Virtual Advent Wreath, Week 3 - Where the Lambs are Kept
Here in these weeks leading up to Christmas, we are posting a series of meditations focused on the story of Jesus’ birth from the Gospels. For more on what Advent means and why many Christains observe it, here’s a short introduction. If you’d like to make a wreath of your own for your family or study group, here’s how. The text for this week’s reflection comes from Luke 2:8-15.
“8There were shepherds out in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night. 9And an angel of the Lord appeared to them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were filled with fear. 10And the angel said to them, “Fear not, for behold, I bring you good news of a great joy that will be for all the people. 11For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is Christ the Lord. 12And this will be a sign for you: you will find a baby wrapped in swaddling cloths and lying in a manger.” 13And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God and saying,
14″Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace among those with whom he is pleased!”
15When the angels went away from them into heaven, the shepherds said to one another, “Let us go over to Bethlehem and see this thing that has happened, which the Lord has made known to us.” — Luke 2:8-15 (ESV)
The shepherd’s life was ironic.
Their job was to tend the animals that would be sacrificed to atone for the sins of the people. Yet because of their handling of the animals, they were ceremonially unclean and thus prevented from keeping the ceremonial law themselves. On top of that, because they were ceremonially unclean, they were often regarded as untrustworthy and irreligious.
However, it was also expected that one who did his job well, a good shepherd, would be willing to lay down his life for his sheep.
When you put all of that together, what you get is this: a good shepherd was one who cared deeply for the lambs under his watch that were appointed to die on the altar for the sins of the people who saw the shepherds themselves as unclean, irreligious and untrustworthy.
The shepherd’s lives were, in effect, sacrifices.
It was to shepherds that the angel of the Lord appeared one night outside Bethlehem. And what did the angel say?
In essence, he said “Go behold the end of your life as an outsider.”
The angel paints this glorious picture of the presence of the promised Messiah. But even more than that, he uses names to describe Jesus to these shepherds—names that would speak to His purpose. He calls Jesus the Savior, Christ the Lord. Savior means He will atone for the sins of the people, Christ identifies Him as their deliverer, or Messiah. And the name Lord here identifies Him as divine.
And there’s one more expression that the angel uses that would have meant the world to these shepherds. The angel says Christ the Lord is born “unto you.” (Lk 2:11) The divine Savior and Messiah is born unto them! Though they lived most of their lives on the outside looking in, they were not outsiders to this gift, but the recipients of it.
This was big news. Huge!
The shepherds sensed it, but the angels knew it, and the details of their encounter with these shepherds offers a glimpse into the cosmic weight of this announcement. At first, there is only one angel who appears to these men in Bethlehem’s fields. But as soon as he announces Jesus’ birth, “suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God.” (Lk 2:13)
It was as if there were millions of angels hiding just behind some celestial corner, and once they heard, “Unto you is born this day a Savior, who is Christ the Lord!” they were unable to contain their joy any longer and all rushed in, praising God, singing, “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace among those with whom He is pleased.”
It is at this point that, if we are wise, we will defer to the angels and assume theirs is the response that fits the announcement of the coming of the Savior of the world, Jesus Christ.
But it only gets richer from here.
The glory of all glories has appeared to the lowest of the lows, and the angels give the shepherds a sign that would have left them speechless.
Their Messiah and Savior can be found, the angel tells them, where the young lambs are kept. He’ll be the one not covered in wool, but in a swaddling cloth.
Where the lambs are kept?
When they find Jesus in the manger as the angel said, the very location of his birth is drenched in significance. The Savior has been born into their unclean world in the same manner as a lamb. The symbolism was not lost on these men. When the shepherds see Jesus there, they see not only that he has come; they get a hint as to why.
He came to be the perfect lamb, the ultimate, lasting sacrifice. This baby’s coming was to accomplish and establish peace between the God of all creation and His image bearer’s who habitually reject Him.
From the manger in Bethlehem to the cross on Calvary, Jesus moved among the people, came into their homes, touched their blind eyes and permitted their unfaithful hands to touch him. He defended the defenseless and opposed the self-righteous. He taught them profound lessons from ordinary events. He ate at their tables, laughed with their children and wept over their grief.
But never, never, never did He abandon His purpose for coming, which was to die for a world of outsiders as the Lamb of God who takes away the sins of the world.
The Apostle Paul later wrote, “You know the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ that though He was rich, for your sake He became poor, so that you by His poverty might become rich.” (2 Cor 8:9) Jesus was born poor. And He lived poor. And He died poor for the sake of His people.
May that image of the manger, where young sacrificial lambs are kept, be a reminder that Jesus has come into this world in the same way he left it, out in the open, among the outcast, poor and despised, but singularly driven by one purpose—to ransom captive Israel that mourns in lonely exile here until the Son of God appears.
Rejoice! Rejoice! Immanuel has come to you, O Israel.
A.S. Peterson has crafted a work of compelling historical fiction which begs the question, “Can this really be a debut novel?” With dogged fidelity, Peterson captures the spirit, manners, and social conditions present during the American Revolutionary War. We meet colorful, credible characters who navigate the high seas of life and love, dependence and independence, war and peace, truth and consequence, and despite forays into dark places, The Fiddler’s Gun is beautiful, lyrical, and redemptive.
Walt Wangerin, Jr. strikes again.
Janner Igiby lives in Glipwood, a nothing little village in the land of Skree, on the edge of the Dark Sea of Darkness. Manhood is on the horizon, but Janner finds it hard to feel much hope for the future. Skree is ruled by foreign oppressors, snake men called the Fangs of Dang, servants of a shadowy emperor named Gnag the Nameless. The Skreeans are weak and weaponless. They’re even tool-less. Any Skreean who needs to use a hoe has to borrow one from the Fangs (and fill out the requisite paperwork). And from time to time, the Black Carriage arrives in Glipwood to carry young Skreeans toward an unknown fate across the Dark Sea.
I am not a fan of Civil War literature; in fact, I have always thought of it as one of those weird sub-genres for obsessive types. They’re almost like Trekkies with their re-enactments and maniacal devotion to detail. It’s just not my thing (although I’m secretly jealous that they get to dress up and shoot cannons).
A Randall Goodgame song is like a great independent movie. Characters deliver lines like they were lifted from a break room, a truck stop, or a downtown diner. Seemingly incongruent scenes are juxtaposed and plot isn’t obvious; in fact, narrative–a good story–is often more evident than linear plot lines. An indie movie, like a Randall Goodgame song, seems to tell itself. Rather than being rudely yanked by a chain through a sequence of contrived events, with a Randall Goodgame song, I have the sense that I’m being allowed a willing, but vicarious sneak peak into the real lives of his real characters.
Sara Groves irritates me just a little bit. With each album she makes, she moves from strength to strength and is always raising the bar with the quality, depth, and lyrical ambition of her work. And as a fellow artist, that’s just a little irritating since it means the rest of us are going to have to work harder if we hope to keep up.
I am outside on my front porch. The yellowed leaves are methodically falling from the black walnut in the yard, my breath is chalky visible in the recent cold snap, and lately I have been exploring the unpleasant nuances of the dark night of a soul - my own, to be exact. It is a strange passion we live out on this over-glorified orb of rock hurtling through space at some rate that I’m sure would astound me were I to know what it was. It is an odd series of days, I am realizing, when you question your own faith more than you question your own doubt. And, indeed, it is these nagging questions which have prompted me to share my thoughts on Andrew Peterson’s 2003 album, Love and Thunder.
11-year old Reuben Land, a character in the 2001 book Peace Like a River, provides narration that is clear-eyed and insightful, yet retains the magic, wonder, and innocence of youth. I found it easy to entrust my imagination to the author’s clever method of telling the story through the sensibilities of a pre-teen boy. An author with lesser skill would have either made the boy too smart-alecky for his own good or impossibly cute.
I just finished a book that upon closing it, I felt like it finished me in a sense. A quiet meditative book that reached down and stirred the deep waters in me. It’s Marilynne Robinson’s 2005 Pulitzer prize winner Gilead, given to me by my friend Andrew Peterson.
Eric Peters’s body of work addresses a diverse range of topics, but hope is a recurring theme that gently percolates in the midst of it all. And yet, somewhere between the 2001 masterpiece Land of the Living, and Scarce, the flavor of hope that Peters’s work emits has evolved closer to a tone that is more resolute than what came before. And though the complexion of hope has a broad range, the lyrics from Scarce–while intermittently contrite and timorous as in previous efforts, are now strengthened and bolstered by roots that have grown deeper, radiating an underlying grit and security.
Having read The Great Divorce many times over the years, I’ve found this classic from the great C.S. Lewis to be full of startling clarity and depth on the differences between Heaven and Hell. The only thing both have in common is that both begin in the human will; we can either let Heaven enter us and rule in us to blossom into love and goodness, or allow Hell to infect and reign in our hearts by the daily refusal to submit to Heaven.
Even if you haven’t heard Room to Breathe, its still likely you’ve heard Andy Gullahorn. He’s what I’d call a heavy lifter by trade. He writes lyrics, plays guitar, arranges vocals and adds production help to the work of artists like Jill Phillips and Andrew Peterson.
Allow me to preface this by telling you that I am a great despiser of gushing reviews. I’d much rather write (or read) a scathing dismemberment of the latest Brett Ratner film or Terry Goodkind book than suffer through four hundred words of overblown hyperbole about even the best of things. But when asked to write some thoughts on Frederick Buechner’s Godric, no amount of distaste for high praise was able to intervene. I hope you’ll take what I say with the understanding that I do not say it readily or lightly.
Thank you, Russ, for this touching look at something that can be missed from over exposure.
I am convinced that all of the Gospel stories had much more meaning to the people present for them, than us reading them.
Russ,
Thank you for writing an encouraging reminder that Christ came to us who were unclean and outcast and opening up the details of the story that we often overlook.
Russ, you have gotten right to the heart of the matter and written it so beautifully. We are ALL outsiders — cast out from the garden, lowly and unworthy of the gift. Yet God values us so much that He comes after us. Shocking — nearly unbelievable — and still the truest truth. No matter what sorrows burden our earthly lives this season, if we understand this truth, our only response can be JOY, and an intense desire to share the reason for that joy with everyone we encounter. Behold — the Lamb of God — God with us.