Sermon for December 24, 2025
Christmas Eve
Luke 2:1-20
Rev. Karl-John N. Stone
Caesar Augustus was the Roman Emperor, the most powerful man in the world. He shared lots of propaganda about himself throughout the territories he ruled: His birth was the beginning of the “good news”; he was the Savior of the world; his victories had brought peace to the world. They called it the “Pax Romana” – the Peace of Rome. And what was that peace built on? Military campaigns to conquer places like Galilee and Judea, and lots of other far-flung places, which were all filled with people who resented what Rome had done to them. How could Augustus keep the peace in these places? Well, he’d have to send soldiers and their weapons. And for soldiers to travel quickly and respond to trouble, he’d have to build roads. Soldiers and weapons and roads were expensive. How would he pay for all of that? Taxes! And so “a decree went out from Ceasar Augustus that all the world should be registered”. He wanted to know how much money he could collect, and where the people lived so his soldiers would know who to keep an eye on.
All of these decisions made from “on high” to assert power and control on an empire-wide level—these had implications for people on a personal level. Even for a young couple engaged to be married named Mary and Joseph, who were expecting a child to be born. And to fulfill the requirements of the decree imposed upon them, they’ve got to take a trip, and it isn’t a honeymoon. They’d have to walk 80, 90 miles from Nazareth down to Bethlehem—if they were lucky maybe someone would lend them a donkey. So off they went, back to where Joseph’s ancestors lived, to the “house and family of David” in the “city of David” called Bethlehem. It wasn’t much of a city; just a little village a few miles outside the real city, Jerusalem. Anyway, Bethlehem is where Joseph’s ancestor David came from, and many centuries earlier David had risen from being the youngest of his brothers, to becoming King of Israel and almost as powerful as Ceasar Augustus. But not anymore. The power and wealth of the “house and family of David” was a memory. They were just regular people now, like all the other families and clans around them—all of them under the thumb of Caesar Augustus, the self-styled “savior” of the world—and they were expected to do whatever he said.
What about those shepherds living in the fields around Bethlehem? In their day, they were even lower in status than Mary and Joseph. But maybe they were also descendants of David? After all, David was once a shepherd, and he knew what it was like to have to keep watch over the flocks by night, just like they did. Being a shepherd was a hard job—physically demanding, outside in all kinds of weather, dangerous. It was also an important job; they were some of the “essential workers” of the time. Their work was mostly out of sight, but if they didn’t do their job, everyone else would realize it soon enough. They raised sheep not only to supply the sacrificial animals used in the Jerusalem Temple, but also to provide food and clothing material for their community.
Who would be the equivalent of the shepherds today? Of course, there still are shepherds, and ranchers, and farmers. And also factory workers, mechanics, police officers, firefighters, ER nurses, truck drivers, snow plowers, cooks, IT specialists—these are just a few of the jobs that have to happen every day, and overnight, so that everyone else can sleep silently, or call for help in an emergency, or wake up to find that all the conveniences and infrastructure and public services we take for granted are still there when we need them.
And when the Lord sent an angel on that holy night, did the angel appear to Augustus in Rome, the most powerful man in the world? Or to Quirinius the governor of Syria, his representative in that region? Or even to Mary and Joseph in Bethlehem, the descendants of a once mighty king? No. The angel appeared and stood before the shepherds out in the fields. These are the last people you’d expect to hear any news whatsoever. But God’s messenger goes to stand on the same level as the humble shepherds! Instead of a decree from on high, the angel goes to find them and speak to them; to give a gift of God’s grace, personally, to people who lived on the margins, on the edge of town, on the edge of society, on the edge of respectability. And that is a sign for us—that God’s way of doing things turns the ways of the world upside down!
The actual “good news of great joy for all people” is not the propaganda about the birth of Ceasar Augustus and the Peace of Rome. It’s the message about a baby named Jesus, born in little Bethlehem, born when Mary and Joseph and all their family and neighbors had no peace. This Jesus is the real Savior of the world. He saves not by conquest and control, but by God becoming radically united with humanity, born into the world as a humble helpless baby just like each of us. And God even uses creation itself to communicate his presence (creation is represented by the manger, built with the stuff of the earth, used by the animals to eat their food).
Baby Jesus, it turns out, does have an army to go up against Ceasar’s own. It’s the heavenly host (host means army)—and their “weapons” are songs and praise, as they sing: “Glory to God in the highest heaven, and on earth peace among those whom he favors!” The angels’ song lets us in on a promise: Peace and salvation don’t come through what anyone tries to impose, but through the grace of God given as a gift, received in faith. God’s gift inspires us to say “Oh, wow! Thank you, God!”
God has a different way than Caesar of getting things done. Caesar (or even ourselves when we think we can try to control the world) makes a decree—you’d better do what I say, or else! God’s Word, however, doesn’t force us to do anything. But God’s Word does invite us to participate with Jesus in the things the Holy Spirit is doing.
The shepherds received their invitation from the angel: “This will be a sign for you; you will find a child wrapped in swaddling clothes and lying in a manger.” Now they get to decide what to do with the invitation. How will they participate? “Let’s go and see”, they say. They run to Bethlehem, find it just as the Lord promised, and tell everyone what the angel had said. Then the shepherds return to their fields and their conversation goes something like this: “Oh, wow! Thank you, God!”
We never hear about them again in the gospel of Luke—except every Christmas Eve. God invited them to have a small part in Jesus’ great story of salvation; a small part, but boy did it make a big impact. And since we never hear about the shepherds again, maybe that is God’s invitation to us: Now we get to be the shepherds! We get to have a small part in Jesus’ great story of salvation. So let me ask you: What is something that you have heard or seen that makes you want to say “Oh wow! Thank you, God!” I invite you to turn to someone next to you, take a minute, and briefly share something you’ve heard or seen that makes you say “Oh, wow! Thank you, God!”
[After a minute or two]…Ok, you’ve had a chance to find out a little bit of what the shepherds felt like on that first Christmas. When you go home, I invite you to be like Mary as you treasure these words you’ve heard and shared tonight, and ponder them in your heart. Amen.