Several years ago I was taking the MV Kennecott from Whittier back to Kodiak. Heidi and I were with the kids, and this was the last leg of our annual summer travel. We had a van full of groceries, a new cabinet for our bathroom, and I was glad to not be driving. One of the benefits to this kind of travel is that you can just sit back and let the ferry take you home, and that’s what I was doing, relaxing and watching.
On this particular trip I was standing out on the deck while the ferry departed. This usually offers some minor entertainment. On a good weather day you can watch the boat castoff, slowly move away from the dock, and then gain speed while you watch whatever town you are leaving disappear around the bay. There is an opportunity to see houses, fishing boats, eagles, whales, bears, deer, mountains, and beautiful dense forests of trees. However, on this day I was struck by how little I could see. It was a warm summer day, but I couldn’t see anything because of a thick fog that completely engulfed the harbor.
I remember the fog being incredible. From where I was standing, which was somewhere in the middle of the deck, I couldn’t see the front of the boat or the back of the boat. The fog was so thick that I could hardly see the water directly below me. I could feel the boat moving, but we were in a thick cloud, with no sense of what was up or down. I stood on the deck relaxed and simply watching. I guess I was waiting to see if things cleared up. I imagine I was waiting to get a sense of something, waiting for a glimpse of the mountains, or even an idea of where the sun was. Surely the fog would thin out enough for me to see something to give me a sense of bearing, something to help me tell what direction we were going, how close to shore we were, and what speed we were going. A broader glimpse of the beautiful Prince William Sound would be nice. Maybe we could see a glacier.
There I stood, leaning up against the railing on the Kennecott, staring out into the white. All of a sudden I saw blue sky and sunshine making its way down the deck from the front of the boat. Before I could think much about it, I was suddenly out into the blue sky, sunshine, and seeing the broad beautiful view of the Prince William Sound that I was hoping for. Behind me now I could see a wall of fog moving to the back of the boat. The contrast to what I could see a few moments ago, and what I could see now was striking. It was actually a beautiful day. The fog had been a shallow condensed covering, and the blue sky summer day had been all around in every direction all along. The reveal was surprising, amazing, beautiful, and a little overwhelming.
Luke 2:13–14 ESV
13 And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God and saying,
14 “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace among those with whom he is pleased!”
In the moment, this must have been amazing. Here we are two thousand years later and the visuals conjured up while reading these verses are still a spectacle. This famous imagery is vivid. Here we have some quiet shepherds out in the country minding their own business, disconnected from the hustle of nearby towns, and simply watching their sheep rest in darkness. Their solitude is first interrupted by a single angel telling them to not be afraid. The angel then shares the good news of Jesus’ coming.
In verses 13 and 14 Luke says that a heavenly host appeared suddenly. The Greek word that’s used here for the heavenly host is “stratia.” This is the same word used by the Greek poet Homer in the Odyssey to describe the military ships sailing to Troy. It’s a military term used for military groups on the move. In these verses we see a heavenly army appearing in the night. The use of this word here makes these beings feel regimented, imposing, powerful, overwhelming in number, and even dangerous. It’s not surprising that the first angel starts off by telling the shepherds to not be afraid. I don’t think a messenger from God would just say that for no reason, I’m sure the shepherds were completely terrified.
These shepherds caught a glimpse of God’s stratia in motion. It’s like a veil was lifted and the shepherds suddenly and surprisingly see this giant group in action. The words of the angel echo, “don’t be afraid” and it becomes apparent that the stratia is not on the move to war. They are not here to dominate. This stratia is not marching into battle like we have seen in the past. Remember 2 Kings 6:17, where while in the midst of a war with the Syrians, Elisha opens the eyes of a servant to show a heavenly stratia with horses and chariots of fire all around them, ready to dominate the Syrian army. The shepherds here see something different. In this scene, rather than a stratia in the midst of battle, these shepherds saw this great and powerful force doing something else. Jesus had just been born in Bethlehem and this heavenly host was in full worship of God. A victory had been achieved and they were worshiping. Jesus had been born. God was now present, materially, on Earth. Luke goes on to say that the stratia was in full praise mode and proclaiming, “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace among those with whom he is well pleased.”
Prayer
Lord, I am a small part of your big plan. I’m here in the midst of the world that you created and I know that you are at work. I can’t always see your forces at work, like the shepherds did so many years ago, but I know they are there. I know that you are there. I know that the God of everything is at work, and that sometimes sounds imposing, that sounds overwhelming, and yes, that sometimes even sounds dangerous to me. Help me to please you so that I might find peace. Help me to join the chorus. The glory is Yours!