at Second Helping will still find a warm welcome in this space through the Center of Hope Ministry.

Endings and beginnings.  If you listen you can almost hear God counting, “Ten years is one decade….ten decades is one century….ten centuries is one millennium….ten millennia….” 

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When you came in this morning, you should have received a piece of purple yarn. If you didn’t, please give a wave and we’ll make sure you get one. If you’re worshiping on Zoom, I hope you’ll be able to find your own piece of yarn or string. 

Take a look at the yarn. It has a beginning and an ending, yes? If you bring the beginning and ending together, you have a circle - one of the primary symbols of Advent. That’s why we have wreaths during this season. Beginnings and endings and sometimes it’s hard to tell which is which because they’re all tied up together. 

This yarn is for you to carry throughout Advent. You could tie it in a circle around your wrist or just stick the loop in your pocket or tie it onto a bag. But when you look at this piece of yarn, I hope you’ll remember this cycle of beginnings and endings. How can we honor the blessings and challenges found in all our endings and beginnings? May the Spirit guide us in this season and beyond as we remember wisdom found in the old stories, find gratitude in the present moment, and seek a future that honors God’s vision of justice and peace for all creation. 

May it be so.