Today is the 3rd Sunday in Advent. The word Advent actually means, “coming” or “arrival.”
Advent is a time to remember Christ’s first coming as a baby in Bethlehem.
Advent is also a time to prepare their hearts for His coming into their lives today.
Advent is also a time to look forward to His promised coming again in glory.
In the season of Advent, there are four Sundays, and each one is marked by lighting a candle on the Advent wreath. On the first Sunday, we light the candle of Hope, recognizing the hope we have in Jesus Christ. On the second Sunday, we light the candle of Peace, symbolizing the peace we have in Christ. When we follow Him, we have nothing to fear when He comes again, because we are at peace with God, at peace with His people, and secure in His promises. Then on the third Sunday, we light the third candle, which is often pink or lavender. This candle represents the Joy we have in Christ—a reminder that even in a season of waiting, joy breaks in because our Savior is near.
So far we have
studied Mary’s song and Zechariah’s song.
Today, we will look at the Angel’s song.
Luke 2:8-14
8 That night there were shepherds staying in the fields
nearby, guarding their flocks of sheep. 9 Suddenly,
an angel of the Lord appeared among them, and the radiance of the Lord’s glory
surrounded them. They were terrified, 10 but the angel
reassured them. “Don’t be afraid!” he said. “I bring you good news that will
bring great joy to all people. 11 The
Savior—yes, the Messiah, the Lord—has been born today in Bethlehem, the city of
David! 12 And you will recognize him by this sign: You
will find a baby wrapped snugly in strips of cloth, lying in a manger.”
13 Suddenly,
the angel was joined by a vast host of others—the armies of heaven—praising God
and saying,
14 “Glory to God in highest heaven,
and peace on earth to those with whom God
is pleased.”
According to the first-century Jewish historian Josephus, hundreds of thousands of sheep were sacrificed in Jerusalem every year. In the Temple—especially during major festivals like Passover—sacrifices were happening constantly. During Passover, pilgrims came from all over the world. The population of Jerusalem could swell from around 20,000 people to well over a million. Every family wanted to offer a sacrifice, and that meant an enormous demand for sheep.
So where did all those sheep come from?
They came from across the region. No single area could supply them all. But Bethlehem was one of the main suppliers of sheep for the sacrificial system. It was close to Jerusalem, had excellent pasture land, and made it easy to raise sheep and transport them quickly to the Temple.
That’s why it makes perfect sense that Luke tells us there were shepherds out in the fields near Bethlehem. When I was a kid, I pictured just a few shepherds and a handful of sheep. But the reality was far bigger. At any given time, there were likely 15,000 to 30,000 sheep being raised in the Bethlehem region. Not enough to supply all of Jerusalem’s needs—but a significant portion.
Now think about that.
Fifteen to thirty thousand sheep.
When you drive around Whitfield County and see cattle spread across the land, you know there are a lot of them—but imagine 30,000 animals concentrated in one region. That’s enormous.
A skilled shepherd could manage about 50 to 100 sheep, which means we’re talking about 200 to 400 shepherds working throughout the Bethlehem area. This wasn’t a hobby—it was a major agricultural operation.
And these shepherds—what were they like?
A shepherd in the first century was a lot like what we might think of today as a cowboy. Rugged. Tough. Outdoors almost all the time. Physical labor. Long hours. They often slept out in the fields, just like cowboys driving cattle across the plains. They didn’t clock out at the end of the day. Someone always had to watch the sheep.
They faced danger constantly. Predators. Thieves. Weather. It didn’t matter if it was hot, cold, raining, or freezing—they were out there. With tens of thousands of sheep, it would have been easy for someone desperate or hungry to slip in and steal a few animals without anyone noticing. But the shepherds were alert, watchful, and responsible. Their job was to make sure none were lost.
They were also resourceful. You can’t carry everything with you when you live outdoors. You learn to make do—to turn a rock into a hammer, a stick into a tool, to solve problems with whatever you have on hand. These were men who knew how to survive in harsh conditions.
But that life also made them social outsiders. Shepherds were rough. They didn’t smell great. There weren’t showers out in the fields. They worked with animals constantly. If you’ve ever been around goats—or sheep—you know the smell sticks with you. And socially, they weren’t polished. They spoke plainly. Sometimes bluntly. They didn’t always have filters. These weren’t the people you invited to polite dinner parties.
They were also essential workers. Sheep don’t take holidays off. It didn’t matter if it was Passover or any other holy day—someone had to stay with the flock. They missed religious gatherings, family celebrations, and festivals. They’re a lot like nurses and doctors today—people who still work on Christmas because life doesn’t stop for holidays. Babies don’t wait to be born. And sheep still need care.
And remember David. Before he was king, he was a shepherd. When Samuel came to anoint the next king of Israel, David wasn’t even invited into the room. Someone had to watch the sheep. He was forgotten—until God said, “Bring him to me.”
That’s who these shepherds were.
Often overlooked.
Often forgotten.
But just as God didn’t overlook David, He didn’t overlook these shepherds either.
And on the night Jesus was born, they were the ones heaven came looking for.
Shepherds had another skill that would have been especially important on that night.
Shepherds knew how to spot a spotless lamb.
Many of the sheep they watched in the fields were destined for sacrifice in Jerusalem. But you couldn’t just send any sheep to the Temple. It had to be perfect—no limp, no blemish, no deformity. Even its teeth mattered. God required the very best.
Now, if you and I saw a newborn lamb, we’d probably just say, “Oh, how cute!” But shepherds saw more than that. They could look at one lamb and say, “This one won’t survive. Something’s wrong.” They’d look at another and say, “This one will live, but it’s ordinary. You could sell it, use it for food of wool, but this one isn’t fit for sacrifice.”
And then they’d see another lamb and say, “This one is pure. This one is spotless. Set this one aside. This is the kind of lamb you bring to God.”
They knew how to spot it.
So when the angels appeared and told the shepherds to go to Bethlehem, they weren’t just saying, “Go see a baby.” They were saying, “Go see the Lamb of God.”
And the shepherds would know exactly what they were looking at when they found Him.
And that brings us to the other prominent characters in this story—the angels.
First, an unnamed angel appears. Scripture doesn’t tell us his name. It could have been Gabriel, since Gabriel has been active throughout these events—appearing to Zechariah, to Mary, and to Joseph. But Luke doesn’t say, so we won’t assume. What we do know is this: when the angel appears, the glory of the Lord surrounds the shepherds. Not just the angel—but the shepherds themselves are engulfed in God’s radiant presence.
And the angel says, “Do not be afraid.”
Now, shepherds were not easily frightened. These were tough, rugged men—outdoorsmen who protected sheep at night from predators and thieves. But when an angel appears and the glory of the Lord surrounds you, it’s no wonder that even the toughest shepherd—or cowboy—would be shaking in his sandals.
The angel’s first words make sense: “Do not be afraid.”
Our modern images of angels don’t help us much here—just like our modern images of shepherds. We tend to picture angels as little babies floating through the sky with wings—cute, gentle, harmless. But that image comes from art and tradition, not Scripture. The Bible never describes angels as babies.
In fact, throughout the Old Testament, angels usually appear human-like—often mistaken for ordinary people. Angels visited Abraham, sat with him, and even ate with him. Sometimes you don’t realize you’re dealing with an angel at all.
And that matters—because this angel is not alone. He is soon joined by a heavenly host—literally, the armies of heaven. This language is military language. These are not decorative beings. These are soldiers. Holy. Pure. Powerful. God’s messengers and God’s warriors.
And yet—here’s the surprise—they don’t come to fight. They come to sing. That alone tells us something profound about the kind of King who has just been born.
Throughout Scripture, angels are God’s messengers, sent to deliver His word to His people. And the message they bring that night is good news of great joy—and it is for all people.
Not just for important people.
Not just for those in the city.
Not just for those who attended the great religious festivals.
It was for the shepherds out in the fields—the ones people overlooked, forgot about, and didn’t want to be around because they were rough, unpolished, and, quite frankly, smelled like sheep.
The message is for all people. Not just the Jewish people—but Gentiles as well.
This is good news because a Savior has been born—the Messiah, the Lord, born today in Bethlehem.
People were already longing for a savior. Not only the Jews, but the Romans too. But their idea of a savior was a powerful military leader—someone who would enforce peace through strength, domination, and fear.
This Savior is different.
He is the Messiah—the Anointed One, appointed by God from King David’s royal line.
He is the Lord—the one with true authority and sovereignty over all.
And that’s especially striking because in Rome, Caesar was often called “Lord.” But in this announcement, God is saying: “I am sending the true Lord—the Lord of lords, the King of kings.”
Not a ruler who forces obedience, but a King who brings peace by His presence.
And then—suddenly—this one angel is joined by a host of angels, the armies of heaven.
Now think about that. One angel appearing would have been overwhelming enough. But the word Luke uses is plural—armies. Not a single unit. Not a small group. Multiple armies of heaven filling the sky. How many were there? Scripture doesn’t say. All we know is that heaven opened, and the shepherds were standing there, trembling in their sandals.
And then the angels sing:
“Glory to God in the highest heaven,
and peace on earth to those with whom God is pleased.”
We can hardly imagine the sound. Not one voice, but armies of angels lifting their voices together in thunderous praise.
Picture the scene.
The armies of heaven surge onto the field. They assemble in formation. They are poised—ready, powerful, overwhelming. And then they stop.
They do not advance.
They do not invade.
They do not fight.
Instead, they sing God’s glory. They announce God’s peace.
And the sign of it all—the proof of heaven’s message—is not a weapon, not a throne, not a fortress.
It is a baby. A spotless Lamb, born in a manger.
Now, there are three key takeaways I want to leave you with today.
First: God still comes to ordinary people.
If you’ve ever felt like you’re nothing special—just an ordinary person—if you’ve ever felt forgotten, overlooked, or unnoticed, hear this clearly: God does not overlook anyone. He does not forget anyone.
The fact that God sent His messengers to shepherds reminds us that He comes to all people. That includes you. You matter to God. You are seen. You are not forgotten.
Second: Heaven declares peace, not war.
When the armies of heaven appeared that night, it must have been terrifying. But the angel said, “Do not be afraid. I bring good news of great joy.”
That matters for us today. God is here with us right now. He is present in this sanctuary. And He comes in peace. God is not here to crush you. God is not here to punish you. Though He would be justified in judgment, He comes instead with mercy. He extends the olive branch.
The armies of heaven show us what God could do. The baby in the manger shows us what God chooses to do instead. And that is why we have every reason to be full of joy—not because we deserve it, but because God comes to us in grace.
Third: Peace requires surrender.
When the God of heaven says, “I come in peace,” there is still a response required. You cannot have peace with God while continuing to resist Him. You cannot receive peace while still fighting against the King.
Peace comes when we surrender—when we lay down our resistance and submit to the rightful ruler. So as we prepare to close this morning, here is the question for each of us to consider:
Is there any part of your life where you are still resisting God’s peace?
He does not come to attack you. But too often, we are still fighting Him. And in His mercy, He holds back. In His grace, He waits. In His love, He offers peace—again and again.
The invitation is still open. Will you accept God's rightful rule in your life and receive peace?
