When we come to Luke, we come to a later storyteller, and one with a
stronger natural gift for his art. Before you have read twenty lines
of Luke's gospel you are aware that you have passed from the chronicler
writing for the sake of recording important facts, to the artist,
telling the story for the sake of telling it. At the very outset he
achieves the most charming idyll in the Bible: the story of Mary crowded
out of the inn into the stable and laying her newly-born son in the
manger, and of the shepherds abiding in the field keeping watch over
their flocks by night, and how the angel of the Lord came upon them, and
the glory of the Lord shone around them, and suddenly there was with the
angel a multitude of the heavenly host. These shepherds go to the stable
and take the place of the kings in Matthew's chronicle. So completely
has this story conquered and fascinated our imagination that most of us
suppose all the gospels to contain it; but it is Luke's story and his
alone: none of the others have the smallest hint of it.