AM IN BETHLEHEM. HERE WERE THE waving harvests of Boaz, where Ruth gleaned for herself and her weeping mother-in-law, Naomi. Here David the warrior, when he was thirsty, saw three men of unheard-of self-denial break through the Philistine army to fetch him water. It was here, on the outskirts of the village, that Samuel the prophet anointed him king. It was to this region that Mary and Joseph came to have their names enrolled in the Roman census.

The village was crowded with the strangers. Could it be that the Creator would not find a home in His creation? Up a steep hill Joseph climbed to a faint light that swung on a rope across a doorway. This would be the village inn. There, above all other places, he would surely find shelter.

There was room in the inn for the soldiers of Rome, who had brutally subjugated the Jewish people; there was room for the daughters of the rich merchants of the East; there was room for those in soft garments who lived in the houses of the king; in fact, there was room for anyone who had a coin to give the innkeeper. But there was no room for Him who came to be the "inn" for every homeless heart in the world. When finally the scrolls of history are completed down to the last words in time, the saddest line of all will be: "There was no room . . . in the inn" (Luke 2:7).

Out in the fields the shepherds, with crooks and kindled fires, were watching their flocks. Suddenly, hark! The sound of voices strangely sweet! Could it be that the maidens of Bethlehem had come out to serenade the weary shepherds?

But then a light descended on them like the morning. The flocks arose, shaking their fleece and bleating to their drowsy young. The heavens were filled with armies of light, and the earth quaked under the harmony, as, echoed back from cloud to cloud, it rang over the midnight hills: "Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men" (Luke 2:14). It seems that the crown of royalty and dominion and power that Christ had left behind Him was now hung on the sky in sight of Bethlehem.

What can we learn from this Christmas night out in the fields with the shepherds?

1. Poverty is no hindrance.
When princes are born, heralds announce it, cannons thunder, flags wave, and illuminations set cities on fire with the tidings. But when our glorious Prince was born, there was no rejoicing on earth. "At Bethlehem . . . [the Wise Men] found no royal guard. . . . None of the world's honored men were in attendance. . . . His parents, uneducated peasants, were His only guardians."1 The Son of God made human was invited to enter His own world through a back door, His indigence disguising His identity. Impoverishment does not signify uselessness.

I am reminded that in every age there have been great hearts throbbing under rags, and in every stable of privation, wonders of excellence that have been the joy of the heavenly host. Many great thoughts that have decided the destiny of nations started in obscure corners, and ofttimes under threat. Strong character, like the rhododendron, grows fastest in the storm. Some of the most useful people would never have come to positions of usefulness had they not been ground and hammered in the foundry of disaster. When I see Moses coming up from the ark of bulrushes to be the greatest lawgiver of the ages; and Amos, from tending the herds to make Israel tremble with his prophecies; and David, from the sheepcote to sway the scepter of the king; and Peter, from the fishing net to be the great preacher at Pentecost, I find truth in the proposition that impoverishment does not always signify uselessness.

2. God comes to those who're at their tasks.
It is while at our useful occupations that we have the divine manifestations. Had those shepherds gone that night into Bethlehem, leaving their flocks at risk among the wolves, they would not have heard the angels' song. In other words, those people who see most of God and heaven are the ones who mind their own business. We all have our posts of duty, and while we're standing there, God appears to us. We all have our flocks of cares, annoyances, challenges, and anxieties, and we must tend them.

Generally, the best people are the busy people. Elisha was plowing in the field when the prophetic mantle fell on him. Matthew was attending to his customhouse duties when Christ commanded him to follow. James and John were mending their nets when Christ called them to be fishers of men. Had they been snoring in the sun, Christ would not have called their indolence into apostleship. Gideon was at work with his flail on the threshing floor when he saw an angel. Saul, with great fatigue, was hunting up the lost asses when he found the crown of Israel. Those who have nothing to do are in very unfavorable circumstance for receiving divine manifestations.

3. The religion of Christ is joy.
It is a delusion that the religion of Christ is melancholic and cheerless. The music that broke through the midnight heavens was not a dirge, but an anthem. It shook joy over the hills. The Christian life is not made up of weeping and cross-bearing and war-waging. The revelation of that first Christmas night was not a groan, but a song.

In a world of sin and sickbeds and tombs we must have trouble, but in the darkest night the heavens part with angelic song. You may, like Paul, be shipwrecked, but I encourage you to be of good cheer, for you shall escape safe to the land. Religion does not show itself in the elongation of the face and the cut of the garb. The Pharisee who puts his religion into his phylactery has none left for his heart. Fretfulness and complaint do not belong to the family of Christian graces that move into the heart when the devil moves out. Christianity is neither a cynic nor a shrew; it chokes no laughter, quenches no light, defaces no art. Among the happy, it is the happiest. Christ died that we might live, and that, abundantly.

4. Glorious endings sometimes have very humble beginnings.
The straw pallet was the starting point, but the shout in the midnight sky revealed what would be a glorious consummation. Christ on Mary's lap—what a humble beginning! Christ on the throne of universal dominion—what a glorious ending! The grace of God in the heart is a feeble spark, and Christ has to keep both hands over it lest it be extinguished. What a humble beginning! But look at those same people when they enter heaven. No crown is able to express their royalty. Honor and immortality—a glorious ending indeed!

The New Testament church was on a small scale. Fishermen watched it. Against the uprising walls, crashed infernal enginery. The world said anathema. Ten thousand people rejoiced in seeming defeat. Martyrs on fire cried, "How long, O Lord, how long?"

Very humble beginning, but see the difference at the final consummation, when Christ with His almighty arm has struck off the last chain of human bondage. Then the redeemed of all ages will celebrate with millennial gladness, and Jesus shall see the travail of His soul and be satisfied.

5. God did a new thing.
Note the effect of Christ's mission: glory to God, peace to humanity. When God sent His Son into the world, angels discovered something new in God, something not seen before. Not power, not wisdom or love. They knew all that before. But they saw the spirit of self-denial in God, the spirit of self-sacrifice in God.

It's easier to love an angel on a throne than a thief on a cross, a seraph in worship than an adulterer in his or her crime. When the angels saw God—the God who would not allow any of the angels in heaven to be hurt—give up His only Son, they saw something that they had never thought of before. And I do not wonder that when Christ started out on that pilgrimage, they clapped their wings in triumph, called on all the hosts of heaven to help them celebrate, and sang so loud that the Bethlehem shepherds heard it: "Glory to God in the highest."

But it was also to be a mission to humanity. Infinite holiness versus accumulated depravity. How could they ever come together? The gospel bridges the distance. It brings God to us. It takes us to God. God in us, and we in God. Atonement! Justice satisfied, sins forgiven, peace and eternal life secured, and heaven built on a manger.

"The shepherds, on this natal morn,
Had known not that the God was born.
There were no terrors, for the song
Of peace rose from the seraph throng;
On wings of love He came—to save,
To pluck pale terror from the grave,
And on the blood-stain'd Calvary
He won for man the victory."2

At this Christmas season Christ brings us good tidings of great joy: pardon for all sin, comfort for all trouble, and life for the dead. Shall we now take this Christ into our hearts?

May we all have a Christmas merry—not with worldly dissipations—but with gospel gladness, pardoned sin, peace, and the hope of reunion in the skies with all our loved ones. In that grandest and best sense, a merry and peaceful Christmas!

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¹ Ellen G. White, The Desire of Ages, p. 63.
² N. T. Carrington, quoted in James Hastings, ed., The Great Texts of the Bible, vol. 10: Luke (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1958), p. 35.

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Rex D. Edwards is associate vice president and dean of religious studies at Griggs University in Silver Spring, Maryland.