There is a Christmas song—not a favorite—that goes “if I
were a shepherd I would bring a lamb, if I were a wise man, I would do my part”
and so on. It’s a sappy song, but it
prompts a thoughtful question.
If I was there, if I was witness to events in Bethlehem when
Christ was born, what would I have done?
Would I have stood at my door like the innkeeper and apologized that I
had no guest room for the tired travellers?
Would I have been a nosy neighbor, speculating about that expectant couple
sleeping in a stable? Would I have been
the herdsman who, on the night of the birth, was most anxious to get back to
the sheep?
The Christmas story is ripe with personalities that reflect
the human spectrum and our diverse responses to Jesus Christ. There are haves and have-nots. There are the faithful, the curious, the
indifferent, and the opposed. Where
would I fall on that spectrum?
Upon honest reflection I have to conclude the character most
like me is not a shepherd or wise man, it is Herod. For me, and I think for much of the
self-absorbed modern world, Herod is our ancestral alter ego.
Archeologists and historians today celebrate Herod the Great
as one of the foremost builders of the ancient world. With the support of friends in Rome, he built the port of Caesarea, the Masada fortress, a grand new temple in Jerusalem, and
the Herodium, his personal, palatial retreat.
But to praise Herod is to ignore his dark side. He was ambitious, scheming, greedy, self-absorbed,
arrogant, violent and manipulating. He valued
himself and his power above all else.
When he heard people cheering his wife Mariamne’s teenage son, he had
the boy drowned lest he someday compete for the throne. He ultimately killed Miriamne, too.
Herod became king over Palestine following Rome’s removal of
Hyrcanus, the previous ruler. In a
professed display of familial kindness (Herod’s father worked for Hyrcanus)
Herod invited the disgraced Hyrcanus back to Jerusalem to live in the comfort
and safety of the royal court. But it was a
ruse. Herod had Hyrcanus killed, eliminating any chance of a return to power.
Some modern historians doubt the New Testament account of
Herod slaughtering the small male children of Bethlehem to snuff out some
future rival (Matthew 2:16-18). Yet
understanding Herod and his paranoid nature, the story rings painfully
true. Herod tolerated no rivals.
I understand Herod too well.
Though I want those around me to see me as a man of humility and
kindness, I know in the depths of my heart there is a Herod-like man fighting
to break free.
My self wants to be great. My self wants the throne.
My self wants things my way. My
self rages inwardly when I feel slighted, challenged, unappreciated. My self and Herod’s self are kindred
spirits. Yet, praise God, there is a
difference.
Herod was not a Jew, but he was reared in the Jewish
traditions. His only gods were power and
Rome, but he should have been aware of the prophesies about the coming
Messiah. When the magi arrived at his
palace in Jerusalem, however, Herod had to consult with priests about the
predicted birthplace. He did not know
that just eight miles away, in Bethlehem, God’s appointed would be born.
What did not happen next is the difference between Herod and
me. If Herod had even the slightest
respect for the ways of God, if he had even a mild curiosity about ancient
prophesies coming to pass, then he might have accompanied the magi to
Bethlehem. If he had paused to wonder
about the Arab astronomers sleeping under his roof, and the cosmic forces that
drew them to Judea, then he might have considered there are greater things than
his own finite life and earthly power.
Instead of bowing to even the possibility of God at work, Herod sent
thugs armed with swords to kill yet one more usurper to the throne.
That usurper is the difference between Herod and me. Like every human naturally born, Herod had a
sin problem and I have a sin problem.
The difference is that I recognize the only answer to my sin and all sin
is Jesus Christ.
Oswald Chambers wrote, “The
evidence that I have been delivered from sin is that I know the real nature of
sin in me.” When I pause long enough to
consider the reality of Jesus, his sinless life, his atoning sacrifice on a
cross, and his eternal victory over death, then the full darkness of the heart
is illuminated and the full burden of sin is measured. But Jesus solves the sin problem.
The Apostle John, who knew Jesus
intimately, who stood at the base of the cross as Jesus died, and who ate with
Jesus after the resurrection, wrote this:
“And this is the message we heard from him and proclaim
to you, that God is light, and in him is no darkness at all. If we walk in the
light, as he is in the light, we have fellowship with one another, and the
blood of Jesus his Son cleanses us from all sin.” (1 John 1:5 and 7)
Herod never knew that, never
even considered the possibility. You can
argue he never really had the chance.
But thankfully I did, and it makes all the difference.
Every year Christmas hits me
like a rogue wave as I paddle my little boat named Lack of Preparation. I’m
never ready. I don’t get cards out. I shop at the last minute. I regret the greetings I failed to send, the
good I did not do and the opportunities missed.
I am grateful I did not miss
Jesus.
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