St. John’s Lutheran Church
5 January 2025 + Epiphany of Our Lord
Matthew 2:1-12 [13-23]
Rev. Josh Evans
Nestled in between Christmas Eve and New Year’s Day
is a trio of often overlooked holy days on the church’s calendar:
December 26 commemorates the church’s first martyr, St. Stephen the Deacon, whose monologue in the book of Acts – his last words before being stoned to death – reminds us that “the Most High does not dwell in houses made with human hands,” (Acts 7:48) as glorious as they might be, or as nostalgic as they make us feel, filled as they often are with relics and memories of the past.
Then, on December 27, we commemorate our very own parochial namesake, St. John the Apostle, the traditional writer of the Fourth Gospel bearing his name – the gospel whose words proclaim the central significance of this Christmas season: “The Word became flesh and lived among us.” (John 1:14)
Then December 28 brings us solemnly back to martyrs – the Holy Innocents – whose tragic story comes on the heels of today’s well-known Epiphany gospel, poignantly alluded to in the very last verse: “Having been warned in a dream not to return to Herod…”
Why?
Herod is “frightened” – threatened –
by a competing king – a baby! –
a perceived rival to his throne, his power, and his control.
Herod’s fear gives way to fury, as he orders the death of all the children in and around Bethlehem who were two years old and younger – just to make sure he wouldn’t miss Jesus.
No sooner do the magi leave Bethlehem than Joseph is himself warned in a dream to take his family and flee to Egypt, to protect the infant Jesus from Herod’s murderous plot. The Holy Family – refugees.
It’s horrifying, of course … but not surprising, as Pastor Heidi Neumark pointedly describes the historical Herod, “who rose to become King over Judea in the first century, [and] proved to be a paranoid, narcissistic tyrant known for massive construction projects, building houses, palaces, and an enormous wall. His ego knew no boundaries or controls and he lashed out at those he determined were against him. During his reign, he had family members and three hundred palace officials killed…” (Sanctuary, p. 4)
All of which came before the massacre of the Holy Innocents,
recounted in this Epiphany gospel,
and in the familiar words of a 16th-century English carol:
“Herod the king, in his raging,
Chargèd he hath this day
His men of might in his own sight
All young children to slay.”
A poignant lullaby sung from the perspective of the mothers,
echoing Matthew’s own recollection of the lament of the prophet Jeremiah:
“A voice was heard in Ramah,
wailing and loud lamentation,
Rachel weeping for her children;
she refused to be consoled, because they are no more.”
In the midst of this Christmas season, Herod’s story – an integral part of the story of Epiphany that we cannot overlook as much as we might want to – reminds us of a truth we hardly need reminding of:
In a world plagued by fear, violence, and brokenness,
all too often, all is not calm or bright.
Herod’s eventual death will allow Joseph and his family to return home…
…but his son and heir will forcibly transplant them yet again to Nazareth out of fear for their safety, as the story goes on. Yet another son – brother to the first – will be the one to behead Jesus’ cousin John the Baptist, and still another ruler, not a part of the Herod family tree but just as ruthless, will eventually be the one to hand Jesus over to be crucified as means of holding on to his own power.
This is no time for a child to be born…
Yet Love still takes the risk of birth…
The Herods rage…
but this isn’t their story –
and none of them will get the final word.
“The Gospel will end with life … [and the promise of] God-with-us always,”
as another pastor reminds us.
This is the epiphany of Christmas:
that the good news of great joy cannot be contained,
or threatened, or diminished.
That “neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers [like Herod or his kids], nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation will be able to separate us from the love of God” revealed in the birth of this infant king, this Emmanuel who himself promises to be with us “always, to the end of the age.”
This good news of great joy shines brightly
and draws the whole world into the warmth of its embrace –
grace upon grace.
The light shines – brightly, persistently, defiantly – in the darkness,
and the darkness cannot, does not, will not overtake it.
