The Forgotten Message of Christmas
A Christmas reflection for Urban Mystics and Boston Camino
Five days before Christmas, I finally sat down long enough to breathe.
And in that quiet space, I started to notice something. I have been busy, productive, "on top of things," yet somehow I have barely had a moment to actually be present to what this season is about.
It is strange how you can move through Advent doing all the right things and still feel disconnected from the heart of it. Sometimes I wonder where the festive feeling went, the childhood magic, the warm glow that felt automatic. Did I become jaded? Did my heart get cold?
I do not think so.
I think my heart is still tender, maybe too tender for the world I am watching. I am still torn. Still mourning. Still hurting with those who hurt.
Which is why I need Christmas to be more than cozy. I need Christmas to be true.
Last year, I wrote a reflection called "Embracing the Light and Shadow of Christmas." If Christmas feels complicated because you are grieving, experiencing loneliness, or carrying loss, I hope you find that piece on the Urban Mystics reflections page and let it be a gentle companion.
This year, I am noticing something different in me, and I think it points to something we have forgotten about Christmas itself.
In Luke's Gospel, there is a righteous and devout man named Simeon. He has been waiting, not for a holiday, but for a Person. Luke says the Holy Spirit revealed to him that he would not die before he had seen the Lord's Messiah, and the Spirit led him into the temple courts right when Mary and Joseph arrived with Jesus. Simeon takes the child in his arms and prays words that are both tender and world-shaking, calling Jesus God's salvation, a light for revelation to the Gentiles, and the glory of Israel (Luke 2:25-35).
This is what Christmas is.
Good news. The Savior is born. The long-awaited Messiah has come.
But watching the world around me, a question won't let me go.
When Good News Starts to Sound Like Good News for Only a Few
Maybe a better title for this section is "When Good News Gets Twisted Beyond Recognition."
Because I find myself wondering, is the good news only for the safe, the comfortable, the powerful? Is it only for the insiders, the influential, the financially secure?
If the gospel, in this context, the birth of Christ, is truly good news, it has to reach the places that are groaning.
Paul says creation itself is groaning, like labor pains (Romans 8:22).
That is not poetic exaggeration. It is a spiritual reality.
And here is where Christmas gets hard for me in the United States. Not because the gospel has changed, but because the gospel gets presented and practiced in ways that do not feel like good news to the poor, the vulnerable, the immigrant, the widowed, the orphaned, the marginalized, or the oppressed.
In the name of Jesus, I have watched pastors and institutions excuse cruelty, normalize racism, bless corruption, protect power, and baptize fear. I have watched "faith" be used to justify dehumanizing policies and to mock the suffering of people who bear God's image.
No wonder many of us struggle to celebrate.
Not because we have lost faith, but because we have lost trust in the way Christianity is often performed in public.
Our Obsession with Being "Saved" and What We Have Forgotten
When salvation gets shrunk to a transaction or reduced to private afterlife insurance, it becomes very easy for the rich and powerful to feel spiritually safe while doing real harm.
And this is what happens when we make Christmas only about the Savior being born.
Yes, Jesus is the Savior. That is true. But when we fixate on salvation as the ultimate goal, as the moment of conversion, as the transaction that secures our eternal destiny, we end up designing our entire faith life around getting people "saved." We create a Christianity obsessed with who is in and who is out, who has said the right words, who has the right belief.
And in the process, we forget what Jesus actually came to do.
We forget what kind of Savior he is.
Here are a few ways this plays out:
Saved without repentance: "I said the words, I am forgiven,” while refusing to turn from greed, domination, cruelty, or racism.
Saved without responsibility: A gospel that demands nothing about how we treat the poor, the immigrant, the prisoner, or the sick.
Saved without neighbor love: When "love your neighbor" becomes optional, and protecting comfort becomes the highest virtue.
Saved without truth: When lies, propaganda, and conspiracy are tolerated because they serve "our side."
Saved without justice: When justice is reframed as "political," so the faith can remain polite while people suffer.
Saved without humility: When Christianity becomes a badge of superiority rather than a path of surrender.
Saved without shepherding: When leadership becomes control, branding, influence, and platform, instead of care.
That last one is where I want to linger, because it takes us straight into the Christmas story and what we have forgotten.
When we are obsessed with being saved, we miss the call to be like Jesus.
When we are obsessed with conversion, we miss the call to shepherding.
And that is the forgotten message of Christmas.
The Forgotten Meaning of the Good News
John the Baptist, faithful and brave, ends up in prison. He sends word to Jesus with a painfully honest question: Are you the one who is to come, or should we expect someone else? (Matthew 11:3)
Jesus' answer is not a slogan. It is a description of what is happening:
The blind see, the lame walk, those with leprosy are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the poor receive good news (Matthew 11:4-5).
In other words, the good news is not only proclaimed. It is embodied.
It is care. Protection. Healing. Restoration.
It is shepherding.
Jesus' own mission statement in Luke makes this unmistakable: good news to the poor, freedom for prisoners, sight for the blind, release for the oppressed (Luke 4:18-19).
So if we want to understand what "good news" really means, we cannot define it from the vantage point of "the safe" and the privileged. We have to look at who Jesus is gathering, defending, feeding, healing, and restoring.
Which means Christmas is not only that the Savior is born.
Christmas is that the Good Shepherd is born.
The Shepherds Were the First to Hear It
Luke tells us that the angelic announcement of Jesus' birth came to shepherds in the fields. And after they found Mary, Joseph, and the baby, Luke says the shepherds spread the word about what had been told them, and they returned glorifying and praising God (Luke 2:8-20).
That detail matters.
The first public witnesses of the Messiah's birth are not the powerful, not the elite, not the temple authorities.
They are shepherds.
Why shepherds?
Because God loves this metaphor. God repeatedly reveals his own heart as a Shepherd.
"The Lord is my shepherd." (Psalm 23:1)
"He tends his flock like a shepherd... he gathers the lambs in his arms." (Isaiah 40:11)
And Jesus makes it personal: "I am the good shepherd." (John 10:11)
And if you trace the story of Scripture, shepherding is not a side theme. It runs through the family line, the calling stories, and the leadership critique.
Shepherds in Jesus' Family Story
Matthew and Luke both root Jesus in the line of Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, and David (Matthew 1; Luke 3).
Those genealogies do not list occupations, but the wider story does.
Abraham was wealthy in livestock (Genesis 13:2).
Isaac had flocks and herds (Genesis 26:14).
Jacob explicitly speaks of pasturing and keeping Laban's flock, and later describes his years of costly, vigilant care (Genesis 30:31-32).
Jacob's sons identify their trade as shepherding, "both we and our fathers" (Genesis 46:32-34).
David, the great king in the family line, is literally out tending sheep when God calls him forward (1 Samuel 16).
Even earlier in the story:
Abel is described as a keeper of flocks (Genesis 4:2).
Rachel is called a shepherdess (Genesis 29:9).
Moses is tending the flock of Jethro when he encounters God in the burning bush (Exodus 3:1).
Amos is introduced as one among the shepherds of Tekoa (Amos 1:1).
So when the angels go to shepherds first, it is not random.
It is a signal.
God is saying, This is what I am like. This is what my kingdom is like. This is what my Messiah will be like.
God's Rebuke When Shepherding Is Forgotten
Ezekiel 34 is one of the most devastating critiques of spiritual leadership in the Bible. God condemns Israel's shepherds who feed themselves instead of the flock, who fail to strengthen the weak, heal the sick, bind up the injured, bring back the strayed, and seek the lost. Then God says something breathtaking: I myself will search for my sheep and look after them (Ezekiel 34:11).
That is not only judgment.
That is promise.
And it echoes through the whole biblical storyline: God expects leaders to shepherd, not exploit. The New Testament carries that forward when leaders are told to shepherd God's flock willingly, not for shameful gain, and not domineering over those in their care (1 Peter 5:2-3).
Jesus' own critiques of religious leadership often land here: loading people with burdens while refusing to lift a finger to help (Matthew 23:4).
So when Christian leadership becomes obsessed with control, cultural dominance, and power, Scripture does not call that "strong leadership."
Scripture calls it failed shepherding.
A Historical Echo: Power, Empire, and the Desert
In the fourth century, Christianity's relationship to political power changed dramatically after Constantine's legalization of Christianity, often associated with the Edict of Milan in 313.
There is a lot to say here, but one simple connection matters for this reflection:
When the faith becomes entangled with empire, people who are hungry for God often flee to the margins to find him again.
The Desert Fathers emerged as influential early monastics, with figures like Anthony of Egypt playing a foundational role in organized Christian monasticism.
I think many people "fleeing" church today are not being unfaithful.
They are being faithful to Jesus while refusing to be formed by a faith that looks nothing like him.
They are refusing a counterfeit Christianity.
They are looking for the Shepherd.
A Sign of Hope Close to Home
This Advent, St. Susanna Catholic Church in Dedham, Massachusetts, created a Nativity display that went viral. The sign read "ICE WAS HERE," and Mary, Joseph, and Jesus were missing, a pointed commentary about immigration enforcement and fear in our public life. Local reporting describes the display and the reactions it sparked, including criticism from leadership in the Archdiocese of Boston.
What struck me was not only the cleverness. It was the courage to say, This is not okay! This is not abstract. This is about human beings. This is about whether anyone is safe.
Around the same time, reporting also noted Pope Leo XIV's criticism of harsh treatment of migrants and the poor, and his broader push to recenter the Church's public witness toward mercy and justice.
And there is another story that matters here: Reuters and other outlets reported that Pope Leo XIV accepted the resignation of Cardinal Timothy Dolan as Archbishop of New York and appointed Bishop Ronald W. Hicks as his successor.
I want to be careful with how I say this. I cannot claim motives beyond what is reported. But I can say this: it is a sign of hope when high-visibility faith leadership is publicly re-emphasizing care for the poor, compassion for migrants, and a more Christlike posture in a time of fear.
And it encourages me. And I hope it inspires us.
Because we can always tell ourselves, "I am not important enough to speak; I do not have the platform; I do not hold the office."
But shepherding is not reserved for people with titles.
Shepherding is for anyone who belongs to the Shepherd.
Shepherd Inspiration for Christmas Week
So here is my invitation for Christmas Eve, Christmas Day, and the days that follow.
Do not pack away this reflection with your ornaments.
Pack away what keeps you in fear.
Let love stay.
When Jesus restores Peter after his betrayal, he does not rebuild him in shame. He rebuilds Peter with love and then gives him a shepherding vocation: feed my lambs, tend my sheep.
Love becomes the fuel.
Not fear. Not guilt. Not image management.
Love.
So here is a simple practice for Boston Camino and Urban Mystics:
A Christmas meditation: Under the Shepherd's care
Sit quietly for two minutes. Let your breathing slow.
Read Luke 2:8-20 slowly, and notice that the shepherds become the first witnesses and messengers.
What does it tell you about God’s heart that shepherds, not the powerful, heard the news first?
Ask: Where do I most need the Shepherd's care right now?
Ask: Who is one person, one family, one neighbor, one vulnerable group that needs shepherding care this week?
Choose one act of shepherding that is concrete. A meal. A call. A ride. A check-in. A donation. A letter. A public word of encouragement. A refusal to participate in dehumanizing talk.
Not because you are trying to be a hero.
Because you are practicing resemblance.
Because the Shepherd has come near.
Word of Encouragement
Christmas is not God telling the groaning world to quiet down.
Christmas is God stepping into the groaning world and saying:
I have not abandoned you. I have come for you. I will gather you.
This is the forgotten good news.
The Good Shepherd is born. So let us become a people who shepherd.
