Posted on 12/28/2007 9:52:34 AM PST by Charles Henrickson
“The One That Got Away” (Matthew 2:13-23)
Christmas is a joyous, happy holiday. At this time of year we celebrate the “good news of great joy,” that to us is born a Savior, who is Christ the Lord. With the angels who give glory to God in the highest, with the shepherds who return glorifying and praising God, with the wise men who rejoice exceedingly with great joy, we too join in the joy of Christmas.
Yes, Christmas is a joyous, happy holiday. That is true within the church. But perhaps even more so, it’s true in the culture around us. In our society, Christmas is expected to be a time of happiness and laughter, a time for merriment and good cheer, a time for blocking out--at least temporarily--all the unpleasant and painful aspects of life.
And so to the extent that we have been influenced by the culture, today’s Gospel reading can come as a bit of a shock. It seems to run counter to the mood of the season. For it’s the account of what’s called “The Slaughter of the Holy Innocents.” Now if there is any event in the Bible that could be further removed from an upbeat, cheerful holiday mood, I don’t know what it is. Herod’s slaughter of the innocent children of Bethlehem is a singularly horrifying and tragic story. Yet it comes hard on the heels of Christmas, this story of the brutal murder of innocent children. What saves the story for us, though, is “The One That Got Away.”
The background is familiar enough. After Jesus is born in Bethlehem, during the days of King Herod, wise men from the east come to Jerusalem, asking, “Where is he who has been born king of the Jews? For we saw his star when it rose and have come to worship him.” Now for men who are supposed to be wise, this line of inquiry does not seem to be very wise at all. Because King Herod hears about this, and this is not the kind of thing he likes to hear. “Another king of the Jews? What about me? Where would that leave me? I’m the only king around here. I’m not going to have some little upstart challenging me for my throne.” But Herod is a sly fellow. He’s not going to come right out and tell the wise men all this. That would scare them off. No, Herod wants the wise men to lead him right to the little king. He finds out from the prophecies that the Messiah would be born in Bethlehem, but he wants to know the exact location and the exact child. So he sends them to Bethlehem on the pretense that he wants them to report back to him so he too can go and worship.
Of course it’s a lie. Herod doesn’t want to worship the newborn king, he wants to wipe him out! But the wise men are warned in a dream not to go back to Herod. So Herod gets stood up by the wise men; they don’t come back. He still doesn’t know which of the baby boys in Bethlehem is the one to eliminate. So just to make sure he gets the right one, Herod orders the death of all of them--all the baby boys in Bethlehem and its vicinity, up to two years old.
Herod the Great was a brutal, murderous ruler, insanely jealous and protective of his power, suspicious to the point of paranoia. Ancient history records other occasions when he had potential rivals to his throne, whether real or imagined, ruthlessly killed. He even murdered members of his own family when he thought it served his own interests. So for Herod to order the deaths of maybe 15 or 20 baby boys in a small town--if he thought that doing so would be a sure way to get rid of a new “king of the Jews”--this was nothing out of character for him.
The soldiers are dispatched. The dirty deed is done. This is a crime so unspeakable and heinous, the details are hard to contemplate, much less to describe. What kind of a monster could do such a thing? What is as senseless and tragic as the violent death of innocent children? What grief as profound as that of parents mourning the death of their little ones? Try to imagine the sorrow of those mothers in Bethlehem: “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.”
Is there any comfort for these mothers of Bethlehem? There is, and it’s all because of “the one that got away,” the one baby boy who escaped the slaughter of the innocents. Joseph is warned in a dream to take Mary and baby Jesus and flee the country. The little Messiah is safely on his way to Egypt. God is not going to have the infant Savior cut down before he can get started.
You know, God had done this sort of thing once before, saving an infant savior. Many centuries earlier there was another evil ruler who wanted to kill a bunch of Israelite baby boys. But the Lord had a little baby deliverer that he wanted to keep alive. Moses was his name. So that time the one that got away was baby Moses. This time it’s baby Jesus. That time the baby was already in Egypt. This time the baby goes to Egypt, in order to escape. Moses had a great mission in front of him: to lead the people of Israel out of bondage in Egypt. Jesus had an even greater mission in front of him: to lead people of all nations out of bondage to sin and death and the power of the devil. That’s why baby Jesus needed to flee from Herod and escape to Egypt.
It was necessary for baby Jesus to live, in order for him to grow up and fulfill his saving mission. Jesus had to live so he could later die, at the right time and in the right place. Some thirty years later, Jesus would stand before another Herod--Herod the Great’s son, Herod Antipas--and before a governor named Pontius Pilate, and at that time and in that place, Jesus would suffer and he would die. His death at the hands of evil men would redeem us from the power of death and deliver us from all evil. So the Christ of Christmas had to live, in order that the Christ of Calvary could die, for you and me.
Thus the connection between the joy of Christmas and the somber tragedy of the Holy Innocents. Any celebration of Christmas that can function only on a surface level of sweet, syrupy sentimentality, a Christmas that cannot come to grips with the harsh reality of death and suffering and evil in the world--that kind of a Christmas is not worthy of the name. But the true Christmas, the real Christmas, does speak a word of deep comfort to those who are suffering, to those who are struggling with the unanswered, and unanswerable, questions of life--and death. Maybe you are one of those today who can benefit from this comfort found hidden in the story.
Is there any comfort for people suffering from tragedy and loss? Is there any comfort for young mothers who lose their children? Is there comfort for you, when you lose a loved one or are losing one to advancing age or debilitation? For you, when you come face to face with your own mortality? Yes, there is comfort for them and for you! It is all because of the one that got away! Christ Jesus, by winning forgiveness for all our sins has taken the sting out of death. Oh, it still hurts, the hurt of loss and missing that person or going through physical suffering ourselves. But the big hurt, the big death--death under the wrath of God--that has been dealt with. Jesus took that death for us and so took the sting out of death.
Christ’s absolutely “holy, precious blood” and his totally “innocent suffering and death” mean that now we who are connected to Christ are accepted by God as “holy innocents,” holy before God and innocent of all guilt. Those who belong to Christ will “live under him in his kingdom and serve him in everlasting righteousness, innocence, and blessedness.” So the question then becomes: How do we get connected to Christ? The baby boys of Bethlehem--they were connected, for they were sons of the house of Israel. They had received in their bodies the sign of the covenant which God had given to Israel, namely, circumcision. And so they shared in the hope of Israel, the promised Messiah, who would deliver God’s people from sin and death.
How about us? How do we get connected to Christ? We are connected to him in Holy Baptism. In baptism, we participate in the death of Christ. Paul says in Romans 6 that “all of us who are baptized into Christ Jesus are baptized into his death.” So the big death for each of us has already occurred. The death we deserve for our sins Christ has already suffered. And we participate in that death by way of baptism. Now the only death left for us is the one that leads to life--everlasting life in heaven, where there will be no more pain, no more suffering or sorrow, no more tears and weeping.
There is the source of comfort--and even joy--for all who are surrounded and set upon by the sorrows of this life, this vale of tears. There is the comfort for the mothers of Bethlehem and the mourners of Bonne Terre. All who are connected to Christ have already died and now are joined to the life of Jesus. His is life that is truly holy and innocent, life with God, life forever.
And so Christmas is not a time for artificially trying to block out unpleasant thoughts and put on a happy face. No, Christmas is to be celebrated especially in view of all the tragedy and suffering we experience in life. Because Christmas is when Christ came into the world, and that makes all the difference. For the Christ of Christmas is also the Christ of Calvary. That’s why Jesus had to be “the one that got away”--so that he could go to the cross for you. And connected to him, we have a comfort and a hope and a joy that all the Herods of this world cannot destroy.
I want to close with a short article that sums it up well. It’s written by a Donna Marmorstein of Aberdeen, South Dakota, and it’s called, “Can Death Obliterate Christmas? Ask Herod”:
Early in December, when stars seem sharper and bluer than at other times, Christmas music seems to sharpen them even more. I unpack my age-old Christmas record collection. I’ll put on “Goodyear’s Great Songs of Christmas” with Mitch Miller and the Mormon Tabernacle Choir. I’ll brew some cinnamon tea, light a mulberry-scented candle and write Christmas cards. Usually, when stamps, return labels, address book and cards are arrayed before me, the carols swirl up together with the tea steam, and my toes turn warm. A deep, bone-radiating satisfaction takes over. Renewing contact with friends is one of the best parts of Christmas.
But this year something went wrong. It started when I tried to write a Christmas greeting to my aunt. How can you wish holiday cheer to someone who just lost a husband to cancer? Her chance of merriment at Christmas is about nil. My pen froze in midair as I tried to think of something to write. How jolly will her Christmas be, as she tries to mix celebration with grief? And his death will mar Christmases to come. My uncle’s voice, singing every morning as he shaved, now stilled. His jokes, smiles, and positive outlook--all gone.
And what do I write to warm the spirits of friends whose youngest child drowned in a lake this summer? Merry Christmas? Right. Every mall, every shop they enter where toys just right for a 6-year-old boy sit on display will become a torture chamber. No message I write can convey joy without pain. There’s no way around it.
My address book isn’t what it used to be either. Every page has abandoned addresses now. My grandpa, long gone. My grandma, who every Christmas cooked up fudge divinity and sugared walnuts, can’t receive my Christmas greetings now. My other grandma--whose flashbulb ALWAYS malfunctioned Christmas morning--is dead, too, and I would love to feel her knobby, blue-veined hand on mine once more, and watch her “fiddle with” her camera now. Her sister, wise, warmhearted Auntie Faye, died Christmas morning in her sleep at 97. Her address still echoes in my book.
All the expired addresses accumulate, and suddenly ripples spot my envelopes. The candle flickers out, the record player grinds to a halt. Stars blur and fall. The needles on the tree all turn brown and drop to the floor. Death creeps into my address book. It grips my pen and tries to overpower my Christmas. No carol seems able to withstand its ugly claw.
But then the turntable starts up again. The Coventry carol plays: “By, by, lully, lullay/ Herod the king, in his raging/ Charged he hath this day/ His men of might, in his own sight/ All young children to slay.” The only carol I know that mentions Herod’s slaughter of the innocents to destroy the Christ child and, consequently, Christmas. Pain, grief and fear riddled the first Christmas. This problem goes back a long time.
Herod, however, did not have this day. Death does not have this day. In fact, the whole reason behind Christmas was to overthrow the power of death and sin and hell. So when death creeps up and grabs a loved one, Christmas kicks death in the teeth and says, “You can’t keep that one. That’s mine.”
Death, where is thy sting? Stuck somewhere under the mistletoe, I suspect. The needles fly back onto the tree and turn green. Falling stars rise and shine, resharpened. My cold tea steams up again. The candle relights. Appropriate, hopeful words spill from my pen onto cards. And Christmas, if not always merry, is always, always victorious.
Matthew 2:13-23 (ESV)
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.” And he rose and took the child and his mother by night and departed to Egypt 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.”
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. Then was fulfilled what was spoken by the prophet Jeremiah:
“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.”
But when Herod died, behold, an angel of the Lord appeared in a dream to Joseph in Egypt, saying, “Rise, take the child and his mother and go to the land of Israel, for those who sought the child’s life are dead.” And he rose and took the child and his mother and went to the land of Israel. But when he heard that Archelaus was reigning over Judea in place of his father Herod, he was afraid to go there, and being warned in a dream he withdrew to the district of Galilee. And he went and lived in a city called Nazareth, that what was spoken by the prophets might be fulfilled: “He shall be called a Nazarene.”
Ping.
Really nice one.
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