Nay, but, you may perhaps answer me—“That is because we have been saved from our sins; and we are making merry, because we are so perfectly good.”
Well; there would be some reason in such an answer. There is much goodness in you to be thankful for: far more than you know, or have learned to trust. Still, I don’t believe you will tell me seriously that you eat your pudding and go to your pantomimes only to express your satisfaction that you are so very good.
What is, or may be, this Nativity, to you, then, I repeat? Shall we consider, a little, what, at all events, it was to the people of its time; and so make ourselves more clear as to what it might be to us? We will read slowly.
“And there were, in that country, shepherds, staying out in the field, keeping watch over their flocks by night.”
Watching night and day, that means; not going home. The staying out in the field is the translation of a word from which a Greek nymph has her name Agraulos, “the stayer out in fields,” of whom I shall have something to tell you, soon.
“And behold, the Messenger of the Lord stood above them, and the glory of the Lord lightened round them, and they feared a great fear.”
“Messenger.” You must remember that, when this was written, the word “angel” had only the effect of our word—“messenger”—on men’s minds. Our translators say “angel” when they like, and “messenger” when they like; but the Bible, messenger only, or angel only, as you please. For instance, “Was not Rahab the harlot justified by works, when she had received the angels, and sent them forth another way?”
Would not you fain know what this angel looked like? I have always grievously wanted, from childhood upwards, to know that; and gleaned diligently every word written by people who said they had seen angels: but none of them ever tell me what their eyes are like, or hair, or even what dress they have on. We dress them, in pictures, conjecturally, in long robes, falling gracefully; but we only continue to think that kind of dress angelic, because religious young girls, in their modesty, and wish to look only human, give their dresses flounces. When I was a child, I used to be satisfied by hearing that angels had always two wings, and sometimes six; but now nothing dissatisfies me so much as hearing that; for my business compels me continually into close drawing of wings; and now they never give me the notion of anything but a swift or a gannet. And, worse still, when I see a picture of an angel, I know positively where he got his wings from—not at all from any heavenly vision, but from the worshipped hawk and ibis, down through Assyrian flying bulls, and Greek flying horses, and Byzantine flying evangelists, till we get a brass eagle, (of all creatures in the world, to choose!) to have the gospel of peace read from the back of it.
Therefore, do the best I can, no idea of an angel is possible to me. And when I ask my religious friends, they tell me not to wish to be wise above that which is written. My religious friends, let me write a few words of this letter, not to my poor puzzled workmen, but to you, who will all be going serenely to church to-morrow. This messenger, formed as we know not, stood above the shepherds, and the glory of the Lord lightened round them.
You would have liked to have seen it, you think! Brighter than the sun; perhaps twenty-one coloured, instead of seven-coloured, and as bright as the lime-light: doubtless you would have liked to see it, at midnight, in Judæa.