Tag Archives: christmas

On Herod(s).

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Herod the Great

In the Gospel of Matthew, magi, or wisemen, travel to find one they call “the newborn king.” They show up at the palace, where you might expect to find such a person, and their words trouble Herod the Great. He already holds that particular title.

The sitting monarch says, “When you’ve found him, report back to me so that I too may go and worship him.”

Of course he intends no such thing. In fact, he will go on to command the slaughter of every Jewish male two and under in Bethlehem, just in case.

Which is a story as old as time – people using feigned devotion for their own ends. Herods ancient and modern who seek only their own enrichment and a tighter grip on power. Who will lie to your face and trample any and every one in their way. Who use religious lip service and symbols in hopes of placating the faithful. Who think sprinkling in “God bless America (or Judea or Rome or Babylon or Britain)” sanctifies their ill intent.

Herod was a liar. He still is. He still shows up in places of power: podiums and pulpits and profit centers in particular. He shows up when people need you to believe one story while they live something very different. He shows up in people who need you to not ask too many questions or peak behind too many curtains.

But Herod’s falsehoods are only as effective as we let them be. We can, like the magi, go a different way. We can refuse to settle for hollow platitudes. We can draw lines around our values and not trade them for trinkets and empty promises or access to power. We can refuse to comply or pretend or look the other way.

We can look instead at the body of evidence. At the values being lived out, not just the sound bites. We can insist that our senses must line up together. We can, and should, demand better of every person who has authority in our world.

And we can and should always reject Herod and his ways, wherever they might show up, pretend to care, or say all the right words while smiling their fake smiles. 

Heord’s false piety was meant to cover up the stench of death. It still is today. 

May we have the insight, courage, and audacity to know better.

Not quite Christmas.

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It is not quite Christmas,

and her work is not quite done

(a mother’s never is),

but Mary has been preparing for months.

She has prayed and sung and fed

and her skin has been stretched

and blood pressure been raised

and her feet and ankles have swollen.

The work of Christmas doesn’t begin (or end) with labor, but with nourishment and making space. It doesn’t begin with heavenly choirs but in silent and tender moments of stomach caresses and gurgling, discomforting moments of morning sickness.

The work of God in the world is at times big and grand and accompanied by angelic armies and sometimes it is found in the quiet, faithful endurance of a young girl swallowing back heartburn and dreaming of the future for a child she has yet to meet.

We need both. We need Christmas and celebration. And we need the unnoticed, daily preparation that happens in small, and at times, uncomfortable ways.

The world we want doesn’t just appear. It takes work and waiting and stretching and sacrifice – just like the work of an expecting parent. It starts small, in the dark, and often goes unappreciated. But the work here is vital and formational.

How we carry ourselves in the time leading up to the big and grand matters. We cannot fast forward to the good part. There are no shortcuts to Christmas.

But we can be faithful along the way. We can walk, or waddle, like Mary – trusting, enduring, paying attention, making space for God to be present. Even when it’s painful or seems like the waiting may never end. Even when it leaves us wondering what in the world we have gotten ourselves into.

The work has already begun. God is on the move. And we can be part of it.

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When Babies Threaten Empires

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Some days get lost in the shuffle. Days like the Feast of the Holy Innocents.

While some of us return to work and return unwanted gifts and continue pretending we’ll start resolutions next week, the historic Church has chosen this week (various branches observe it on different days) to remember the innocent lives lost around the nativity of Jesus.

In the story that has led to candlelight worship and caroling and God With Us, there is a tragic chapter. The local puppet king is not thrilled that a rumored new king has been born. New kings and claims to the throne are a threat to his way of life.

So he does what empires do and destroys those who might weaken his image, wealth, and prominence. And he does it without any regard to collateral damage. Herod has all the boys in and around Bethlehem murdered. Anyone 2 years and under is killed.

The complete and utter agony of it all. The pain of mothers who have nursing babies torn from their arms. The grief of fathers who were just helping guide first steps. The lives extinguished. The long hoped for and dearly loved, gone in act of raw evil carried out by petty, powerful men and their complicit followers.

The Church asks us to remember.

And in our remembering, we are brought face to face with the reality that the way of Jesus is a threat to empire. It is a threat to any who hold or achieve power through corruption or violence.

We remember that the birth of Jesus is not just a cute story we tell before exchanging gifts. It is inherently political. It points to a different and better Kingdom. One without backroom deals or borders or bombs and one where the King serves rather than demands, loves rather than fears, dies rather than kills.

The way of Jesus and the way of empire are incompatible. They are opposites.

Our struggle is empires didn’t fade out with Herod or Rome. They operate in our world with impunity, gripping power and trampling others in the name of “the greater good.” The way of empire is seen in our political structure, for certain, but also shows up in our homes and ethics and churches.

Sure, we’d never condone the mass murder of children but the values and motivations of empire appear long before any blood is spilled. Empire quietly shapes our why and our what and quickly deviates from the way of Jesus.

When those unlike us automatically become enemies. When we are willing, as one pastor put it, to leave bodies behind the bus. When we ignore the plight of the desperate. When we believe the myth of scarcity over the abundance of grace. We are on the path of empire.

When the old or young or different or messy are pushed aside. When folks chase power and prestige at nearly any cost. When we are more machine than human. More warrior than healer. We are more like Herod than the baby he feared.

We see threats around every corner. We cling to comfort. We look out for number one. We take short cuts to get to or remain at the top.

But the way of Jesus is down. Is as vulnerable as a newborn. Is as slow as a child learning to walk, then read, then grow into an adult. It washes feet and welcomes children. It is not self-seeking, even when seeking self might lead to more privilege or prowess or influence.

We can pray and evangelize and build cathedrals and sing the songs and still be caught in the web of empire. It is sticky because it is practical. It get results, pads resumes, and keeps us fed. It convinces us we are the chosen ones. We are the rightful leaders, rulers, party, church, or whatever.

Which of course is a lie, a scheme to help us sleep at night. An end to justify any awful means.

Ultimately we have a choice: We can reflect Herod or Jesus. We can follow the slaughterer of toddlers or the Prince of Peace.

In our workplaces and worship centers and politics and boardrooms and around our dinner tables. We have to decide which kind of kingdom we want and which kind of king we follow. We have to decide if we will abandon our claims to the throne. The martyrdom of these children, and the victims of any and all empires from then till now, ask us to pick a side, to choose a way forward.

May we remember the Holy Innocents. May their deaths redirect our minds and hearts from the things of empire to the things of God. May we be repulsed by the way of Herod in all its forms. And may we be captivated by the way of the helpless babe, laid in a manger.