That night changed everything. For though shepherds had watched these hills for generations, nothing could prepare us for what we saw.
We were the lowest of men in those days. Shepherds were considered unclean, too rough to be welcome in the courts of the temple, too poor to matter in the eyes of Rome. The religious leaders in Jerusalem often passed us by with disgust. Yet we knew the Scriptures as best as we could, stories passed down from our fathers and grandfathers around fires just like ours. The promise of the Messiah was the hope of every generation—the One who would come from David’s line, who would deliver us from oppression, who would bring peace and reign forever.
The beautiful night sky was deep and quiet. The smell of smoke clung to my clothes. The sheep shuffled close, their woolly warmth a comfort against the chill. My hands were rough, my body tired from long days and longer nights. I thought it would be another night of keeping watch, protecting the flock from wolves or thieves.
Then—light! Blinding, brilliant, pure light that turned night into day. My heart seized, a gasp escaped me, and we all fell to the ground. My ears rang, my body shook, and my thoughts raced. Was this judgment? Was this the end of the world?
Then a voice—clear, strong, but filled with peace—broke through the terror. “Don’t be afraid! I bring you good news that will bring great joy to all people. The Savior—yes, the Messiah, the Lord—has been born today in Bethlehem, the city of David!”
Born. Today. In Bethlehem!
I could hardly grasp the words. For generations we had prayed, wept, and longed for deliverance. Our fathers had died under Roman rule waiting for Him. Our mothers had whispered the promises of the prophets to us as children. Could it be? After hundreds of years of silence, after centuries of waiting—this very night, the Messiah was born?
I remember thinking, Why us? Why here? Why shepherds? Why would the Holy One of Israel send His heavenly messenger to men like us—the least, the forgotten, the poor? And yet in that moment I felt it: He was not ashamed of us. Heaven’s glory came down to our lowly field, as if to say, This news is for you first—for those who thought they had no place at the table, for the humble, for the broken.
And then, before my heart could steady, the sky erupted. Angels—thousands upon thousands of them—filling the heavens with a glory I had no words for. The night was swallowed in light so pure, so radiant, that it seemed the stars themselves bowed before it. Their voices rose together, countless yet perfectly united, rolling over the hills like waves of thunder and yet carrying the sweetness of a hundred harps. There were tones I had never heard before on this earth, sounds that seemed to pierce straight through flesh and bone and settle deep into the soul. Some carried the power of trumpets, others the resonance of mighty horns, all blending in harmony that shook the air around us. My whole body trembled as tears blurred my eyes, for I was hearing heaven’s song—the very courts of God spilling into our world. “Glory to God in highest heaven, and peace on earth to those with whom God is pleased.” The earth beneath us quaked as if joining their praise, the dust rising from where we had fallen, the sheep bleating in terror, yet all of creation seemed caught in awe. None of it mattered but this: Heaven was touching earth. God Himself was speaking to us.
When the sky grew still again, silence seemed deafening. We stared at each other with wide eyes, our hearts pounding with both fear and joy. And we knew—without a single doubt—we had to go. We had to see. If the Messiah had truly come, nothing else in the world mattered.
We ran down those rocky paths, the sharp stones cutting into our sandals, our cloaks flapping behind us. My thoughts burned with awe: The Messiah is here. Today. In my lifetime. In my town. In my sight. And somehow… God chose me to hear it first.
When we found Him, just as the angel had said—a baby wrapped in cloth, lying in a manger—I could barely breathe. The smell of hay, the warm breath of animals, the quiet cooing of the Child… it was so ordinary. And yet this ordinary sight held the extraordinary truth: here was the One our people had waited for since the days of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob.
I fell to my knees, the rough straw biting into my skin, and whispered what I could barely speak: “Messiah. Lord. Savior.”
We left the stable and could not keep our excitement to ourselves. Every street, every passerby in Bethlehem heard our voices that night. We proclaimed what we had seen, and though many doubted, many more marveled. Some scoffed, but others clutched their children close, tears of hope rising in their eyes.
We returned back to our fields, but we were never the same. Every breath, every step was filled with praise: “Glory to God in highest heaven, and peace on earth to those with whom God is pleased.”
Scriptures: Luke 2:1-20
