Let’s Go by Rev. Dr. Jay Marshall Groat – December 15, 2024, at Mount Vernon, Ohio, based on Luke 2:1-15

I remind you that during these four Sundays in Advent, on Sundays one and two we looked at Matthew’s birth narrative. This is what scholars call anything to do in the New Testament with the circumstances of Jesus’ birth. I remind you that in the four Gospels two of them have the birth narrative, Matthew and Luke. So, on this third Sunday we take a look at the first two-thirds of Luke’s birth narrative that we just heard, the introduction, among other things, to our Advent season of the shepherds. I want to say something about those shepherds. I want to give you a little bit of a head’s-up that in a few minutes I’m going to make the case, and I hope that you’re not offended, that I’m looking right now at a whole bunch of shepherds, going about the business of living our lives.

In Luke’s account it was just another day at the office. Now it just so happened that the shepherd’s office was out in the wilderness. As they shepherded those sheep, it was just another day. There’s more to that coming up. Before I come to that, if this sounds slightly familiar to you I am resting on the notion that after a year – and I say this with all love, in all affection – after a year I am banking on the fact that you probably don’t remember all that I’m about to read, because it’s been a year and you’ve heard it before. It means so much to me and I want it to mean so much to you that I’m going to share it again. And I’m going to stop about halfway through and say a few more words about the shepherds.

This is from the book, “I Thought My Father Was God,” a collection of true stories gathered about 25 years ago by National Public Radio. They started a new thing called the National Story Project. Some of you, I know, are familiar with it. They invited people to send in their stories. The editors at NPR were so inspired and so amazed by these stories that they decided to choose their favorites and put them in a book, and this story made the cut. It’s entitled, “Christmas Morning, 1949.” Let’s have a show of hands – who was around for Christmas in 1949? C’mon, get them up there, be proud. OK, great. This is from Sylvia Seymour Akin, Memphis, Tennessee, 1949.

“A light drizzle was falling as my sister Jill and I ran out of the Methodist church, eager to get home and play with presents Santa had left for us and our baby sister Sharon. Across the street from the church was a Pan American gas station” – that’s 1949 – “where the Greyhound bus stopped. It was closed for Christmas, but I noticed a family standing outside the locked door, huddled under the narrow overhang in an attempt to keep dry. I wondered briefly why they were there but then forgot about them as I raced to keep up with Jill. Once we got home there was barely time to enjoy our presents. We had to go off to our grandparents’ house for our annual Christmas dinner. As we drove down the highway through town, I noticed that the family was still there, standing outside the closed gas station. My father was driving very slowly down the highway. The closer we got to the turnoff for my grandparents’ house the slower the car went.”

I’m going to stand back from the story right now and make the case that for Sylvia and her family, especially her parents, up to this point in many ways I suspect it had been just another Christmas. Nothing unusual, everything going as planned. And there they were, the shepherds, out in the fields watching their flocks by night. Just another night. Listen to what the scholar says about the shepherds. When I first discovered this years ago I was nothing short of shocked. I didn’t know, and I want you to know, I want all of us to know. Quote – “Shepherding was a despised occupation at the time of Jesus.” It was a despised occupation. “Although the reference to shepherds evokes a positive, pastoral image to the modern reader and underscores Jesus’ association with the line of David, in the first century shepherds were scorned. They were scorned as dishonest people who grazed their flocks on other people’s lands. Against this background it is possible that Luke is double duty from the angels appearing to the shepherds. This pictures Jesus as one sent to the lowly and the outcast.”

Now I’m not standing here in this pulpit, when I said earlier, I’m looking out at a bunch of shepherds, I’m not saying you’re lowly and I’m not saying you’re an outcast. I’m not saying that about us, but I am saying that the fact that Luke has the angels appear to shepherds means that those angels can appear to anyone, and especially to anyone. Now I’ve asked some of you to raise your hands, and this will be the last time I do this this morning. Anyone here rates as anyone please raise your hand. Yeah. This is what Luke is trying to say to us. Now last week you might remember we had Magi – wealthy, influential, educated. They had access to King Herod, and they went to him, and they had a conversation. Then they went about the business of following the star, trying to find the new king of Israel. We’re talking about common, lowly, normal people. And up to this point it had been just another Christmas.

“My father was driving very slowly down the highway. The closer we got to the turnoff for my grandparents’ house the slower the car went.” — Now it’s about to happen. The angels are about to appear. — “Suddenly my father U-turned in the middle of the road and shouted, ‘I can’t stand it.’ “What?’ asked my mother. ‘It’s those people back there, at the Pan Am station, standing in the rain. They’ve got children. It’s Christmas. I can’t stand it.’” Now if I was present with the father and the family at that point I would say, “Everybody stop, take a timeout. Do you see the angels, can you hear them? Can you hear them communicating with you? In the fact that you said you can’t stand it and that you’re being stirred to compassion, it’s the angels visiting.” No, I wouldn’t have said that. But I’m saying it now.

“My father rolled down the window and said to the family at the station, ‘Merry Christmas.’ ‘Howdy,’ the man replied. He was very tall and had to stoop slightly to peer into the car. Jill, Sharon and I stared at the children, and they stared back at us. ‘You waiting on a bus?’ my father asked. The man said that they were. They were going to Birmingham, Alabama, where he had a brother and prospects of a job. ‘Well, that bus isn’t going to come along for several hours and you’re getting wet standing here. Winborn’s just a couple miles up the road. They’ve got a shed with a cover there, and some benches,’ my father said. ‘Why don’t y’all get in the car and I’ll run you up there.’” – ‘Y’all’ is something they say in Memphis. – “The man thought about it for a moment, and then he beckoned to his family. They climbed into the car. They had no luggage, only the clothes that they were wearing. Once they settled in, my father looked back over his shoulder and asked the children if Santa had found them yet. Three glum faces mutely gave him his answer. ‘Well, I didn’t think so,’ my father said, winking at my mother, ‘because when I saw Santa this morning, he told me that he was having trouble finding you all, and he asked me if he could leave your toys at my house. We’ll just go get them before I take you to the bus stop.’ All at once, the three children’s faces lit up, and they began to bounce around in the back seat, laughing and chattering. When we got out of the car at our house, the three children ran through the front door and straight to the toys that were spread out under our Christmas tree. One of the girls spied Jill’s doll and immediately hugged it to her breast. I remember that the little boy grabbed Sharon’s ball. And the other girl picked up something of mine. All this happened a long time ago, but the memory of it remains clear. That was the Christmas when my sisters and I learned the joy of making others happy. My mother noticed that the middle child was wearing a short-sleeved dress, so she gave the girl Jill’s only sweater to wear. My father invited them to join us at our grandparents’ for Christmas dinner, but the parents refused. Even when we all tried to talk them into coming, they were firm in their decision. Back in the car, on the way to Winborn, my father asked the man if he had money for bus fare. His brother had sent tickets, the man said. My father reached into his pocket and pulled out two dollars, which was all he had left until his next payday. He pressed the money into the man’s hand. The man tried to give it back, but my father insisted. ‘It’ll be late when you get to Birmingham, and these children will be hungry before then. Take it. I’ve been broke before, and I know what it’s like when you can’t feed your family.’ We left them there at the bus stop in Winborn. As we drove away, I watched out the window as long as I could, looking back at the little girl hugging her new doll.”

Can’t you just see her? They drive away, Sylvia looks back and sees the little girl hugging her doll. So, the shepherds, the angels came. It was just another night that turned into the night and today is just another day that can turn into the day. They had an encounter with the angels. They were afraid something supernatural was going on. Whenever we’re called to do things that get us out of our comfort zone, this takes us from angels that make us shout, “I just can’t stand it anymore. I’ve got to do something.” It can be more than a little frightening. But the angels – it doesn’t say this in the scripture, but it should. Do you know what the shepherds did? They girded their loins, and then they said, “Let’s go.” Let’s go. Amen?