When three magi from the east showed up in Jerusalem, yearning to “pay homage” to “the child who has been born king of the Jews,” Rome’s puppet ruler of Judea “was frightened” (Matt 2:1-3). He did not know the child’s name, yet Herod soon recognized Jesus as the “ruler” foretold in prophecy to come from Bethlehem to govern God’s people (Matt 2:6; Mic 5:2).
Correctly seeing the child as a threat to his own lordship, Herod first conspired to identify and eliminate Jesus (Matt 2:8). Failing that, he opted for a blanket solution: Herod “killed all the children in and around Bethlehem who were two years old or under, according to the time that he had learned from the magi” (v 16).
The Massacre of the Innocents would be a horrifying story in any context, but especially this one. Mere days after Christmas Eve, the ruthless violence of our world shatters the tranquil peace of Bethlehem with the heart-rending cries of weeping mothers (v 18).
It’s unimaginable but understandable, inserting a hard truth into a wondrous story: not everyone welcomes Christmas, wants to embrace all its implications. Few would go to the lengths of Herod, but many would rather remain lord of their own lives than kneel down beside the magi in paying homage to a newborn king.
For centuries, Christian artists depicted the Virgin Mary holding a miniature adult on her lap, as in the painting above from the time of the Black Death. Theologian Angela McCarthy explains that this version of Jesus originally attempted to convey the idea that a savior who was both fully divine and fully human had been “fully formed from the beginning, with full knowledge of his godliness.” By the time the icon above came to Venice from the collapsing Byzantine Empire, Western Christians were getting used to an infant Christ, thanks to the the nativity plays and scenes made popular by Francis of Assisi. Yet the image of a man-child wearing a crown survived because it reminded medieval believers that Jesus came to Earth as king.
That’s an idea that comes less easily to the modern imagination than to one shaped by feudal hierarchies. Every Christmas Eve, we sing by candlelight to a Jesus who was “Lord at thy birth.” But I suspect that many of us have a hard time seeing the child “asleep on the hay” as the “little Lord Jesus.”
Perhaps we like the idea of Christmas as a silent night because a tranquil infant (“no crying he makes”) is a Lord who demands nothing of his followers. That Jesus brings all of the blessings of joy and peace, but none of the requirements of Christian discipleship: to forgive our debtors and serve God rather than Mammon; to turn the other cheek and love our enemies; to take up our cross and rejoice in persecution.
I’m not trying to be a scrooge; Christmas is my favorite season of the church year. But we shouldn’t celebrate it in such a way that leaves Jesus dozing in his manger, while other lords — loves of money, anger, comfort, etc. — retain control of our lives.
Next week’s lectionary readings: Psalm 147:12-20; Jeremiah 31:7-14; John 1:1-18; Ephesians 1:3-14.
Oh Chris, excellent Sunday meditation! It drives me NUTS that we go all ga-ga over some blonde white baby on a card or in a commercially produced Nativity set and miss (often on purpose) a child “destined for the falling and rising of many in Israel.” The Lord’s Messiah brings light (which illuminates our sins as well as our virtues) and life (lived in the abundance of grace rather than stuff). The Gospel of Jesus Christ is countercultural in every way, and I pray to have the humility of a baby to receive it.