Dissonance in Bethlehem: Rachel's Lament and the Angels' Song

Why must the joy of Christmas be ruined by this terrible, murderous, tragic tale? It was such a magical, idyllic scene: an angel's announcement of the birth of the Messiah, as the fulfillment of ancient prophecy; an angel choir singing about peace on earth, which is matched by joy in the highest heaven; the innocent wondering of simple shepherds, who hurry to Bethlehem. "O little town of Bethlehem, how still we see thee lie; above thy deep and dreamless sleep, the silent stars go by . . . ." The shepherds come to the warm and cozy stable with a beautiful baby in a manger, surrounded by doting parents and vigilant animals, who have been let in on this cosmic event-"the sheep with curly horn, the donkey with shaggy hair, the dove on rafters high."

The shepherds fall on their knees to worship the long-awaited Messiah, joy of man's desiring, wonderful counselor, mighty God, everlasting father, prince of peace. Of his kingdom there shall be no end. As a result of his righteous judgment, the wolf shall live with the lamb, the leopard shall lie down with the kid, the calf and the lion . . . together, and a little child shall lead them. The whole earth will be full of the knowledge of the LORD as the waters cover the sea.

Enter Herod-unstable, insecure, conniving, evil and corrupted king. Herod the Great, King of the Jews. Herod, the demonized monarch, who murdered any potential rival-even his own sons . . . three of them. This caused Caesar Augustus, the Roman emperor to remark, "It is better to be Herod's pig than his son" (Brown, 226). And to assure mourning at his own funeral, Herod ordered his soldiers to kill notable political prisoners at the news of his death. He said, "So shall all Judea and every household weep for me, whether they wish it or not" (Brown, 227). It is not surprising that this tyrant, who could kill his own sons, would think little of wiping out the toddlers of Bethlehem.

We know about his kind. We've met the likes of Herod before in Pharaoh who murdered Israelite sons in Egypt. v We know about mourning and crying, too. In Egypt, Rachel could be heard far and wide-crying for her children, and would not be consoled, because her sons were no more. In Egypt the children of Israel cried out under the heavy bondage of Pharaoh. In Ramah, where Jeremiah parted with the Children of Israel-Judah, as they were carried off by the Babylonians into exile, Rachel cried for her children. And now again, in Bethlehem, Rachel's inconsolable crying could be heard as far off as Ramah. Rachel, the wife of Jacob, the mother of the twelve sons of Jacob, Rachel, the matriarch, the mother figure of the tribes of Israel. Who can cry like a mother? Who can cry like a mother who has lost her children? How is such a mother comforted, consoled?

It seems our text for today gathers up the sadness, the sorrow of all time, from the suffering and the loss of sons in Egypt, to the agony of the Exile, to the murder of innocent children in Bethlehem. And doesn't it also foreshadow the pain and suffering in Afghanistan, the West Bank, South Africa, El Salvador, New York City, Goshen?

What do we do with such agony? What do we do with it on this Sunday after Christmas?

We do what Matthew does. Matthew tells the story of the survival of hope. Herod doesn't have the last word! In spite of all his evil intentions, hope survives. Hope has the last word. Hope, redemption, joy and peace have the last word. These signs of a redeemed sorrow are all embodied in the child who escapes to Egypt-a place of suffering and redemption. Yes, in God's economy, the place of suffering can become the place of redemption-out of the ashes comes the phoenix, who flies and soars; out of the stump comes a new living shoot; the desert blooms; from death comes life; from despair comes hope.

In Egypt, Moses-one tiny child-was hidden away from Pharaoh's sword. Then

God used Moses to carry out the greatest coup in Israel's history; he led them out of Egypt and through the Red Sea with a mighty hand and an outstretched arm. That's redemption! One cannot understand the Old Testament apart from this story of deliverance. It is the basis of everything else that happens to Israel. The deliverance from slavery in Egypt was the formative event, by which they understood themselves in relationship to God, who loved, delivered and saved them. Time and time again, the scriptures refer back to this event; it told them who God was-a saving God. It told them who they were-people who had experienced God's grace.

But Matthew isn't finished yet; there is more. He includes Ramah. Ramah, was where Rachel, the wife of Jacob and the mother of the twelve sons of Jacob, was buried. And Ramah was on the way to Babylon-Judah's exile. The exile was the second major disaster for Israel and Judah (Slavery in Egypt was the first). Ramah heard Jacob's family mourning for Rachel. Ramah heard the weeping of Rachel's people in chains on the way to Exile in Babylon. Ironically, and providentially, Jeremiah places this sad scene smack in the middle of a chapter full of hope, including the promise of a new covenant, which would be written not on tablets of stone, but on the peoples' hearts. Jeremiah promises God will bring them back from Babylon. And he did! God delivered Judah again, and brought a remnant back to Jerusalem. They rebuilt the walls and restored the temple-more signs of God's redemption!

Matthew echoes all of this history in today's text. All of these acts of redemption are reflected in this angel-inspired, flight to Egypt, the place where another Joseph (the son of Jacob) played such a major role. Mary, Joseph and the infant Jesus-the tiny, weak and vulnerable ray of hope-slip out from under the tyrant's murderous power. These three political refugees find safety in Egypt. Hope has survived! Hope in this case is identified with Jesus, who will fulfill the deepest longings of Jews and Gentiles.

Ironically Egypt, the land of bondage was also a land of refuge for those who needed to escape corrupted politicians in Palestine. Jeroboam escaped to Egypt when King Solomon tried to kill him (I Kings 11:40). The prophet Uriah fled to Egypt when King Jehoiakim wanted to execute him (Jeremiah 26:21). The high priest Onais IV ran to safety in Egypt to escape Antiochus Epiphanes (Josephus). Matthew's readers know this history, of course.

Meanwhile Herod has died-according to Josephus, the Jewish historian, it was a terrible death. (I well remember the picture painted by the Bible storybook my mother read to me. I don't remember if there was a actually an illustration or whether the word picture of his body being eaten by worms was so vivid that I could see it in my mind.) And the kingdom was divided among three surviving sons. Archelaus was given Judea, Samaria and Idumea; Antipas got Galilee and Perea; Philip got the regions east and north of the Lake of Galilee. The tyranny of Herod the Great was multiplied in the next generation. Of these threee, Archelaus was the worst of the lot. That is why Joseph was directed to go to Galilee, ruled by Antipas, rather than Judea, the kingdom of Archelaus. (Archelaus was so brutal that his Jewish subjects demanded his removal; and that's what Rome did.)

Why must Christmas be interrupted with the terrible story of blood in Bethlehem?

Because that's part of the good news-that God in Christ came into this world, with all its blood and sorrow. Right in the middle of it. And survived it. Matthew puts it in perspective; he gives us the good news: Jesus, the baby survives Herod the Great. Matthew also gives us a foretaste of good news to come. Thirty-three years and twenty chapters later, Jesus, the suffering servant on the cross, survives the Roman Empire. Forty years and twenty-six books later in the Revelation of John, the defenseless Lamb of God defeats the Evil Dragon. This is incredible news-revolutionary news!

That's why we celebrate. That's why we sing Joy to the world. We know something that the world does not know nor understand. We know that the politics of Jesus is not the politics of this world's kingdoms and this world's wars. Not George Bush's war on terrorism; not bin Laden's war on America. The kingdom of Jesus will survive them all.

Why must Christmas be interrupted with the terrible story of blood in Bethlehem? It gives us perspective. It tells us there is hope. It shows us where to look for hope. Not in palaces or courts of power, but in unlikely places: in stables and on crosses, among babies and refugees. On gallows, among prisoners.

In the preface to his book, Night, Holocaust survivor Elie Wiesel described a terrible scene. All the Jewish prisoners in Auschwitz-victims of Hitler's genocide-were forced to watch an execution, the execution of three prisoners, sentenced to be hanged on a gallows on false charges. When the trap door dropped two of them-older men died instantly. But the third-a younger man-struggled and kicked, for what seemed an eternity. During the long minutes between the time the trap door was dropped and the young man died, Wiesel heard a voice behind him. The voice asked a troublesome question, the question everyone asks in such tragic times, "Where is God now?" Was God to be found in the actions of the powerful? Was God represented in the actions of Adolph Hitler, the Herod of the 1940s? A voice within Wiesel expressed a revolutionary thought: God was hanging on the gallows with the struggling, dying young man. God had not abandoned the young man, he was very much present in the hour of suffering.

A voice was heard in Ramah and Auschwitz,
Weeping and loud mourning,
A German Rachel crying for her children;
And she would not be consoled,
Because they are no more.

Why must Christmas be interrupted with the terrible story of blood in Bethlehem? Because it gives up perspective. There were other Herods in other Bethlehems. For Mennonites in Russia during the Bolshevik Revolution of 1917, his name was Nestor Makhno. Released from prison, Makhno gathered a band of anarchists and roamed the countryside and stormed the villages, looting and burning, raping and killing. Anyone who owned property was fair game. Anyone who was not a revolutionary or a Communist was fair game.

A voice was heard in Ramah and in Ukranian villages,
Weeping and loud mourning,
A Russian Rachel crying for her children;
And she would not be consoled,
Because they are no more.

Even here there is an act of redemption. In one raid Makhno's band rounded up the men of Halbstadt, a Ukranian village in south Russia. Instead of executing them on the spot the captors locked them in a cellar. Every day one prisoner's name was called; he was taken out and shot. The agony and fear were prolonged. The suspense was terrifying. Two of the prisoners were brothers. Not only were they brothers, Bill and Jacob Sudermann were identical twins. Jacob had a premonition that his identical twin brother's name would be called before his own. And he knew what he must do. Sure enough, Bill's name was called. Before Bill could move, Jacob stepped in his way. He said, "Stay where you are. Don't move. I will go your place. I am single. You have a family. If you survive they need you. Farewell, my brother."

Bill survived this twentieth-century Herod and escaped with his family to Ontario, a modern Egypt. And, of course, Bill could not read the text of John 15:13, without thinking of his brother, Jacob: "No one has greater love than this, to lay down one's life for one's friend."

Why must Christmas be interrupted by the terrible story of blood in Bethlehem? Because that's where Jesus lived-in a land and culture of violence. Matthew's message to us is that God in Jesus is not a stranger to pain and suffering. He was born into it. He lived with it. He died with it. He is with us in our pain and suffering. Our pain and suffering is not likely to be as dramatic as the man on the gallows, or the mourning of the mothers of Bethlehem. Or the families of the victims of the 9/11 attacks, or the families of the Nu-Wood shootings-though that did bring it awfully close home. But shattered dreams, lost opportunities, unmet goals, broken relationships, unresolved conflicts, financial reverses, premature physical limitations, unexplained illness . . . you add to the list.

Why must Christmas be interrupted by the terrible story of blood in Bethlehem? Because sometimes we live in Bethlehem's streets and alleys. And there somewhere we find signs of hope-in a stable, in a manger, among the lowly, the weak and the vulnerable; On the faces of elderly women and men, who have learned not to be deceived by the temporary power of Herod. Rather, they know that hope will survive. They know that after the dark night of the crucifixion comes the glorious day of Resurrection. They know that despite the evidence, the vulnerable baby in the manger will survive Herod to become the ruling Lord.

The ruling Lord of heaven and earth on the cosmic and corporate level-and of all who open their lives to him on the individual level. It is on this level that Douglas Hare, writer of the Matthew commentary of the Interpretation series, makes a shocking comment: "Scoff not at Herod until you acknowledge the Herod within yourself." What? The context for such a comment: "For us the contrast can serve to illustrate the internal contrast between that part of the inner self which joyfully and willingly accepts the Lordship of Christ our king and that darker side of the self which firmly and persistently rejects his right to rule" (Matthew, p. 15).

On this fourth Sunday of Advent the invitation comes to recognize the disarming power and the unlikely lordship of Jesus-in our politics and in our loyalties; in our world and in our hearts.

So, yes, from the streets of Bethlehem, Beruit, Boston, Goshen, we sing,