First Sunday after Christmas, 12/29/2019

Sermon on Matthew 2:13-23, by Richard O. Johnson

13 Now when they had departed, behold, an angel of the Lord appeared to Joseph in a dream and said, “Rise, take the child and his mother, and flee to Egypt, and remain there until I tell you, for Herod is about to search for the child, to destroy him.” 14 And he rose and took the child and his mother by night and departed to Egypt 15 and remained there until the death of Herod. This was to fulfill what the Lord had spoken by the prophet, “Out of Egypt I called my son.”

16 Then Herod, when he saw that he had been tricked by the wise men, became furious, and he sent and killed all the male children in Bethlehem and in all that region who were two years old or under, according to the time that he had ascertained from the wise men. 17 Then was fulfilled what was spoken by the prophet Jeremiah:

18 “A voice was heard in Ramah, weeping and loud lamentation, Rachel weeping for her children; she refused to be comforted, because they are no more.” [ESV]

Why does this story of the slaughter of the children of Bethlehem intrude into the church’s Christmas celebration? Luke’s story of Christmas is about angels and shepherds, everything we love about Christmas. In his little town of Bethlehem, the everlasting light shines in the dark streets. In Matthew’s Bethlehem, the stillness of the night is interrupted by the sound of soldiers, and then by the wailing of mothers and fathers whose children have been cruelly murdered. It is not what we want to hear at Christmas. Why is this story here? Over the years, at least five reasons have occurred to me. Let me share them with you.

First, it seems to me that Matthew wants to make it clear that the world into which Christ comes is the real world. It is not some sanitized land of sugar plum fairies where everything glitters with magic. The second lesson today from Hebrews puts it well: “He did not come to help angels, but the descendants of Abraham.” Real people, in other words. Real people who live in a world of hatred and murder, a world of fear and violence. Real people like us. That’s the world in which we live, you see; and it’s the world into which Christ comes.

Things haven’t changed

Second, perhaps the story is here to remind us that things haven’t changed much in that world. Herod’s actions appall us, but we must not feel too superior. Still today the innocent are slaughtered. The last century is filled with examples, from Stalin and Hitler to the killing fields of Cambodia and the Rwanda genocide. Even in our enlightened time, madmen wreak their havoc and nations play their games and declare their wars, and there are always innocent victims. Children starve in Somalia. Children are used as pawns in the immigration debate. In the enlightened West, infants are killed in the womb in troubling numbers, while millions of others are abandoned to poverty and despair in violence- and drug-infested ghettos.

And so perhaps the story of Herod serves to remind us that there are no good reasons for killing innocent people. After twenty centuries that lesson still needs to be taught. It intrudes on the story of Christmas, but it does so to remind us that in Bethlehem was born the Prince of Peace and the world is still not at peace. Maybe it is there to remind us that worshiping the Prince of Peace means praying for peace, working for peace, living for peace, and struggling

against the darkness in the hearts of individuals and of nations that leads, generation after generation, to the slaughter of innocents.

The darkness

Third—and this is disturbing!—perhaps the story is here to force us to look inward. Frederick Dale Bruner has suggested that Herod is a stark picture of what we call “original sin”—the dark tendency in every human heart to set ourselves at the center of things, and to resent and fear the claim of Christ to be king of our lives, too. Herod isn’t alone, you see. Earlier in chapter 2 of Matthew, the writer tells us that Herod, when he heard there was a new king, trembled—“and all Jerusalem with him.” None of us wants to be challenged for control of our own life, and we will fight with whatever resources we have to remain the master of our own soul. As Bruner puts it, “Herod is what I am, deep down inside.”

Fourth, I think this story is a good reminder for us that not everyone finds Christmas to be a happy time. Sociologists tell us that just about every statistical measurement of personal unhappiness—divorce, child abuse, alcoholism, suicide—shows a remarkable increase right around Christmas. And why? I suspect it is because at Christmas, when our culture demands that we be merry and joyful, the unhappiness in people’s lives becomes almost unbearable.

And perhaps we should admit that this is partly our fault. We insist that people be happy at Christmas, and so often that happiness is just a veneer plastered over life that tries to silence Rachel, weeping for her children.

Christmas is for the weary

Christmas is about joy, of course—but that is different from happiness. Christmas is deeper. It is the story of a baby, laid in a manger—of God’s light, shining into all the dark corners of life. God’s light—not the artificial glitter of tinsel and Christmas bulbs, but God’s light, shining into our darkness. One of our popular carols, “It Came Upon a Midnight Clear,” contains this verse: And you, beneath life’s crushing load, whose forms are bending low, who toil along the climbing way with painful steps and slow: Look now, for glad and golden hours come swiftly on the wing; O rest beside the weary road and hear the angels sing. Christmas, you see, is really for the weary, the hurting, the weeping. It is for them that Jesus came.

So maybe that’s why the story is here: to remind us that even as the shepherds returned, glorifying God, that even as the angels’ song fades away, that even as Mary and Joseph wonder at this great blessing—there are mothers and fathers weeping for their children. Maybe that’s why the story is here—to remind us that even as we gather around the wassail bowl and enjoy each other’s company, there are others weeping and needing comfort. It is for them that the angels sing, for them that the Babe is born, for them that light has come into the world. If we forget them, then we have missed the point.

The road to Calvary

And finally, one last reason for this story. Herod’s raging is noted here because we need to understand that in Bethlehem begins the inexorable road to Calvary. The wood of the manger becomes the wood of the cross. At Christmas, we like stars and angels, but once you start with this story, you do not turn back. The story of Jesus is a story of a birth, yes, but also a story of suffering and death. Our culture makes a big deal of Christmas, but so much less of Easter and nothing at all any more of Good Friday. But they are all part of the same story, and you don’t start down the road without committing yourself to the whole journey and its destination.

It is interesting to note that in the early church, this text in Matthew was tied to baptism. At first blush that seems discordant. The story is about babies murdered; what can it have to do with baptism?

But perhaps on reflection you can see the connection. In Holy Baptism, we were marked with the sign of the cross. Adult or infant, the sign is the same. The cross is a sign of death—but also life! It is a sign of sorrow—but also joy! It is a sign, above all, that the Christian life does not consist of all sweetness and light, but also of suffering, self-sacrifice, giving up, dying to self.

It is, in short, a difficult road that we walk as Christians. We are called to take on the yoke and burden of Christ. And maybe that’s why we need this story. It points out for us the seriousness of that burden, and reminds us that we have been marked with the sign of the cross, that we have been asked to take up our cross and follow Christ.

And so this story calls us to be more than spectators in Bethlehem. It calls us to be witnesses—witnesses to the birth of a Babe who came into the world to be our Savior, as Isaiah puts it, in all our distress; who came into the world to take up the cross.

So open your ears and your hearts to the weeping parents of Bethlehem—and to those weeping all around us, weeping for grief and despair, weeping for sorrow. Their tears, too, you see, invite us to take up our cross and follow Christ, who for us and for our salvation came down from heaven. “He has opened heaven’s door, and we are blest forever. Now ye need not fear the grave: Jesus Christ was born to save! Christ was born to save!

Richard O. Johnson
Grass Valley, CA
E-Mail: roj@nccn.net

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