There is a stillness to be met in the late hours of Christmas Eve when the air is teeming with anticipation. It is a joyful expectation set apart from that of the world, as it is not things that are awaited but the One for whom Advent-weary hearts have been longing. Breaking into the silence during midnight Mass is the most affecting Gloria of the liturgical year because of its former absence — the most notable Gloria, with the exception of the very first proclamation of Christ’s birth.

The tale of the first Gloria sung by the angels that we recite at Christmas is one that faithful and secular alike have become accustomed to: “shepherds abiding in the fields, keeping watch over their flocks by night, when suddenly, an angel of the Lord came upon them …” (Luke 2:8).

The familiarity of this narrative causes its significance to be overlooked. In relegating this story to a place of inconsequence, an opportunity is missed to grasp the richness surrounding Christ’s birth. While many questions could be posed, one always remains: Why should it be that shepherds were the first to be informed?

The Martyrology of Christmas proclaimed at the beginning of midnight Mass points toward a conclusion. As these words are sung, the fidelity of God the Father is manifest in the recounting of his marvelous deeds worked through men like Abraham, Moses and David — all of whom were shepherds.

Shepherds maintain an important role in salvation history by virtue of their humility and fidelity. In modernity, Our Lady has repeatedly appeared to shepherds (most notably in Fatima). In March, stories are told of St. Patrick’s work as a shepherd of sheep before he became a shepherd of Christians. There is something to be found within shepherds that informs the faithful in the spiritual life.

A result of the nature of shepherding is a detachment from worldly goods. The lives of shepherds were simple. It was a simplicity that set them apart from the world, partially because they were looked down upon as lowly peasants, but mostly as a result of their tending the flocks in distant pastures. Opportunities for distraction weren’t present. Shepherds lived outside of the comforts of the world to tend the sheep not just by day but also by night; they kept watch while others slept. It was because of this attentive stillness and humility in their circumstances that they maintained a disposition to receive the Lord.

Throughout the spiritual classic Ascent of Mount Carmel, St. John of the Cross continually stresses the necessity of stripping ourselves of worldly attachments in order to receive God. It is through self-denial that we ascend the mountain toward union with God, breaking away from all that is an obstacle for the Great Pursuer. When we ponder the disposition of the shepherds abiding in the fields — an attentive gaze while lacking worldly things — it starkly contrasts the frenetic pace of the world during Advent and Christmas, with the focus centered upon the accumulation of things (which abruptly ends on Dec. 26).

The Church, in her wisdom, enables the faithful to embark upon a journey of simplicity in Advent, notably one of longing. It is in the four barren weeks of Advent that hymns of expectant waiting are sung and we recognize our own lacking that only the coming of the Lord can satiate. Our resolve is tested to become comfortable in the wait: clarifying in our lives that which (or whom) the soul seeks cannot be found in a catalog, living in contradiction to the world. It is a time within, when we are invited to wade into the pastures to keep watch.

George Frederic Handel puts to music, in his oratorio The Messiah, prophetic words found in the third chapter of Malachi: “But who may abide the day of his coming? And who shall stand when he appeareth?” The listener is invited to turn East in expectation to hold vigil for the Messiah, like the prophets of old. When the Messiah came in the quiet obscurity of the night, the world was asleep. But it was the shepherds who stood the day (or night, as it were) of his coming and went in haste when the Christ Child appeared.

Humility and docility are the foundations of the Nativity story. Because of the postures of the people in this story long told, we witness the wonder of God’s perfect ordaining. The various threads of receptivity to God and his will, despite hardship, came together to weave the most marvelous tapestry.

The reality of St. Joseph and Our Lady’s circumstances, and their docility to God’s will, made a poetic birth possible. There wouldn’t have been the same Eucharistic foreshadowing had Christ been laid in a plush cradle within a comfortable house (as “manger” is the French infinitive for “to eat”). From the beginning, God the Father knew that his Son would be laid within a manger upon his birth and hung upon a tree during his bitter passion. The hardship of traveling for the census and finding no place to stay were all-important components in the telling of the greatest love story. All the while, watchful shepherds tend to those same lambs that will become the Passover sacrifice as angels come into their midst. Had they been careless with the flock and asleep, they would not have heard the angelic Gloria.

Taking a deeper look into the Christmas story, it is easy to recognize that every beautiful detail was ordained according to God’s divine purpose.

How do we establish the receptive posture of Christmas? First, to be able to receive, we must first be emptied, as St. John of the Cross suggests and the numerous examples of simple shepherds reveal. But to meet God in the stillness, we too need to be still. In the harried “doing” of Christmas, we may miss his coming, or, worse, be apathetic to it. To ensure a holy Christmas, we must rightly order our priorities of the season to attentively wait like the shepherds, so that we may run to Christ at his coming.

Because of the culture, it requires an immense act of the will to center Christmas Day around the crèche. One of the best practices to ensure that the focus is on Christ is to wait to open presents until after Christmas Mass (or after breakfast is finished if midnight Mass was attended). Being disciplined in this way profoundly communicates the deep reality of Christmas to children. Placing a Nativity scene in a place of prominence, as a table centerpiece, refocuses our attention throughout the day, as well.

Fully celebrating the octave as the culture bids Christmas farewell after the exchange of gifts is a wonderful way to revel in the season. Singing Christmas carols as a family at dinner or during family prayer time creates a unique experience of bonding. The feasts taking place in the days following Christmas — St. Stephen, Holy Innocents, Mother of God, and eventually Epiphany — are opportunities to have our homes mimic the same feasting of the Church and prolong the merriment.

May God grant that we sit in the stillness and keep watch with the shepherds in Bethlehem, at midnight, in the piercing cold. Gloria in excelsis Deo.