An Invitation to Outsiders
How the Message of Christmas Draws Us Close
Luke 2:8-14
An Outsider’s Story
The high school hierarchy rarely holds mercy for outsiders. Attempting to break inside as a new student, I approached the head cheerleader. In my ninth-grade naiveté, I endeavored to apply the advice of my well-meaning mother, “Just find people you’d like to be friends with and ask if you can join in.” I interpreted that as asking the most popular girl in my grade if I could sit at her lunch table—the most elite of social status spaces.
If you wince as you read this, you have good reason. Fresh out of junior high, I had never been a cheerleader or particularly popular. A slow bloomer in appearance, my ordinary brown hair frizzed in the Florida humidity during the morning walk to the bus stop. Braces had come off, but I still wore glasses. I was tall for my age, and shy. But apparently, I was also a risk-taker with not much to lose.
To her credit, the beautiful blonde with perfect hair (who would later be Homecoming Queen) merely blinked in surprise at the new girl’s bold and appalling ignorance of high school protocol. “Uh, sure,” she said. I realize now she probably doubted I would follow through.
“I edged in with subtlety, like the runt crawling low and slow into a pack of wolves.”
But with permission granted, I began my strategic campaign to find a crack inside the golden circle. For weeks, I staked my claim at her table during each lunch period, the same one filled with football players, more stunning cheerleaders, and student government candidates. I edged in with subtlety, like the runt crawling low and slow into a pack of wolves. I stubbornly showed up day after day—smiling but speaking sparingly. I offered sincere compliments whenever possible. I tried to be unobtrusive and kind. Connections began to form with the more compassionate of the group. And gradually, I succeeded as a background fixture in their lunchtime environment—familiar and non-threatening. Other than the occasional insult or mean prank from the more insecure boys, I wiggled into the space they allowed me to keep, if I minded my place. I had broken “in,” but only in appearance. In reality, I knew I only existed as a tolerated outsider.
My adolescence angst falls into the more benign category of high school drama. Sadly, many suffer worse abuse and cruelty. But the experience of facing the invisible wall of social groups repeats for most, stage by stage, to one degree or another. In my encounters, sometimes I breached through, sometimes I failed. But as I matured along the way, I learned to spot others struggling to break in, or the lonely afraid to try. Empathy grown from first-hand experience encouraged me to offer compassion or a boost up. I gained confidence to initiate connections. And surprisingly, I often discovered that those who appeared “in,” felt as much “outside” as I did.
The Outsiders of Christmas
It touches me that Scripture’s Christmas story elevates a group of outsiders. Reversing the world’s normal hierarchy, the commonplace and ordinary shepherds receive the divine heralding first. As the brightest star points to the manger of the newborn king, the spotlight of honor falls upon the lowly shepherds. Chosen above all others, they receive the news on behalf of all humanity.
I imagine them sitting quietly, yet watchful, gathered closely together on a chilly night. Perhaps, the aroma of wood smoke mingles with the unique musk of the sheep they guard. The expansive darkness overhead reveals a myriad of stars and perhaps a sliver of moon. These men live close to the earth, with dust on their clothes and dirt on their hands. Though they may tend the lambs for temple sacrifice, Jewish society often considers them ceremonially unclean from their earthy work. They represent the lower class—the last choice expected but the first choice made, for the world-wide and divinely glorious announcement.
At the other end of the social strata, wise men discerned a momentous arrival with their discovery of the Bethlehem star, but they were not the first to hear. And while these stately travelers shared their insights with King Herod as they passed through his kingdom, royalty did not receive the first proclamation. Even the priests busy with ritual and the pharisees zealously guarding the law, missed the announcement. Only the outsiders, sitting quietly in the dark, received the great historical honor and heard angel choirs worshipping God:
“In the same region, shepherds were staying out in the fields and keeping watch at night over their flock. 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, "Don't be afraid, for look, I proclaim to you good news of great joy that will be for all the people: "Today in the city of David a Savior was born for you, who is the Messiah, the Lord. This will be a sign to you: You will find a baby wrapped tightly in cloth and lying in a manager. Suddenly there was a multitude of the heavenly host with the angel, praising God and saying: Glory to God in the highest heaven, and peace on earth to people he favors!” (Luke 2:8-14)
From the heights of heaven, angels present the extraordinary news to the lowest in the kingdom. The shepherds alone witness the glorious display and receive the announcement for the whole world that will echo for centuries. The chosen setting, and people, and place, speak clearly: For those on the outside in the darkness—this news is for you!
Jesus as the Outsider
The angels made clear that Jesus came for all people, but he intimately knows the path of the outsider. From his beginning, his mother bore the judgment of her hometown for the circumstances of the child she carried. She gave birth away from home, tucked aside in a rustic stable instead of inside the comforts of an inn. As a young man, Jesus lived without prestige as a common laborer, like his carpenter father. When Jesus shared his kingdom message, many abandoned him when the mission meant loving their enemy and bearing the self-denial of walking outside the world’s ways. His own religious leaders rejected him when he explained devotion to God means living out love through service to others. And finally, when announcing to the priests that he fulfilled the prophecies they studied—they sent him outside of God’s city to die.
The Pain of Being Outside
“The sting hits deep when we feel rejection instead of invitation.”
The sting hits deep when we feel rejection instead of invitation. We yearn for connection, especially to those we admire. From school days, to navigating a career path, to building social influence, to inspiring others by leadership—we long to be noticed, celebrated, and validated. Yet a lingering separateness may haunt us, along with an underlying suspicion of missing out. Being outside repels us.
An internal sense correctly identifies the separation felt between Creator and all he intends for his creation. Born on the outside, humanity’s seed of sin separates us from the Father. We possess an inner rebellion pulling us away to make our own path.
Good News for the Outsider
Jesus came to find the path of the outsider and walk alongside us. He left a throne in heaven of unveiled glory. He set aside the majesty of the One deserving all honor and praise. He bends down to the lowly, wraps himself with humility, and becomes ordinary. He comes to us because he knows our “missing out” and “longing for significance” cannot be filled by the world or people we chase. He aches with separation too, because of our separation from him.
On that cold night we now celebrate at Christmas, wise men followed the unprecedented star and King Herod plotted to keep his power. The religious leaders failed to see God’s true heart through his words and law. And, in that dark place, Jesus exchanged his throne for a manger to draw close. The night sky, holding only the smallest pinpoints of starlight hope, split into brilliance and song of the momentous message of joy. Angels honored the dusty and ordinary shepherds with the invitation to become the first insiders—the first to know that the little Lamb of God had arrived. He would walk with us in our loneliness and bridge the gap of separateness. He would complete the way of reunion to the Father and the belonging he created us for.
How does the message of Christmas speak to where you feel “outside”?
If you enjoy the blog, join our email list to receive posts directly to your inbox!