The Power That Made Herod Quake
Last Sunday, the lectionary took us to an illuminating story for these difficult days. A story about wise seekers and a fragile king. The political center, the imperial heartbeat of this story is ever clearer.
The magi first come to King Herod and ask, “Where is the child who has been born king of the Jews?”
Let’s consider anew the gravity of this question.
In Herod’s mind, there is not a king of the Jews except him and certainly no child was going to take his place. Even asking such a question is an act of political treason, but Herod is curious. Even more than curious, he is completely insecure, not totally stable, even paranoid. It’s not obvious quite yet in Matthew’s narrative, but Herod was a cruel, oppressive ruler.
His cruelty will soon become explicit in Matthew’s account, but for ancient readers Herod’s reputation required no explanation. The simple mention of his name would bring with it images of his cruel rule. If Herod felt his power was threatened, he would lash out violently even against his own family.
One historian from that time said of Herod that it was safer to be a pig in Herod’s house than one of his own children. He killed several of his children suspecting them without reason to be plotting against him. When he knew his death was imminent, he ordered that a litany of men be executed so that there would be the sound of violence at his death and thus some grief in the land, even if it weren’t for him. Obviously, Herod’s interest in this baby is not the same as that of the magi.
Even on this day of epiphany, threats against the Christ child abound.
In the midst and in the wake of Christmas revelry, we should remember that while the angels proclaimed, “Joy to the world!,” the kings of the earth trembled.
When the promise that the world would be turned upside down by a mere child was proclaimed, the powerful only saw a threat to be exterminated.
This is a story we need these days. The birth of the Christ child drew in these distant worshippers. The magi saw in the stars a sign of something hopeful, someone who was about to transform the world. And the magi celebrated. They brought gifts. They rejoiced. Might we dare say that they hoped for something? Might their wisdom entail not so much their relentless chasing of a star but their relentless hope? Hope that the world did not have to be this way.
The magi celebrated.
But Herod quaked.
Herod wondered if his power was so ephemeral that a mere child would challenge him along with the armies and the empire at his back. Herod quaked.
When powerful, narcissistic, fearful people like Herod quake, the rest of us have to worry too. Because in Herod’s fear rests the threat of violence.
Herod, it seems to me, was a weak ruler’s idea of what the powerful are like. And followers of an executed Christ should know more than most that the pretentious, narcissistic, vicious exercise of power is utter weakness, total folly, true cowardice, pitiable fragility. The promise of the resurrection is a divine power that heals, loves, and embraces the other.
True power does not lash out at any threat. True power does not still the cries of children caught in the crossfire of a king’s insecurities. True power is wise and full of compassion. True power sees the birth of a baby as a possibility not a threat, hope for the future not an anchor or a chain.
True power would rather die for the sake of the other than kill in order to preserve what little power we think we have.
That Jesus’ life starts in this way is instructive. Pursued by Herod in his earliest years, Jesus is later caught by the same empire and executed on a cruel cross. Empire thought they had once again defeated the powerless. But Empire could not see the truth. God’s power is not like the purported power of Empire and privilege and supremacy.
In Herod’s cruelty, we may be reminded of the political character of the gospel. From the very first, the gospel threatened the powerful even as the gospel lifted up the lowly, the meek, the powerless. Perhaps after the glitter of Christmas has faded and the revelry of the New Year has abated, we need to be reminded that the light of Christ still shines if we will only open our eyes and step out in faith. Perhaps in the short cold days of January, we need to be reminded what shape true power takes:
Power in a manger.
Power in a humble home visited by magi.
Power as people’s ailments are cast out with a simple word.
Power as words that reshape our imaginations.
Power at tables of abundance and belonging.
Power as life fades on a cross.
Power as friends and followers flee in fear.
Power in the resurrection of the body.
Power in the crumbling of empire’s arrogations.
Power in the flourishing of abundant, liberated life.
Power as we hope against hope.
