We continue this week with our look at the unique way that each of the four Gospels present their Christmas stories, and I once again offer you my thesis for this series. When we cut through all the sentimental, Christmas card images of Jesus’ nativity and engage the biblical theology and history that the Gospel writers wanted to convey, we discover an understanding of Christmas that is truly transformational for us and for our world. We’re laying aside the tinsel and our traditional manger scenes for a bit, so that we can really look at the book and understand what the stories really say.
Last week we looked at Mark, who writes about Jesus, the Christ (Messiah), the Son of God’s coming as “good news” for the whole world. We said that, for Mark, Jesus baptism is the beginning of the story, and that baptism is also the beginning of our story as his people.
This week, we’re looking briefly at Matthew’s Gospel, which I find to be so rich in meaning and imagery that we won’t be able to get as deep as I’d like in twenty minutes or so. Usually, Matthew’s version of Jesus’ birth is the one that is tacked on to our regular Christmas celebration, which favors Luke’s story of shepherds, angels, and a baby lying in a manger. We only get hints of Matthew’s story in our nativity scenes, where the “wise men” (always three) appear with their gifts and camels and kneel with the shepherds at manger-side.
If we read Matthew’s story closely, however, we will soon realize that it really doesn’t fit the “Away in a Manger, Silent Night, sleep in heavenly peace” image of Christmas. In fact it’s a very dark, dangerous, and tragic story—one that perhaps reflects the real world more than an idyllic one. We will learn next week that Luke’s story is not meant to be idyllic either, but Matthew brings the gritty reality of the royal implications of Jesus’ birth to light as a threat to the principalities and powers—powers who will not sit silently by and who will threaten the newborn king.
It’s important to recognize up front that Matthew is clearly a Jewish writer who writes to a very Jewish audience. Whereas Mark, writing to what was likely a Gentile audience, begins by saying that Jesus is the Son of God, Matthew focuses on Jesus as “the son of David, the son of Abraham.” Matthew begins his Gospel with a genealogy that is designed to tell his Jewish audience that Jesus qualifies as Israel’s true Messiah because of his ancestral connections—the Messiah, Israel’s true, long-awaited, God-anointed King, was to be a descendant of David. God had promised David that one of his descendants would “sit on his throne forever.” (2 Samuel 7:16), thus the Messiah would be from his royal line. In addition, the Messiah would be born in Bethlehem, which was David’s birthplace. The descendant of the shepherd would be the one to shepherd his people, Israel (Matt. 2:6).
Jesus is thus born in Bethlehem, Matthew tells us, but he also indicates that Joseph and Mary are already residents of Bethlehem. Unlike Luke, who has Mary and Joseph traveling from Nazareth (in the northern region of Galilee) to Bethlehem, Matthew has them going in the opposite direction. They are from Bethlehem, but later settle in Nazareth after returning from their flight to Egypt (more on that in a minute).
The familiar understanding of Jesus’ conception as being the result of the Holy Spirit is here, as in Luke, but the story here is told from Joseph’s perspective. It is he who has to decide what to do with this unusual and potentially dangerous circumstance of having a fiancée who is already pregnant. He decides to not expose Mary to the ridicule and, quite possibly, potential death as a woman whom others may have thought committed adultery. He instead decides to keep things quiet. Rather than an angel, it is God himself who comes to Joseph in a dream and tells the Jewish contractor that it will be all right. Joseph is the one who will name him Jesus (the Greek version of the Hebrew “Yeshua” or Joshua) because he will save his people from their sins.
All well and familiar, right? But then comes chapter two, and the intriguing story of Herod and the wise men. Jesus the Messiah has been born, but now Matthew wants his Jewish readers to mark two contrasting reactions to his birth: the reaction of Herod the Great, the sitting “king of the Jews,” and the “wise men from the East.” It is in this contrast that Matthew will set the tone for the rest of his story about Jesus.
Herod the Great is one of the most interesting people in ancient history, yet few people know about him except as a foil in the Christmas story.
Herod came to power during the turbulence of the Roman civil strife that took place after the murder of Julius Caesar in 44BC. Herod’s father, Antipater (an Idumean, not a pure Jew), had been named governor of Judea by Caesar and appointed Herod and his brother as regional governors, with Herod being given the Galilee region. Herod proved to be ruthless at collecting taxes for Rome and putting down revolts and was valued by Caesar, but when Caesar was killed by the conspirators Brutus and Cassius, among others, Herod was vulnerable. He quickly shifted allegiances and became friendly to Brutus and Cassius until they, in turn, were defeated by Caesar’s lieutenant Marc Antony, who solidified Herod’s claim to the Judean throne. When the Parthians, Rome’s long time adversary, invaded Judea in 40BC and Herod was forced to flee his country, it was Antony who helped Herod recapture his Kingdom (and drive out not only the Parthians but conquer his own people, with whom he was not popular). When Antony and his consort Cleopatra of Egypt were defeated by Antony’s rival (and Julius Caesar’s grand nephew and adopted son Octavius) during the last Roman civil war, Herod was once again vulnerable. He met Octavius on the island of Rhodes and pledged his allegiance to the new emperor, soon to be known as Augustus. Herod had proved to be a shrewd politician and did whatever it took to make the Roman ruler du jour happy. As long as he kept people from revolting against Rome and kept the tax money flowing, he could essentially do what he pleased.
Taxation gave Herod some deep pockets and, as a result, Herod spent incredible sums of money on several building projects. He built the port of Caesarea (named after Caesar) using the new technology of concrete. He built several palaces around the country (some would say to have multiple places to which he might flee if his subjects revolted). Most famously, he rebuilt and expanded the Temple at Jerusalem. Work began on that project in 20BC and wasn’t finished until 63AD (ironically, it was destroyed by the Romans in 70!). Herod also built many Roman style venues in Judea, including theaters and arenas for popular Roman entertainments, which did nothing to enhance his popularity among the Jewish people.
On the home front, Herod was not much of a husband or father. He ordered his second wife, Mariamne, to be killed because he thought she was plotting against him (she was executed under a charge of adultery). He also had her two sons, her grandfather, her brother, and her mother killed as well. The Emperor Augustus was reported to have remarked that it would be better to be one of Herod’s pigs than one of his sons. Herod wound up drawing many different wills based on which of his heirs was loyal or disloyal at a given time.
All the while, the people of Judea hated Herod for the most part because of his excesses and his tyranny. The historian Josephus tells us that Herod knew that nobody in Judea would cry when he was gone, so when he lay on his death bed in 4BC he ordered all of the most prominent men in Judea to gather in the hippodrome (horse racing theater). He then gave the order to his commanders that at the moment of his death they were to kill everyone in the hippodrome so that there would be weeping and mourning in Judea. His lieutenants did not carry out the order, but it does tell us something about Herod’s character. Herod was near the end of his life when Matthew’s story takes place, so it’s little wonder that the Gospel writer accurately portrays him as a paranoid tyrant.
The visit of the wise men “from the East” caused no small stir in Jerusalem. Matthew tells us that their arrival and their news “frightened” Herod and “all Jerusalem with him.” Notice that the wise men call the child “the king of the Jews”—then give him Herod’s own title (even though Herod was not really a Jew, which was the problem for the people). This is even more significant when we consider just who these “wise men” might have been.
Matthew tells us they came from the East. To the East of Judea was the Parthian Empire—Rome’s long-time adversary. In the early part of the first century, Rome and Parthia had a kind of cold war détente between one another. Augustus did not want to risk the cost of pushing the Roman empire further east, but that did not prevent Herod from being nervous about a Parthian invasion—after all, it had happened once already.
The wise men or “magi” are often portrayed as curious Oriental astrologers who simply want to acknowledge the birth of a neighboring king. History tells us that they are much more than that, however. Many historians of the ancient world understand the “magi” as members of the priestly class of the Parthian empire. As such they were, indeed, astrologers and practitioners of ancient magic arts (“magi” being the plural of the Greek word “mago” from which we get “magic”). The births of rulers in the ancient world were often associate with astrological events, and many ancients also believed that heavenly bodies, like stars and planets, were really heavenly beings. We know that stars don’t move—but angels do. Could it have been that Matthew’s star was an angel leading the magi to the right place? Who knows, but it’s a good theory!
More than that, however, the “magi” were also the advisers and counselors of the kings of Parthia, and could also serve as ambassadors. They were not “kings” as the old carol says, but perhaps represented them. So, imagine the scene. There in Jerusalem, a large entourage (certainly more than three, perhaps hundreds) of Parthians, Herod’s old enemies, show up asking about Herod’s successor. They are there to “pay homage” to the new king, perhaps as a means of beginning diplomatic relations with the new ruler of this border province of Rome. While they dislike Herod, as do his own people, they may be able to give their devotion to a new ruler—one who deals justly, one who opposes Rome, and one who may bring a new future to the whole region.
They find Jesus and his mother in Bethlehem in a “house” not a stable. Jesus was probably about two years old when they came. They bring Jesus gifts fit for a king: gold as a tribute, frankincense—often used as a healing balm, and myrrh—which was not only used in drink, it was used to embalm the dead. Matthew may be using these gifts as a means of foreshadowing the life and death of Jesus as they enfold throughout the rest of the story.
The wise men snub Herod, motivated by a dream, and don’t go back to report to him. It’s a political affront, like an ambassador blowing off a state dinner in a foreign country. Herod is furious—furious at the magi, and paranoid about the rival to his throne.
So he orders the death of all the children under the age of two in Bethlehem. History doesn’t attribute this evidence anywhere else but in Matthew, but we have already learned that it’s not out of character for him to kill his rivals, even if they’re his own kids.
Joseph is warned in a dream (another Old Testament connection, used throughout Matthew’s account) and takes Mary and the child to Egypt. Here’s another connection to Israel’s story. Who does Herod act like here? Pharaoh, from the Moses story, who wants to kill off Israel’s liberator. How does Moses escape? He is sent down the river in a basket and raised by an Egyptian princess. He “escapes to Egypt.” I don’t think this is a coincidence for Matthew. He wants his Jewish audience to know—this Jesus, this Messiah, is also a new Moses—one who will lead his people out of slavery to sin and death and into a promised land called the Kingdom of God. Jesus will talk a lot about the Kingdom in Matthew (see last week’s sermon for a description of the Kingdom of God).
What do we learn from Matthew’s story? A couple of things, in summary:
JESUS IS TRUE MESSIAH AND KING
1. Jesus is Israel’s true Messiah and King. The Herods and Caesars of the world will come and go, but Jesus’ Kingdom is forever and ultimately defeats the powers and principalities of the world through his life, death, and resurrection. His Kingdom is the only one that matters.
JESUS IS MESSIAH FOR THE WHOLE WORLD
2. Notice that in Matthew’s very Jewish Gospel the first people to worship Jesus as King are Gentiles. The implication? This Messiah has come not just for the Jews, but for the whole world. I think we need to recapture this. A lot of Christians talk about Jesus as their “personal Savior,” and he is—but he is the Savior of the whole world—the one who seeks to redeem the whole world. Jesus came not only for those on the inside, but especially for those on the outside. Matthew tells us right up front that this Messiah will break boundaries. Are we willing to go where he goes and engage people who most Christians would consider to be outsiders? Are we willing to offer grace and love, even to our enemies?
JESUS ENTERS INTO THE WORLD OF HEROD
3, The coming of Jesus, God in human flesh, was a risky business. He does not come into a world of idyllic, Christmas card beauty, but a world where tyrants rule and death is their means of doing so. He will himself be put to death by the powers of the world. He will defeat them, however, by defeating their greatest weapon—he overcomes death and promises that we will, too. We will all be free because he comes.
I close with a quote from Richard Middleton, who teaches at Roberts Wesleyan College, who sums up Matthew’s story of Jesus birth in this way:
“According to Matthew, Jesus did not sleep in heavenly peace. On the contrary he slept—if at all—in the midst of great danger and death. It’s difficult to sleep when you’re a refugee, fleeing for your life. It’s difficult to sleep with Herod around… A baby sleeping in heavenly peace is irrelevant to anyone living in a war zone. He’s irrelevant to the unemployed and the underemployed, to those struggling with doubt and disappointment. He’s certainly irrelevant to anyone sleeping downtown on a grate this winter. Tear-jerking manger scenes and soothing Christmas carols just don’t cut it in a world that’s full of the reality of Herod.”
In a world full of Herod, may we remember that a real king has come—the king who brings justice for the poor, peace to the afflicted, and life in the midst of death. He brings the good news of the Kingdom, and his Kingdom is forever. We are his subjects, and he is Lord. Thanks be to God! Amen.
