Hearing with the Heart
“Now, there were shepherds in that region, living in the fields, keeping watch over their flock by night.” — Luke 2:8.
All day long a steady wind came over the hill out of the West. That was normal. Then, right at sundown, the wind became breathless. It remained that way for a quite a while.
It was a clear, cold night. There was no moon but the stars seemed to dance in the night sky over Bethlehem, the City of David, as if to announce their freedom to an unsuspecting world.
The only noise Judah, a lone shepherd out on this hill could hear, was the occasional bark of a dog and the bleat of some sheep. There were other shepherds. But they were far away, on a hill across the other side of the valley.
After a time, once the depth of night had settled in, the wind picked up again, but out of the East. That was odd, he thought. In this part of Roman Palestine only rarely did the wind come from the east. And it was quite strong.
Judah found that troubling. If, at night, you stood on top of one of these rolling hills outside the town and looked across the fields you could see campfires— dozens of them— some used for cooking some used simply for warmth.
But it had been very dry for several months. And this wind was not just strong but coming out of an odd direction. The campfires were always built to accommodate a wind coming from the opposite direction.
With a wind like this, a wind out of a strange direction, it was very likely a campfire could become a torch that set the dry brush ablaze. Such a fire might easily spread from one hill to the next to the next to the next. It was dangerous. (Slight pause.)
Judah was only thirteen, but had already been tending sheep for three years. His name was the tribal name of David. And this tribe, Judah, was the smallest of the twelve. Still, this tribe, despite its size, was the tribe of David, the great ruler of Israel.
“Judah!” the Rabbi had said to him, “Judah! It is your name. The very name Judah means to praise God!”
The local rabbi was an old man, but someone who had made an impression on the young shepherd, despite their difference in years and station. Judah did not quite understand why it was important to praise God. But he realized that he, himself, despite being a shepherd, bore the name Judah— praise God.
Shepherds were, in this society, the lowest of the low. So, as a shepherd, as a member of the least of the tribes, this youngster, with the ancient and honored name of Judah, was considered by anyone he encountered to be a hooligan, a roughneck, a troublemaker.
Still, he did not think poorly of himself since he remembered the words of the Rabbi. “You... you are a good boy. So love God; love neighbor. It is the covenant God makes. It is what God invites us to do.”
“How will that happen? How will I honor the covenant?” he asked the old man.
“You will know,” responded the codger, stroking his beard. “You will know. The words of the prophet say this: ‘God shall write on your heart.’” (Slight pause.)
The wind now became yet stronger, the night deeper. What little light the campfires on the hills provided grew weaker as the wind picked up and fires died.
Judah could still hear an occasional bark from a dog and the sounds of sheep, but he thought he heard a strange noise besides that— a little like a whistle. “It’s the wind,” he said to himself.
Perhaps it was. Perhaps it was simply the wind blowing across the rolling hills from exactly the wrong direction at exactly the right speed creating a sound like a whistle.
He tilted his head to the left and tried to listen harder. He heard dogs. He heard sheep. But this other... this other... thing— was it noise? Was it a sound he heard with his ears? Or was it simply in his head?
He looked toward the sky. He could see nothing but... clouds? Or was it smoke? From where had this come? Had a brush fire started somewhere close? He could see there was something glowing. Was it all around him? Was it above him? Was it right at his side?
The noise seemed to grow still stronger. And yet— whatever it was— there seemed to be nothing about it he was hearing with ears. Still, it felt very intense, very near. Again, he strained to listen. Was it one voice? Was it many voices?
Somehow, he sensed these words in the midst of this soundless cacophony: “child... God... heir... David... Messiah... covenant... freedom... sovereign... joy... love... hope... peace... stable.”
Had he actually heard these words? He did not know. It was more like he felt them, words heard within the depth of... silence. Yet the words were clear. They were plain. (Slight pause.)
Suddenly, the wind was again calm. He could hear a dog bark. He could hear the bleat of sheep. He could see stars.
He felt... changed. He was not quite sure how. His heart was pounding. He did not know why but he started to run, run down off the hill, run toward the town, run toward the City of David.
He ran and he ran and he ran. He did not know where he was going. He was following... what? His heart?
Just at the edge of town he stopped. Off to the left there was a barn. There was a light. Someone was there. He went toward it.
Inside the building a man and a woman sat by a fire. He approached. As he did so, he saw the woman holding a child, clearly a newborn.
He walked up to her. The child was asleep. She nodded and smiled with her eyes. He nodded and smiled back. She did not seem put off by the fact that he was clearly a shepherd.
She held the baby up toward him. His reaction was natural. He took the child in his arms. (Slight pause.)
Judah suddenly felt a kind of warmth he had never experienced before. He wondered what was going on. Again, he felt he heard something.
Judah looked down at the tiny head, the little dark curls. The child opened its eyes. Judah listened carefully. The child was silent. Once more, his heart was pounding. He wondered if something was being written there.
It dawned on him: perhaps you had to listen with your heart before you listened with your ears. Was that what the Rabbi meant? Listen with your heart?
He looked at the baby again. The infant smiled. How could you not listen with your heart?
He handed the child back. Not a word had been spoken, yet a multitude of words had been understood— words of the heart. Judah turned around and headed toward the hills outside of the City of David. A hint of the approaching sunrise was at hand and whispered in the Eastern sky.
Once on the hilltop, somehow Judah understood the covenant was real. Somehow Judah understood God is with us. Somehow Judah understood God writes on the heart. Somehow Judah understood he must be true to his name: he must find ways to praise God, always. Amen.
12/24/2012
Christmas Eve — United Church of Christ, First Congregational, Norwich, New York
ENDPIECE: It is the practice of the Pastor to speak after the Closing Hymn, but before the Choral Response and Benediction. This is an précis of what was said: “I have often said Christmas is the most important Christian feast on the secular calendar. At the very least for we Christians Easter, Pentecost, the Epiphany and Trinity Sunday should be counted as more important than Christmas. Which is not to say it lacks importance. It is to say we need to reclaim Christmas as a Christian feast. In an effort to reclaim real Christmas, let me make a suggestion, one I make each year. Please do not wish people a ‘Merry Christmas.’ When you greet someone say ‘Happy Christmas.’ People can be merry about the new year, but let’s be happy about what we celebrate tonight: the birth of the Messiah, present in our midst.”
BENEDICTION: The sun shall no longer be / your light by day, / nor for brightness shall the moon / give you light by night; / for Yahweh, God, will be your everlasting light, / and your glory. / Amen.
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