The shepherds were hardy, welcoming folks.

When I was growing up, I saw drawings of their fields in Sunday School books – gently rolling hills from which they looked down on their flocks by night. And from those hills they looked down on Bethlehem in the distance.

A month ago, my son Damon and I stood in the actual shepherds’ fields. They are in Beit Sahour – a village in the West Bank east of Bethlehem.

From the fields in Beit Sahour we could see the Church of the Nativity – the church built over the cave where Jesus was born. But we didn’t look down to Bethlehem. We looked up.

Bethlehem makes San Francisco look flat. It is 500 feet higher than the shepherd fields. The fields are deep in a valley below Bethlehem. The fields don’t roll gently. They slant at an intense angle.

Because of the steepness of the valley, there are lots of springs – good for growing grass in a dry land. Because of the springs there are lots of caves – good for shelter on a chilly December night. Because of the caves there are tunnels – I don’t know what they’re good for but they were fun to crawl through.

For the shepherds to get to Bethlehem, it was not a gentle downhill stroll but a rugged uphill climb.

But then they were hardy, welcoming folks. They always have been.

Damon and I hired a guide for two of our days in the West Bank.  His name was Iyad Qumsiyeh. He happened to come from Beit Sahour. He lived in the ancient shepherd fields with his wife and three children aged 4, 7 and 9 years.

There are over 200 Qumsiyeh’s in tiny Beit Sahour – and they are all related to each other. It’s a huge extended family that’s been there for many, many generations.

Iyad is a Palestinian and looks it with Semitic features. Most people assume he is Muslim. But Iyad is a Christian as are 80% of the residents of Beit Sahour.

So people ask, “Iyad, when did you convert to Christianity?”

He answers the question with a question: “Who were the first Christians? Who were first to recognize something special in Jesus?”

After a moment’s reflection, most people answer, “The Three Wisemen were the first to worship Jesus.”

Iyad says, “No. The wisemen came twelve nights after his birth. Who came before them?”

Then he says, “The shepherds were the very first to come to Jesus. They were the first Christians. I come from Beit Sahour – the shepherds’ fields. My family converted to Christianity over 2,000 years ago. When did yours convert?”

Before they can answer he goes on, “And what was Jesus’ nationality?”

Many people think, “Jesus was Christian.” But a moment’s reflection says differently. Christianity came after Jesus, not before. So they answer, “Jesus was a Jew.”

Iyad says, “That’s true. But that’s not the question. Judaism was his religion. What was his nationality?”

To this Iyad gets a blank stare. He offers, “I’ll give you a clue. He wasn’t Roman.”

If people remain blank, he says, “Jesus was a Palestinian. He came from this region. He was a Palestinian Jew.”

To take this one step further, the shepherds were Bedouins. Bedouin simply means “country folks” – people who live out in the countryside close to nature – shepherds and farmers.

Damon and I spent time with the Bedouins. Khalil Alamor, an elder in a tiny Bedouin village, took us in for a few days. He took us to the animal markets where they trade sheep, goats, cattle and camels. He took us to visit tons of relatives who poured us coffee and tea and gave us small gifts. He took us to the Bedouin wedding of the son of a friend of his – we were welcomed and fed traditional foods. He took us around his village and countryside – they have an exquisite understanding of the natural environment and how to live in it without upsetting the delicate desert ecology. And with our encouragement, he took us to some of villages being destroyed by the Israelis.

We loved the Bedouins. They’re smart, resourceful, self-reliant and their tradition of welcoming the stranger is deep and real. I think the first words of English they learn are “Welcome” and “You are welcome.” We heard it everywhere amongst them.

So it makes sense to me that as the tale of Jesus’ birth filtered down through the ages, it would be the Bedouins watching their flocks by night who first grasped the angels’ welcome: “Peace on earth, goodwill towards all.”

There is nothing like sitting under the clear skies on December nights to see how silly our human categories are: Christian, Jew, Palestinian, Israeli, Bedouin, shepherd, king, Unitarian, atheist, Buddhist, Muslim, pagan … these are insignificant differences compared to the vastness of the starry heavens. We’re humans before we’re anything else.

And there is nothing like seeing a newborn to awaken a universal love for all humans – all humans – and all creatures who have babies – all creatures with whom we share this dear planet.

And so it is that on Christmas Eve, on the night when the stress of the season blessedly starts to ebb and the magic starts to flow that we gather to reflect on this ancient story and its universal message: “Peace on Earth, good will toward all.” True peace on earth grows out of human rights. And human rights grow out of good will. There is nothing more sacred than caring for the worth and dignity of all souls regardless of the religion, nationality, political persuasion, occupation, mood or life circumstance. It’s not “Peace on earth and good will toward me,” or “toward my family” or “my people.” It’s not even “good will towards most of us.” It’s “good will towards all.”

In the coming days and months, may we hear what the shepherds heard. May it reawaken our hearts. And no matter how steep the terrain, may we carry and live the message: peace on earth, good will toward all. May we be hardy and wecoming.

Bless us everyone. Blessed be.