It’s dark outside. It’s cold. It’s late. On this night 2,000 years ago, most people in Judea were gathered inside their homes, trying to keep warm with a heavy blanket or two. On this night 2,000 years ago, most people in Judea were gathered inside their homes, perhaps using only a small oil lamp to ward off the dark. On this night 2,000 years ago, most people in Judea were nestled snug in their beds – dreaming not of sugar plums and brightly-wrapped presents, but dreaming of whatever people 2,000 years ago dreamt of on any regular, non-eventful night. Other than an occasional snore or perhaps the sound of a barking dog in the distance, it truly was a silent night.
But at this late hour of this dark and cold night, there is one place in Judea that is anything but silent. They call it a stable, but it’s really just a small cave in the side of a hill in the very little town of Bethlehem. A man and his very pregnant wife are in that cave, surrounded perhaps by a mule, an ox, a cow, and possibly any number of chickens. The man and his wife probably have a small oil lamp, carefully placed far away from anything that might catch fire and burn.
And then, the very pregnant woman goes into labor. There’s no doctor, no nurses, no one to help with the delivery of that baby that is ready to be born. There’s no hot water, no sterile cloths, no monitors and machines, no bed – just a dirt floor and perhaps some straw on which to lie. Even by the primitive living standards of poor peasants 2,000 years ago in Judea or anywhere in the known world, this is a terrible, dirty place to bring a new life into this world. But it would have to make do. There was no place else. After that long, exhausting trip from Nazareth, there was no room for them in the inn.
The silence of the cold, dark night has been replaced by the sounds of a woman in childbirth, sounds that every parent knows and remembers. The sounds of an anxious, loving husband encouraging his wife and giving what care and reassurance that he can give. And finally, the sounds of a newborn baby boy – the shrill cries that assault our ears while giving that blessed assurance that yes, this baby has been born.
There probably weren’t any sheep or goats inside that stable because those animals were kept in the fields outside of town. With no shelter to protect them from the night cold, the shepherds keeping watch over their flock by night were possibly huddled near a small fire – a fire that provided the only warmth and the only light at this late hour on this dark and cold night. Other than the crackling of wood in the fire or perhaps the sound of a shepherd who had fallen asleep or even a wild animal making sounds in the distance, it was a silent night there, as well. Just like any another night.
But then the silence was broken. The dark was replaced with unimaginable light – light never before seen by shepherds in the fields of Bethlehem or any other human beings anywhere. The sky was filled with the heavenly host – more of God’s angels than anyone could ever count or ever possibly imagine. And the silence of that night was replaced by an incredible announcement: “And the angel said to them, ‘Fear not, for behold, I bring you good news of great joy that will be for all the people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is Christ the Lord. And this will be a sign for you: you will find a baby wrapped in swaddling cloths 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, and on earth peace among those with whom he is pleased!’”
When we read and remember the Christmas account of Luke chapter 2, we visualize and romanticize the beauty and the wonder of that silent night 2,000 years ago in the little town of Bethlehem. But unless you were there – which we weren’t – I don’t think any of us can fully comprehend the magnitude and significance and the creation-altering importance of the events of that night. The Son of Almighty God was born – born not in luxury in a magnificent palace, but in the dirt and squalor and poverty of a small and insignificant barn, surrounded not by servants but by barnyard animals. And the very first news that God’s Son had been born was made not by elaborate birth announcements delivered to the rich and famous and people seen as the most important – but by God’s heavenly host, singing to unimportant, lowly, peasant shepherds who were just trying to stay warm and stay awake as they watched their flock by night.
The message the angels brought to those shepherds about that newborn baby can be heard even still on this night, this Christmas Eve some 2,000 years after that cold and dark night. “Fear not, for behold, I bring you good news of great joy that will be for all the people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is Christ the Lord. Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace among those with whom he is pleased!” This is not just any baby that has been born: this is the Messiah, the Christ, promised to mankind as long ago as Eden to come and save the people from their sins. This is not just any baby that has been born: this is God’s only-begotten son, begotten of His Father before all worlds, God of God, Light of Light, very God of very God, whose kingdom will have no end. Sinful man cannot see holy God and live – and yet, this Son of God lies in that manger, the Word made flesh, plainly visible for all the shepherds and for all who have eyes to see.
Luke tells us that after the shepherds saw this baby Jesus lying in the manger, “they made known the saying that had been told them concerning this child. And all who heard it wondered at what the shepherds told them. And the shepherds returned, glorifying and praising God for all they had heard and seen, as it had been told them.”
You almost wonder if the excitement and joy of the shepherds was so great that they never got any sleep or any rest at all on that night. You almost assume that as Mary “treasured up all these things, pondering them in her heart,” her wonder at God’s great gift may have kept her tired eyes open as she gazed on this precious newborn child. We sing of sleeping in heavenly peace, but you doubt that anyone mentioned in Luke’s account got much sleep at all on that previously silent night.
But tonight, on this Eve of Christ’s birth, every one of us can truly sleep in heavenly peace, and the same is true of every night that God gives us here on this earth. We sleep with the peace and assurance that this Savior, who is Christ the Lord, who was born on that long-ago Christmas, grew into childhood and into adulthood. We sleep with the peace and assurance that this true Son of Mary, true Son of God, willingly gave His sinless life on the cross so that our sins could be forgiven. We sleep with the peace and assurance that this Jesus who was raised from the dead on the third day has promised that all who believe in Him will likewise be raised from the dead, where we shall live with all the angels, all the saints – and with our God – for all eternity.
So sleep well tonight. Because even though it’s late and it’s dark and it’s cold outside, the baby Jesus – the light of the world – has come to forever banish the darkness of sin and forever warm us with His never-ending love. As Jesus many years later told His followers and tells us as well: “I have come into the world as light, so that whoever believes in me may not remain in darkness.”
Sleep well tonight, fellow redeemed in Christ. Settle yourself in the warmth of your home and the warmth of your Savior’s arms. And sleep in heavenly peace.
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