Matthew 2:13-23
Rev. Rebecca Heilman
A week ago, the stockings were hung over fireplaces, lights sparkled
through the streets and avenues of Charlotte, red bows were tied to wreathes,
and trees stood tall with their ornaments carefully placed. Cookies were baked,
presents wrapped, meals planned, houses cleaned, and the innocence of
children, and adults, too, laughed and sang with joy. Christmas carries a sparkle,
an innocence. We make it this way so that waiting for a simple child born to a
humbled family in a dirty barn is a bit more exciting and magical than it probably
actually was.
And a few years ago, as I prepared to spend Christmas in one of the most
magical places on earth, New York City, the beginning of my Christmas season
was filled with as much sparkle as the Rockefeller Christmas Tree can hold. I
prepared my home as I tastefully as I could. And I had every intention to
purchase my first Christmas tree since this would be my first Christmas with my
dog, Sadie, all on our own. But that magic and innocence was lost with one
phone call. My best friend suddenly, shockingly lost her father on December 10th.
After that phone call and a quick trip home, all that Christmas magic, sparkle, and
innocence seemed to drain from the bottom of my heart. All of a sudden, my
hometown and best friend, they were in mourning when they should have been
charmed by the Christmas spirit. All of a sudden, I wanted Christ to arrive quickly,
but not with the ribbons and bows or the sweet carols and treats. That Christmas?
I wanted the light of Christ to enter our darkness. Let it bring just a glimmer of
hope and peace and promise.
And that’s the thing about Christmas and this passage, they both have
forced me recognize that this season can hold innocence and loss with one
another. Christmas stirs up the innocence of a child born in a manger to the
complexity of a refugee family escaping a murderous dictator. We need both
stories for it to be Christmas. We can’t have one story without the other.
And so, in our passage today, the shepherds are gone. The angels are
silent. The Wise Men have seen Jesus. They have given him their gifts and
decided to go a different way home, for they were warned in a dream to avoid
King Herod. Joseph, too, receives a warning and quickly flees to Egypt because
Herod is out for blood, his newly born son’s blood. So, Joseph, Mary, and Jesus
pack up a small bag of belongings and travel the long road south from
Bethlehem to Egypt, fleeing for their lives. Jesus is a king and now a refugee.
And when Herod, a political tyrant, hears that he has been tricked by the Wise
Men,he’s furious and demands an act of terror. He kills all the children under the
age of two, in and around Bethlehem. This is Herod’s reputation igniting again.
Through other ancient writings we learn that Herod murders his wife and then
turns around and murders his three sons to keep power. Even Caesar Augustus
said, after hearing of Herod’s murders, “it is better to be Herod’s pig, than
Herod’s son.”1 Herod will stop at nothing if his power feels threatened.
And so, innocence and severe loss are in tension with one another in this
story. And we can’t overlook that Jesus came into an already broken world. A
world that carries violence and war, cancer and dementia, sudden, unimaginable
deaths, global pandemics, mental illnesses, addiction, gun violence on innocent
children. A world with people who are overwhelmed by poverty and
homelessness. Children suffering from hunger and slavery. Prisons overpopulated
with innocent and unjust incarcerations. As well as undocumented migrant
families who risk their lives for safety, not unlike Joseph seeking a safe life for his
family, only to be deported home when refuge is found. As one theologian
writes, “The advent of Christ does not mean the removal of evil.”2 Strangely
enough, the birth of Christ is the motivation of Herod’s violence. This narrative,
this horrific story addresses an all-too-common occurrence, that even we can
relate to: power-hungry systems ensure that the innocents suffer.
We’ve seen the Herod-like-fury in the faces of people in power throughout
history. We’ve seen the Herod-like-fury in systems that are set up to keep people
low. We’ve seen the Herod-like-fury in illnesses that cripple the body and mind.
We’ve seen it in the faces of men carrying guns into elementary schools. We’ve
1 Thomas H. Graves, “A Story Ignored: an Exegesis of Matthew 2:13-23,” Faith and Mission, 5 no 1, (Fall 1987), pg 66-76,
70.
2 O. Wesley Allen Jr., Matthew: Fortress Biblical Preaching Commentaries, Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2013, 32.
seen it in swastikas painted on synagogues. We’ve seen it in threats of nuclear
warfare and children dying from starvation. And we’ve seen it in test results from
a surprise visit to the hospital. We are haunted by this Herod-like-fury.
This is why we need the Christmas story the way Matthew tells it. God
breaks into a world as we know it, a world carrying all the things we dread and all
the things that terrify us. Things that we don’t wish to be true. Things that turn
our dreams into nightmares.
But we do know that God is Emmanuel, meaning God-with-us, coming in a
form of baby, coming in a form of a friend who calls when life is hard to manage,
in a form of a nurse who squeezes your hand to give you some reassurance, in a
form of a note, a gift, a hug, a good belly laugh. Emmanuel, God-with-us…for
us…. around us in community, family, friends, rescuers, neighbors, and strangers.
God with us in as world as we know it – broken and hurting.
It was several days before I could make it to my hometown to be with my
friend who had lost her father those few Christmases back. I was terrified for
her…I still am, but I kid you not, nearly 20 people were at the hospital weeping
with her. And at the celebration of his life? It felt like the whole town of Valdese
was there to share love for and with one another. God was in the midst of those
tears and in the midst of those hugs. God was in the ridiculous stories and laughs
that healed the stress of the day. God was in the friends who took her out to eat,
who slept in her house so she was not alone, who cleaned her house, who made
20 plus casseroles throughout the year following, who could talk nonsense and
be okay in the discomfort of grief. God was in her father’s friends who helped
with the finances, unlocking passcodes, and helping her arrange a memorial she
was nowhere near prepared for. That’s the work of Christmas. When the bells are
silent and the candles out, the realization of the world we live in lingers. And it’s
the light of Christ, the light shining as hope that helps us face the world as we
know it. It’s the goodness and grace of Christmas that pushes us forward. One
theologian writes, “This is why we need the Christmas story the way Matthew
insists upon telling it. This story assures us that God comes into the world as it
actually is, not as we wish it would be. Because we live in the actual world, and
God’s love will be found wherever we are” and we are here to help carry God’s
love into the world.3 To end, Howard Thurman, an African American theologian,
wrote this poem about Christmas:
When the song of the angels is stilled,
when the star in the sky is gone,
when the kings and princes are home,
when the shepherds are back with their flocks,
the work of Christmas begins:
to find the lost,
to heal the broken,
to feed the hungry,
to release the prisoner,
to rebuild the nations,
to bring peace among the people,
to make music in the heart.4
Pray with me. Loving God, we believe, help our unbelief. Amen.
3 “Jenny McDevitt: The Other Christmas Story,” https://day1.org/weekly-broadcast/5df3d08f6615fbe3a4000049/jennymcdevitt-
that-other-christmas-story .
4 Howard Thurman, “The Word of Christmas,” The Mood of Christmas and Other Celebrations, Friends United Press (1985).