Luke 2: 8-14
In that region there were shepherds living in the fields, keeping watch over their flock by night. Then an angel of the Lord stood before them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified. But the angel said to them, “Do not be afraid; for see—I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people: to you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is the Messiah, the Lord. This will be a sign for you: you will find a child wrapped in bands of cloth and lying in a manger.” And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host, praising God and saying, “Glory to God in the highest heaven, and on earth peace among those whom God favors!”
In our scripture for today, the shepherds represent the outcasts of society. They are those dirty, unsavory types. They are looked down upon. They are left to themselves. One might imagine there was a Leo among them, and that such a lad would have been raised from birth on stories circulating among the common folk of a coming Messiah who would one day bring to them salvation, peace, and a new life. Would not this Messiah have been the great hope for the shepherds? How it must have felt to have spent all those long years of marginalization dreaming of a Messiah and then to finally have that dream realized! If there was any doubt as to whose side this Messiah would be on amid the divisions of society, the shepherds learn that the baby is dressed in the clothe bands of poverty and is laying in the humble circumstances of a manger. And, of course, what further proof does one need than the visit of angels? To think that these angels visited them, the shepherds, rather than royalty or temple priests. But wait a minute…. Today, aren’t we too sophisticated, too enlightened to believe in angels? We might as well have Santa and his reindeer visiting the shepherds.
It’s true that many of us no longer take the Bible literally about such things as angels, but I think we are missing out if we dismiss angels altogether. I think part of not dismissing the angels is to understand them as part of a folk story that has been passed down to us through the years. Throughout human history, folk stories have served as a way in which the imaginations of common folk have envisioned hope. Reality might not always give one hope, but one can tell stories to imagine a hope not yet seen. Stories can help one to step beyond the borders of reality into a world of possibility. Stories can jump outside of what is and what has been to give us images of hope. Angels are an image of hope.
There is a well-known African American folk tale of which today’s text reminds me. The tale is called “All God’s Chillen Had Wings.” As the story goes, there was once a time before Africans became slaves when Africans had wings and could fly like birds. Here and there one could find slaves who had managed to retain the power of flight even though they looked normal to others. Without their wings, however, most Africans were forced to remain in slavery. Life was cruel for these slaves. One slave master on one of the sea islands off of South Carolina was known to be particularly cruel, and he worked his slaves till they died and then replaced them with other slaves until they too died from overwork.
One time when this slave master had worked most of his slaves to death he acquired a whole company of slaves that had just arrived from Africa. He immediately put them to work in the cotton field with his remaining slaves. He drove the slaves hard from sunrise until dark. Not a moment’s rest was given as they worked under the hot sun. Among the slaves, there was one who had recently given birth to a child. She kept the child wrapped to her hip as she worked. Still weak from the delivery, she grew sick under the heat. Eventually, she stumbled, slipped, and fell. The driver struck her with his lash until she rose and staggered on.
As she continued on, she spoke to an old man near her. He was the oldest of all the slaves. He was tall and strong, with a forked beard. When he replied to the woman, the driver could not understand. They spoke in a tongue foreign to him. The woman returned to work; but after a little while she fell again. Again the driver lashed her until she stood on her feet. Again she spoke to the old man, but he said, “Not yet, daughter, not yet.” So she kept on working, though she was very ill.
Soon she stumbled and fell again. But when the driver came running with his lash to drive her back to work, she turned to the old man and asked, “Is it time yet, daddy?” The old man responded, “Yes, daughter; the time has come. Go; and peace be with you!”…and he stretched out his arm toward her…like so. With that she leaped straight up into the air and was gone like a bird, flying over the field. The driver and overseer ran after her as far as the edge of the field; but she was gone, high over their heads, over the fence, and over the top of the woods, gone, with her baby tucked safely on the side of her hip.
Then the driver returned to the slaves and hurried them to make up for the loss. The sun continued to beat down upon them as they worked and soon a man fell down. The overseer himself came and lashed the man back to his feet. As he got up, the old man called to him in that unknown tongue. With that, the fallen man laughed at the overseer and leaped up into the air. Away he flew like a bird flying over the field, over the woods. Soon another man fell. The driver lashed him. He turned to the old man. The old man cried out to him, stretched out his arm, and the fallen man leaped into the air flying like a bird over the field, over the woods.
Then the overseer yelled at the driver, and the master yelled at them both. The master yelled, “Beat the old devil! He’s the one!” The overseer and the driver ran towards the old man with their lashes raised. The master came behind them with a picket he pulled from the fence. But the old man laughed in their faces. In a loud voice, he called to all the other slaves in the field. Slaves both old and new heard him. And as he spoke, the old slaves remembered what they had forgotten. They recalled the power which once had been theirs. All the slaves, old and new, stood up together; the old man stretched out his arms, and they all leaped into the air with a great shout. In a moment, they were gone. Like birds, they flew over the field, over the fence, over the woods with the old man behind them.
The men went clapping, the women went singing, and the children went laughing. None were afraid. The master, the overseer, and the driver looked after them as they flew beyond the woods and beyond the river until they passed beyond the last rim of the world and disappeared in the sky like angels ascending to heaven.
So when do angels fly? I think angels fly whenever humans face difficult circumstances and God gives wings to hope. When the shepherds were marginalized and heard news of their Savior’s birth, angels flew. When slaves in the South headed North on the underground railroad, angels flew. When Rosa Parks remained in her seat on that bus in Montgomery, angels flew. When black and white students sat at lunch tables and road buses throughout the South, angels flew. When black families with little boys and girls integrated white schools, angels flew. When Cesar Chavez and the migrant farm workers of California went on strike and declared boycotts, angels flew. When refugees from Latin America and Southeast Asia fled the violence of their countries in the 80’s and headed for sanctuary in the United States, angels flew.
Could it be that angels can still fly? Recently, I’ve become a believer. When churches live up to the creed of inclusivity by affirming the marriage rights of gays and lesbians, I believe angels fly. When soldiers decide that they can no longer in good conscience fight, I believe angels fly. When groups of people in towns like Olympia, Washington, get together to protest the shipping of weapons to Iraq from their ports, I believe. When common citizens like you and I refuse to support our government’s destruction of another country, I believe. All around us might be signs of despair, but I believe if one looks to the horizon, beyond the fields, beyond the woods, one can see the outlines of angels. Against that vast sky in the distance, I believe one can see them rising like doves ascending to heaven. Amen.