Hidden Christmas - Shepherds | Luke 2
Advent is a season of waiting, watching, and hoping. Yet it often arrives wrapped in noise—busy schedules, endless obligations, and a constant stream of distraction. In the middle of all that, Luke’s Christmas story invites us to slow down and behold something unexpected.
This year, as we walk through the “Hidden Christmas,” one of the most surprising moments in the story comes not in a palace, a temple, or even the birth scene itself—but in a random field, with a group of shepherds.
When the Author Steps Into the Story
In 1961, after becoming the first human to orbit the Earth, Russian cosmonaut Yuri Gagarin reportedly said, “I went up to the heavens and God was not there.” The statement was meant to suggest that God does not exist.
C.S. Lewis responded with a powerful analogy. God, he argued, does not relate to humanity like an upstairs neighbor relates to a downstairs neighbor. Instead, humanity relates to God the way Hamlet relates to Shakespeare—as a character to an author.
If characters are ever going to know their author, the author must choose to write himself into the story.
That is exactly what we celebrate at Christmas. The Creator, Sustainer, and Author of all things steps into the story He wrote—in the person of Jesus.
Why the Shepherds?
Luke’s Gospel tells the birth of Jesus in just a few brief sentences. There’s very little detail—no dramatic buildup, no emotional commentary. And then, almost abruptly, Luke spends fourteen verses describing shepherds in a field.
It feels backwards.
If we were writing the story, we might linger on Mary and Joseph, the journey to Bethlehem, or the moment of birth. Instead, Luke moves quickly past the manger and focuses on the response.
That’s the key.
Luke is less concerned with the historical details and more concerned with how people respond to the good news. And throughout his Gospel, he places responses side by side to show us what faith looks like—and what it doesn’t.
A Tale of Two Responses
Earlier in Luke 1, we meet Zechariah—a priest performing his once-in-a-lifetime duty in the temple. He is as close to God’s presence as he will ever be. An angel appears to him with incredible news: his long-awaited son will be born and will prepare the way for the Lord.
And Zechariah doubts.
“How can I know this?” he asks.
Despite his position, knowledge, and proximity to the temple, Zechariah responds with fear and disbelief—and he leaves the encounter unable to speak.
Now contrast that with Luke 2.
The shepherds are young, low-status boys working the night shift in an unnamed field. They are far from the temple, far from power, far from religious authority. And yet, when the angel appears and declares the good news, their response is immediate faith.
“Let’s go straight to Bethlehem and see what has happened.”
They go. They see. They believe. And they leave glorifying and praising God.
One man leaves silent.
The shepherds leave singing.
Luke places these stories together to show us something profound: faith is not about status, proximity, or religious experience. It’s about how we respond when God speaks.
Do Not Be Afraid—Behold
In both encounters, the angel begins with the same words: Do not be afraid.
Fear is the natural response to God’s overwhelming presence. But fear is not meant to be the final word.
In Luke 2:10, the angel says:
“Do not be afraid, for behold—I proclaim to you good news of great joy.”
Older translations use the word behold, and it’s a word that carries weight. It doesn’t mean a casual glance. It means to truly see, to fix your attention, to let yourself be shaped by what you’re looking at.
We often see without really beholding.
Jesus later talks about having eyes that don’t see and ears that don’t hear. It’s possible to consume information, images, and noise constantly—and still miss what really matters.
We Become What We Behold
C.S. Lewis once wrote that avoiding God is surprisingly easy:
“Avoid silence. Avoid solitude. Concentrate on money, status, health, and above all your own grievances. Keep the radio on. Live in a crowd.”
What we behold forms us.
When we behold fear—news cycles, political outrage, market swings—we become fearful.
When we behold approval—what others think of us—we become anxious and insecure.
When we behold power and control—we become restless and disappointed.
These things are not always bad, but when they become our primary focus, they quietly replace God.
And Advent exposes this tension.
The season meant to help us behold Jesus is often the season where we are most distracted.
The Absurd, Beautiful Gospel
The good news is not that God came to fix things from a distance.
The good news is that God came near.
Not as a conquering king.
Not with an army.
Not with force.
But as a baby.
Vulnerable. Dependent. Small.
And ultimately, He would give His life in the most humiliating way imaginable.
This is the kingdom of God—upside down, unexpected, and fueled by love rather than power.
When Fear Rises, Look Again
If fear has a grip on us, the question is not simply what do we believe?
The deeper question is:
What are we beholding?
The shepherds show us the way forward. They listen. They look. They move toward Jesus. And they leave changed.
So this Advent, when fear creeps in, when distractions pull at your attention, when anxiety feels overwhelming—
Do not be afraid.
Behold the good news.
The Author has stepped into the story.
And He is still writing redemption into ours.
