Still remnants of Christmas on a few porches. Evergreen wreaths, yellowed by time, look uneasy as Spring hides hopeful around the bend.
Meanwhile, a Nor’easter huffs and puffs outside the window. Winter busy bullying Spring.
Maybe that’s how it was for those shepherds, life stuck in sameness. Always winter, never spring.
Groggy grumblers, eking out a life, a huddle of might-have-beens, long ago losers of hope until God showed up.
Perhaps, in their terror they cried,”Heaven help us!”
And Heaven did.
Next thing we read in Luke 2, they’ve made a beeline to Bethlehem.
Imagine God at play, beaming at One audacious plan, welcoming shepherds to meet their Good Shepherd, the One who’d, one day, lay down His life for theirs.
God at work, flipping class systems, bidding outcasts come, see and touch the King of Kings. Smiling as shepherds shuffled through straw to peek at this Miracle in a manger, such unlikely visitors, first signers in God’s baby book.
It’s March. Why slog through life’s muck to a stable? Maybe because it’s the season of Lent, a less cluttered time to catch God’s heart for shepherds and the rest of us unlikely invitees to Grace-Land. Perhaps this season of doing without’s the better time to discover an inkling of what God relinquished to become one of us.
Imagine eavesdropping as shepherds babble baby-nonsense to the One who spoke the world and them into being. Picture the calloused hands of shepherds cradling the Lamb of God.
Stilled by wonder.
Holy Hush-a-Bye time.
God’s sacred come down.
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