To the shepherds they came, millions of angels dazzling in the night. To the last and least, overlooked in the darkened fields owned by others.

Not to the blazing torches of power or golden lamps of religion did they appear, for those glory in their own light. But to the glowing coals of the shepherds’ fire in the wilderness.

God, it seems, favors shepherds. Identifies with them. Chooses them. Abraham, Isaac and Jacob. Jacob’s sons. Moses, in the wilderness. Amos the Prophet.

Samuel came to anoint Israel’s greatest king. Grasped the holy flask to choose the tall and handsome. But God chose the last and least, the shepherd boy, not even counted as a son. To this boy came the oil of anointing, running down face and hair, a promise of destiny.

The Bethlehem shepherds didn’t deconstruct the glory they were chosen to witness. Shouldn’t the Savior be born into wealth? Did the angels really mean a manger? They carried not their doubts but their wonder to the babe. Offering joy, not speculation. Received the gift with no contingencies.

They were first to welcome the Savior, lying needy in the hay. Destined to be despised and rejected, like the shepherds chosen to witness his coming.

Those shepherds beheld their Good Shepherd, the one who came to lay down his life for his flock, to live and die for the ragged boys gathered around the manger that night. For all the others outside the walls of welcome.

God sees you, who shepherd the possessions of others. You, who care for hearts destined to leave. He notices you, who sweep up after the esteemed and beautiful. You, who dwell outside the circle of favor, beyond the places of power. He treasures you, who lift your eyes in darkened fields in search of angel song.

He still comes for you, even now. Even here. The heavenly music still echoes in the darkness. In your darkness. The Savior has come to welcome you home to Heaven’s light.