The Weary World Hears Good News

Luke 2:8-20

Advent Week 3- Joy

Good morning, Church. Today we light the third candle of Advent — the Candle of Joy. This candle is different. It’s pink, reminding us that joy breaks into the waiting. Advent is honest about the darkness, but it also reminds us that God does not leave His people there.

Biblical joy is not the absence of hardship. It is the presence of hope. It is rooted not in circumstances, but in the certainty that God keeps His promises.

Scripture Reading — Luke 2:10–11 (ESV) “And the angel said to them, ‘Fear not, for behold, I bring you good news of great joy that will be for all the people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is Christ the Lord.’”

Reader: The announcement of Jesus’ birth came to shepherds — ordinary men, in an ordinary field, on an ordinary night. And yet, God filled that moment with extraordinary joy. Not because life suddenly became easy, but because a Savior had come.

Scripture Reading — Philippians 4:4 (ESV) “Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, rejoice.”

Reader: As we light the candle of joy, we remember this: Our joy is found in Christ. Joy that remains even in sorrow. Joy that holds steady in waiting. Joy that cannot be taken because it is anchored in Jesus.

(Light the pink candle.)

Let us pray. Father, thank You for the joy that comes from knowing Jesus. Teach us to rejoice in You, not just when life is easy, but in every season. Fill our hearts with a joy that points others to our Savior. In Jesus’ name, Amen.

Good morning Church, go ahead and grab your bibles and make your way to Luke 2 this morning.

We have been walking through this season of Advent in a Series, we are calling the Weary World Rejoices.

Which of course, comes from the song O Holy Night.

Most people don’t realize this, but O Holy Night has one of the strangest and most compelling backstories of any Christmas song we sing.

The lyrics were written in 1847 by a French poet named Placide Cappeau (cappo). Cappeau was asked to write a poem to celebrate the renovation of a church organ in his hometown of Roquemaure (rock-more), France.

Which I just want to point out, every single one of us really missed an opportunity to write a poem about renovating the santuary.

So I went ahead and took a little time to write a poem.

I would like to call it an ode to the carpet.

We didn’t split the veil, but we fixed the floor, That carpet had seen one potluck too many before.

It soaked up prayers and grape juice too, And stains from ’89 it still clung to.

And those old pews—oh bless their heart— They didn’t support you, they pulled you apart.

If you made it through without a stretch or a sigh, You were saved, sanctified… or you’d flat out died.

Now it’s new carpet, new chairs, praise the Lord, Same gospel preached, same truth adored.

So sit right down, relax a bit, And stay awake—yes, even you in the back.

I’m no Placide Cappeau but I think that turned out alright.

Here’s whats suprising about O Holy Night though. Cappeau was not particularly devout. He was more of a literary guy than a church guy. And yet, as he reflected on Luke 2 and the birth of Christ, he wrote a poem originally titled Minuit, chrétiens (me-new-et kré·tyin)—which simply means “Midnight, Christians.”

Cappeau then asked his friend Adolphe Adam to set the poem to music.

Adam was a well-known composer, famous for operas and ballets, and here’s the part that really throws people off—he was Jewish. A Jewish composer writes the melody for what would become one of the most theologically rich Christian hymns ever sung. This is a great reminder for us that God does not need perfect people or clean résumés to accomplish His perfect purposes.

The song debuted on Christmas Eve in 1847 during a midnight Mass. But not everyone was thrilled. Lot of people looked like they were sucking on sour grapes when it was played.

Church leaders in France quickly began pushing back. They didn’t like Cappeau’s theology. They didn’t like Adam’s background. And some said the music sounded too operatic to belong in the church. Eventually, O Holy Night was banned from many French churches altogether.

But God wasn’t finished with it.

A few years later, the song made its way across the pond to the states.

It was translated into English by John Sullivan Dwight, a pastor and outspoken abolitionist. Dwight was especially moved by one line in the song: “Chains shall He break, for the slave is our brother.” That lyric hit hard in a nation wrestling with slavery.

As a result, O Holy Night became deeply connected to the abolitionist movement. The song wasn’t just about a baby in a manger. It was about the implications of that baby for justice, dignity, and freedom.

And that’s part of why the song endured.

This is also one of the first songs ever broadcast on the radio. In 1906, during one of the earliest radio transmissions, O Holy Night was played across the airwaves. Think about that. One of the very first songs people ever heard over radio was a declaration that Christ had come, hope had arrived, and the soul had felt its worth.

What makes O Holy Night so powerful isn’t just the melody. It’s the theology. It declares the incarnation with weight and gravity. It names the weariness of a broken world. It insists that Christmas changes everything—not just spiritually, but ethically. If Christ has come, then chains must break, dignity must be restored, and brothers and sisters must be seen as such.

God used a skeptical poet, a Jewish composer, and an abolitionist translator to give the church one of its greatest Christmas songs. And that feels exactly like the way God works.

A weary world rejoices, not because the people are impressive, but because the Savior is.

Thats one of the things I love about the birth of our savior— God does not ignore that reality in Luke Chapter 2, and He does not pretend the world is healthier than it actually is.

God does not open the Christmas story with glitter, lights, or religious fanfare.

He does not begin with celebration in a palace or ceremony in a temple.

Instead, He starts the story in the dark. He starts it in an open field. He starts it with tired men who are doing a job no one else wanted and that very few people noticed.

Luke wants us to see something important here, and he does not want us to miss it.

The men God chooses to announce the birth of His Son to are not impressive, respected, or influential.

They are shepherds—and in the first-century world, shepherds were considered the lowest of the low. They were not romantic figures standing in stained-glass windows. They were rough men with rough reputations.

They were ceremonially unclean because of their constant contact with animals.

Their work kept them away from the temple. Their testimony was often not even admissible in court because they were viewed as untrustworthy.

Shepherds were invisible people doing thankless work while the rest of the world slept.

They were overlooked, underappreciated, and assumed to be morally questionable simply because of who they were and what they did for a living.

If anyone had reason to believe God would not speak to them, it was these men.

If anyone felt disqualified from being included in something holy, it was shepherds standing in a field on a cold night.

But thats who will hear the good news first.

God does not go to the temple first. He does not go to the religious elite. He does not go to Rome or Jerusalem or Herod’s palace. He goes to the field. He goes to the night shift. He goes to the men everyone else ignored. God intentionally steps into ordinary, exhausting, overlooked life and says, “This is where I will announce the arrival of My Son.”

That matters, because it tells us something about the heart of God. It tells us that the gospel does not begin with human worthiness but with divine grace. God is not looking for people who have climbed the ladder. He is looking for people who know they are at the bottom. The first people to hear the good news are not the most impressive; they are the most desperate. And it is right there—is where the gospel shows up.

So let’s read Luke 2:8-20 and unpack it in our time together this morning.

This is the Word of the Lord.

Luke 2:8–20 ESV

And in the same region there were shepherds out in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night. And an angel of the Lord appeared to them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were filled with great fear. And the angel said to them, “Fear not, for behold, I bring you good news of great joy that will be for all the people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is Christ the Lord. And this will be a sign for you: you will find a baby wrapped in swaddling cloths 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, and on earth peace among those with whom he is pleased!” When the angels went away from them into heaven, the shepherds said to one another, “Let us go over to Bethlehem and see this thing that has happened, which the Lord has made known to us.” And they went with haste and found Mary and Joseph, and the baby lying in a manger. And when they saw it, they made known the saying that had been told them concerning this child. And all who heard it wondered at what the shepherds told them. But Mary treasured up all these things, pondering them in her heart. And the shepherds returned, glorifying and praising God for all they had heard and seen, as it had been told them.

Prayer

Truth #1: God Brings the Gospel to the Weary

“And in the same region there were shepherds out in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night.” Verse 8

If we are honest, this is not the group we would have chosen. If the arrival of the Savior were announced according to human logic, God would have gone to Jerusalem. He would have gone to the temple. He would have gone to priests, scholars, and leaders. He would have gone to people with influence and credibility. But God does not follow human logic. God goes to a field. God goes to the night shift. God goes to the weary.

And yet, if we know our Old Testament, we realize this is exactly how God has always worked. God has always loved to use shepherds. Moses was a shepherd when God called him from the burning bush.

David was a shepherd when God sent Samuel to anoint him king, while his older and stronger brothers were passed over.

God repeatedly chose men from the fields before He ever placed them on thrones.

The Lord Himself is described as a shepherd in Psalm 23, a God who leads, protects, and provides for His people.

Through the prophet Ezekiel, God rebuked Israel’s false shepherds and promised that one day He Himself would come and shepherd His people rightly.

God is signaling that the true Shepherd has arrived. The One promised in the Old Testament has come to gather His people, not through power but through humility. He comes not to be served but to serve. He comes not to be born in a palace but to be laid in a feeding trough.

Luke then tells us that an angel of the Lord appeared to them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were filled with great fear. That detail matters.

Last week— we dove deep into the genealogy of Jesus and how the Davidic Covenant continued through Johaichin even though Jerusalem was completely destroyed. The temple of the Lord was destroyed.

Before Jerusalem and the temple was destroyed the Glory of the Lord (shakenah glory) departed the temple.

Ezekiel 11:23 ESV

And the glory of the Lord went up from the midst of the city and stood on the mountain that is on the east side of the city.

Scripture never tells us that the Glory of the Lord returns when the temple is rebuilt.

The glory of the Lord does not return to a building. It returns in a Person.

John tells us plainly, “And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, and we have seen his glory” (John 1:14, ESV). That word dwelt is not accidental language. It literally means tabernacled. John is saying that Jesus did not just come near God’s presence—Jesus is God’s presence. The glory that once filled tents and temples now takes on skin and bone.

In other words, the glory does not come back to stone and gold. The glory puts on flesh. God does not fill a temple—He becomes one.

That is why Luke’s shepherd scene matters so much. Luke is not just telling us a sweet Christmas story. He is making a massive theological statement.

When Luke says, “the glory of the Lord shone around them” (Luke 2:9, ESV), this is the same glory Israel had been missing for centuries. But notice where it appears. It does not show up in the temple. It does not descend on Jerusalem. It does not surround priests during a worship service.

It shows up in a field. At night. To shepherds.

God does not wait for these men to clean themselves up or climb their way into religious respectability. He shows up uninvited.

That is grace. Grace is God stepping into places we never expected and speaking to people we assumed were disqualified.

And some of us might just feel that way.

Luke chapter 2 says that you are exactly the kind of person God loves to speak to. The gospel does not come to people who have it all together. It comes to people who know they do not. God brings the gospel to the weary, not the worthy, because the weary are the only ones honest enough to receive it.

Truth #2: The Gospel Turns Fear into Joy

The shepherds’ response to the angel makes perfect sense. Luke tells us that when the glory of the Lord shone around them, they were filled with great fear. That reaction is not irrational or immature. It is biblical. Throughout Scripture, when sinful humanity encounters the holiness of God, fear is the natural and appropriate response. When God reveals Himself, people do not feel bigger or more confident. They feel exposed. They feel small. They feel undone.

We see this clearly in the Old Testament. When Isaiah encounters the Lord in the temple, seated on His throne and surrounded by holiness, Isaiah does not celebrate his calling or highlight his faithfulness. He cries out, “Woe is me! For I am lost; for I am a man of unclean lips.” In the presence of God’s holiness, Isaiah becomes acutely aware of his sin. The closer he gets to God, the clearer his brokenness becomes.

We see the same response in Ezekiel. When Ezekiel encounters the glory of the Lord by the Chebar canal, he does not speak. He does not move. He falls face down. His body responds before his mind does. He collapses under the weight of God’s glory because holiness overwhelms human strength. God’s presence humbles before it ever commissions.

We see it with Moses as well. When God appears to Moses in the burning bush, Moses does not run toward the fire. He hides his face because he is afraid to look at God. Later, when God descends on Mount Sinai in thunder, fire, and smoke, the entire nation of Israel trembles. The people beg Moses to speak to God on their behalf because the sound of God’s voice terrifies them. Holiness creates distance before grace bridges it.

We even see it in Job. When God finally speaks out of the whirlwind, Job does not argue his case anymore. He does not defend himself. He says, “I despise myself, and repent in dust and ashes.” Encountering God does not inflate human pride. It dismantles it.

Over and over again, the pattern is the same. When God shows up, people realize very quickly how small they are, how fragile they are, and how sinful they truly are. Fear is not the problem in those moments. Fear is the recognition that God is holy and we are not. That is why the shepherds tremble. They are standing in the presence of divine glory, and they know instinctively that something about them does not measure up.

And that is what makes the next words of the angel so powerful.

Because what happens next is the heart of the gospel. The angel does not tell them to calm themselves down. He does not tell them to get their act together. He does not give them a list of steps to follow or behaviors to improve.

Instead, the angel speaks words that have echoed through history and still speak into weary hearts today: “Fear not.” And the reason they do not have to fear is not found in themselves. It is found in what God is about to announce.

The angel says, “For behold, I bring you good news of great joy that will be for all the people.”

That phrase, “good news,” is everything. This is an announcement of reality. God is not telling them what they must do. He is telling them what He has done.

That is the difference between religion and the gospel. Religion tells you how to climb your way to God. The gospel tells you that God has come down to you.

Then the angel makes the announcement that changes everything. He says, “For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is Christ the Lord.”

Those words are loaded with meaning. Jesus is announced as a Savior because humanity needs rescuing, not motivation. He is announced as the Christ because He is the promised Messiah, the fulfillment of centuries of waiting, longing, and prophecy. He is announced as the Lord because He is not a consultant offering suggestions or a life coach offering tips. He is King. He has authority. He reigns.

And Adrian Rogers used to say He is Lord of all or not at all. Because if Jesus is the Lord of your life by definition you will do what He tells you to do. If you aren’t doing them, He isn’t lord.

Scripture wants us to feel how personal this is.

The angel does not say, “Unto humanity” or “unto the religious elite.” He says, “Unto you is born.” This is not just good news for scholars or theologians or people with their lives together. This is good news for tired shepherds standing in a field. This is good news for weary black hearted wretched sinners who know they need help. God is not announcing an abstract truth. He is announcing a personal Lord and Savior.

At that point, heaven can no longer stay quiet. Luke tells us that suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God. Heaven erupts in worship because redemption has begun. The angels declare, “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace among those with whom he is pleased.”

This matters deeply. Peace does not come from circumstances improving. Peace does not come from life finally working out the way we hoped. Peace comes from God being glorified. When God is put back in His rightful place, peace flows into human hearts.

And notice the final phrase: “among those with whom he is pleased.” God is not pleased because of our performance. He is pleased because of His Son. The Father’s pleasure rests on Jesus, and through Jesus, that pleasure extends to all who trust Him.

That is why fear can turn into joy. That is why weary hearts can rest. The weary world does not need less responsibility or better time management. It needs a Savior. And His name is Jesus.

Truth #3: Those Who Hear the Gospel Are Sent to Share It

After the angels leave, the sky goes quiet again. The light fades. The singing stops. And suddenly, the shepherds are standing in the same field they were in before. The same sheep are still there. The same night air surrounds them. Nothing around them has changed, but everything within them has.

And now they have a choice to make. God has spoken. Heaven has interrupted their ordinary lives. The question is what they will do with what they have heard.

Luke tells us in verse 15 that the shepherds say to one another, “Let us go over to Bethlehem and see this thing that has happened, which the Lord has made known to us.” That sentence matters because it reveals their faith. They do not debate whether the message was real. They do not sit around analyzing the experience. They do not wait for further confirmation. They believe that what they heard came from the Lord, and belief always leads to movement. Faith does not stay still. Faith moves toward obedience.

Luke then tells us in verse 16 that they went with haste and found Mary and Joseph, and the baby lying in a manger.

They go quickly, because when God speaks, Delayed obedience is disobedience. You can spin it any way you want but delay is disobedience dressed up as caution.

These tired men move with urgency because the gospel creates urgency. When God reveals His Son, the appropriate response is to go and see.

And when they see Him, everything changes. Luke tells us in verse 17 that when they saw it, they made known the saying that had been told them concerning this child.

The moment they encounter Jesus, they become witnesses. The first evangelists in the gospel of Luke are not trained rabbis or polished communicators. They are exhausted shepherds who have simply seen and heard what God has done. They do not have platforms. They do not have credentials. They do not have carefully crafted presentations. They have a story. And that story is enough.

This is how the gospel has always spread. God uses ordinary people to declare extraordinary truth. The shepherds simply tell others what God told them. They do not exaggerate. They do not embellish. They testify.

When people hear the gospel and truly encounter Jesus, silence is no longer an option. Worship overflows into witness.

Luke then tells us in verse 20 that the shepherds returned, glorifying and praising God for all they had heard and seen. Do not miss the beauty of that word returned. They go back to the same fields. They go back to the same job. They go back to the same routine. God does not remove them from ordinary life. He redeems it.

They return to their responsibilities, but they return changed. They are not the same men who stood in that field hours earlier.

Some of us believe that God can only use us once we are rested, organized, and spiritually strong.

We assume that our exhaustion disqualifies us. Luke chapter 2 tells a different story. It tells us that tired people who have encountered Jesus are exactly the kind of people God loves to use.

The gospel does not wait until you have everything together. It sends you out as you are, filled with wonder, worship, and a story worth telling.

Church, when you step back and look at Luke 2 as a whole, you realize that this story is not just about what happened that night in a field outside Bethlehem. It is about how God still works today. God still speaks into weary places. God still announces good news to tired people. God still sends ordinary men and women back into ordinary life carrying extraordinary hope.

The shepherds did not wake up that morning expecting to hear from heaven. They were not praying for a vision. They were not asking for a sign. They were simply being faithful in what God had already put in front of them. And yet God met them right there. That should encourage us. It means you do not have to manufacture a spiritual moment for God to move. God is fully capable of stepping into the middle of your exhaustion and making Himself known.

Some of you walked into this room carrying fear. You have fear about your family. You have fear about your future. You have fear about your health. You have fear about whether or not you are enough. And just like the shepherds, that fear makes sense.

But the gospel does not leave us in fear. It replaces fear with joy, not by denying reality, but by announcing a Savior. Jesus does not come to make life easier in the short term. He comes to make us right with God for eternity. That is why the angels rejoice. That is why heaven erupts. That is why peace is possible even when life is still hard.

Others of you walked in tired and quiet, assuming that God might use other people but probably not you. You see your weariness as a limitation instead of an invitation. Luke 2 says otherwise. God chooses shepherds on purpose. God sends the message through people the world ignores so that no one mistakes where the power comes from. If God can use exhausted shepherds, He can use you. Your weakness does not disqualify you. It puts you in the exact position where grace can work.

And notice how the story ends. The shepherds return glorifying and praising God. They do not have all the answers. They do not fully understand everything they have seen. But they know enough to worship, and they know enough to tell others. That is the rhythm of the Christian life. We hear the gospel. We respond in faith. We worship God. And then we go back into the world carrying the story of what we have seen and heard.

So here is the question this text forces us to ask.

The question this text leaves us with is not complicated, but it is unavoidable. What are you going to do with the good news you have heard? The angels announced it. The shepherds heard it and went. They saw Jesus, and they shared what had been told to them. That is the rhythm of the gospel. It is heard, it moves us to go, and it sends us to share.

That rhythm did not stop in Luke chapter 2. It carries all the way to the end of Matthew’s Gospel, where Jesus looks at His disciples and says, “Go therefore and make disciples of all nations.” The Great Commission is simply the grown-up version of what the shepherds did that night. They heard the announcement. They went to see the Savior. And then they shared the news with everyone they encountered. The gospel has always been meant to move through ordinary people who are willing to take the next step.

And now that same good news has been placed in our hands. We have heard it. The question is whether we will go and whether we will share. The weary world is still listening. The weary world is still desperate for hope. The weary world still needs a Savior. God has chosen to make that Savior known through people like us. Heard. Go. Share. That is not just the response of the shepherds. It is the calling of the church.

The Savior has already come. He has been born. He has lived. He has died. He has risen. And He reigns. Fear does not get the final word. Weariness does not get the final word. Jesus does.

And here is the beauty of this moment. The gospel does not demand that you fix yourself before you respond. The shepherds did not clean up before they went to Bethlehem. They did not change clothes or improve their standing. They went as they were. They went tired. They went curious. They went believing. And that is still how Jesus invites people to come. He does not say, “Get your life together and then come.” He says, “Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.”

Some of you have been carrying burdens you were never meant to carry alone. You have been trying to manage sin, fear, and shame in your own strength, and it is wearing you down. Luke chapter 2 reminds us that rest does not come from trying harder. Rest comes from trusting the One who has already done the work. The Savior has come. That is not a suggestion. That is a declaration.

Others of you have heard the gospel many times, but it has become familiar instead of transformative. You know the story, but it no longer moves you. The shepherds did not stay in the field debating theology. They went to see Jesus. Familiarity never replaced obedience. The gospel always calls for response. It always calls for movement. It always calls for worship that changes the way we live.

And here is the beauty of this moment. The gospel does not demand that you fix yourself before you respond. The shepherds did not clean up before they went to Bethlehem. They did not change clothes or improve their standing. They went as they were. They went tired. They went curious. They went believing. And that is still how Jesus invites people to come. He does not say, “Get your life together and then come.” He says, “Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.”

Some of you have been carrying burdens you were never meant to carry alone. You have been trying to manage sin, fear, and shame in your own strength, and it is wearing you down. Luke chapter 2 reminds us that rest does not come from trying harder. Rest comes from trusting the One who has already done the work. The Savior has come. That is not a suggestion. That is a declaration.

Others of you have heard the gospel many times, but it has become familiar instead of transformative. You know the story, but it no longer moves you. The shepherds did not stay in the field debating theology. They went to see Jesus. Familiarity never replaced obedience. The gospel always calls for response. It always calls for movement. It always calls for worship that changes the way we live.

And there are some of you who need to hear this clearly. Christmas is not about nostalgia. It is not about tradition. It is not about warm feelings and candlelight. It is about the invasion of grace into a broken world. God stepped into human history because we could not save ourselves. The manger points forward to a cross. The baby wrapped in cloths will one day be wrapped in burial linens. And the Savior born in Bethlehem will rise from the grave so that weary sinners can have life.

So the invitation is simple, but it is not shallow. Believe the good news. Receive the Savior. Rest in what God has done for you through Jesus Christ. And then go back into your life changed, carrying joy instead of fear, worship instead of weariness, and hope instead of despair.

Because this is the truth we celebrate tonight. The weary world has heard the gospel. And by God’s grace, the weary world can now live in its light.

As we come to the close of our time together, I want to be clear about what the next step is. The next step is not to rush. The next step is not to move on too quickly. The next step is to respond. The shepherds did not hear the good news and immediately return to business as usual. They paused. They went to see Jesus. And then they worshiped. That is what we are about to do. We are going to respond by lifting our voices one more time, not because everything in life is suddenly easy, but because God has spoken into our weariness.

For some of you, the next step is simply to rest. You need to stop striving, stop carrying burdens you were never meant to carry, and trust that the Savior who has come is enough. You do not need to prove anything to God. You do not need to earn His favor. You need to receive what He has already given you in Christ. Let this final song be a prayer of surrender, a quiet declaration that you are choosing trust over fear.

For others of you, the next step is belief. You have heard the gospel clearly today. You have heard that a Savior has been born for you. Not for people who have it all together, but for weary sinners in need of grace. If you have never trusted Jesus, this moment matters. You can believe right where you are. You can confess your need, place your faith in Christ, and receive the peace the angels announced. There is no better time than now.

And for all of us as a church family, the next step is invitation. This Wednesday night at 7 o’clock, we will gather again for our Candlelight Christmas Eve service. It will be simple, reverent, and centered on Jesus. It will be a night where the gospel is clear and the room is full of light. Think about the weary people in your life. Think about family members, neighbors, coworkers, or friends who need to hear good news. God used shepherds to spread the announcement, and He is still using ordinary people today. Pray about who you can invite and trust God with the results.

So as we sing one more song, let your heart respond. Rest in Jesus if you are weary. Believe if you are searching. Worship because the Savior has come. And then leave this place ready to carry that good news into a weary world.