As we wind up Christmas this week, we are reminded that the world Jesus was born into is a dangerous and unpredictable world. Jesus’ mere appearance, even as a helpless infant, reveals the conflict between good and evil and the lengths God goes to both defeat evil and rescue us from sin—and the lengths evil will go to maintain its hold on us and creation. So, in this conflict, where light and dark collide, Jesus is a displaced person. He is a refugee.
According to Matthew’s Gospel, as soon as news of this
newborn “king of the Jews” reaches Herod, the Roman appointed King over Judea
and Palestine, does whatever he can to kill off the competition. He tries to
trick the Magi into disclosing Jesus’ location by saying that he wants to
worship him, too. In fact, Herod wants
to kill the regent king. But the Magi are warned in dreams to take the long way
home, Herod orders that all the infant boys 2 years old and younger be killed
to be sure that this king will never grow up.
But Jesus and Mary are saved because Joseph listened to an
angel in a dream to flee to Egypt. Just like Moses being launched in a basket
to avoid the massacre of Jewish babies by Pharaoh a thousand years before, God
intervenes—with the help of caring, faithful people—to save Jesus. In Moses’
case, Moses’ sister Miriam made sure that Moses is found by Pharaoh’s wife and
then contrives to be his nanny. For Jesus, Joseph rescues Mary and Jesus by
fleeing to Egypt taking the same road that the Magi would use to find Jesus themselves. They are not alone because the way that God rescues us from
the depth of human sin and evil and leads us on an exodus from death to life,
from sin into righteousness, will be through the cross and resurrection.
We don’t know if the massacre of the innocents really took
place because there is no other record except here in Matthew—not even
elsewhere in the New Testament. I think that instead of writing history,
Matthew is trying to make a rhetorical point to make sure we get that Jesus is
a new Moses. Just the same, we do know that Herod routinely killed off his
opponents, even his own sons, to preserve his seat of power.
Besides, human
history is filled with just this kind of cruelty. The roster of human atrocity,
even in just the last century and a half, is too long to recite. The Gospel
reminds us that Christ is born into a world that equates power with cruelty. And
it is into this kind of world that God intervenes.
When horrid,
unjust, and just plain evil things happen—even close to home—we are tempted
to fight evil with evil. It’s natural to us. And often people use the tools of
evil-- violence, aggression, revenge, hatred-- to get their way and then tell
us they do it for God. So, history or not, Matthew’s account about Herod’s
massacre has the ring of truth to it.
Anglican priest
Joy Carol Wallis writes, in an essay "Putting Herod Back into Christmas:"
Herod represents the dark side of
the gospel. He reminds us that Jesus didn't enter a world of sparkly Christmas
cards or a world of warm spiritual sentiment. Jesus enters a world of real
pain, of serious dysfunction, a world of brokenness and political oppression.
Jesus was born an outcast, a homeless person, a refugee, and finally he becomes
a victim to the powers that be. Jesus is the perfect savior for outcasts,
refugees, and nobodies. That's how the church is described in scripture time
and time again - not as the best and the brightest - but those who in their
weakness become a sign for the world of the wisdom and power of God.
Notice how God chooses to fight evil. God chooses to push
back evil by doing the exact opposite of what evil does. And more than that,
God comes to us precisely at the moments when we are least strong, least
capable, and the least in-charge and confronts evil and defeats it. God-in-Christ is born and walks among us precisely
to minister to our greatest hurts and our deepest wounds. God shows us divine
power and reveals our essential dignity in the midst of our weakness.
If there are moments or times in your life when you feel
yourself, outcast, Christ has come for you. If there are periods when you have
been afraid, Christ has come for you. If there are times when you are uncertain
as to which path to take, Christ has come for you. If there are moments of deep
grief or unresolved sadness, Christ has come for you.
Our epistle today picks up on this: Ephesians 1:3-14 is one
long sentence. In it, Paul the apostle or one of his followers, shares a
blessing, reminding us that because of what God has done in Jesus Christ we are
adopted into and made part of God’s new reign. Not because of anything we’ve
done but because of what Christ has done. The work of this rescued, refugee
infant rescues us from our sin, our brokenness, our fear and makes us into a
new people.
The Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King once wrote about the lengths
that God has gone to restore us to proper relationship with God. He says that
the Christ’s incarnation is a real, practical confrontation with evil but one
that does not resort to evil to overcome it. He says that the cross, in
particular, is:
"the eternal expression of the length to which God will go in
order to restore broken community. The resurrection is the symbol of God's
triumph over all the forces that seek to block community. The Holy Spirit is
the continuing community creating reality that moves through history. He who
works against community is working against the whole of creation."
What drives God’s resistance to sin and evil? Love! God’s
divine (agape) love for us and for all creation is what compels God to
address the heart and depth of our hurts. This is why King advocated
non-violent resistance as the way to end injustice. Nonviolent resistance brings an end to hate by
being agape in action—God’s divine love made real.
One of the little details about Matthew’s Christmas story I
love is the detour the Magi had to make. I’ve never been to the Holy Land, but
if I read my Bible atlas correctly, the Magi walked a circuitous and unexpected
path. You see, Israel and the holy land exist on this narrow strip between the
Mediterranean Sea and the Arabian desert. Everyone going from Africa to Asia
Minor or Europe had to walk on this little strip of land with the sea on one
side and mountains on the other, and beyond the mountains, desert. Everyone who
wanted to travel on land between the Nile Delta and Africa and both Asia Minor
and Persia had to walk this way. It's a kind of land bridge between two continents, sometimes also called The King's Highway. It appears to have been the same route walked by Abraham two millennia before Jesus, and it
explains a lot as to why the holy land has been such contested real estate for
so many generations.
To get to Bethlehem, they would have had to taken an off ramp and climb the hills. According to Matthew, they went to Jerusalem first to get permission (and directions) from Herod and then had to back track a bit to find Jesus in Bethlehem.
So,
imagine that they may have walked with the moon on one side, and this
strange star on the other hanging over the mountains. To choose to follow the
star to find this new-born king, meant taking a new path, off the beaten track,
and exploring a strange new country. Imagine that journey. Their circuitous journey makes me think about the
strange, unpredictable journeys that we have lived.
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Scripture for the Second Sunday of Christmas, January 4, 2026
St. Chad's Episcopal Church, Tampa, Florida
Learn more about the Diocese of Southwest Florida here
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