Without Stepping On People--January 14, 2026

Without Stepping On People--January 14, 2026

"Here is my servant, whom I uphold, my chosen in whom my soul delights; I have put my spirit upon him; he will bring forth justice to the nations. He will not cry or lift up his voice, or make it heard in the street; a bruised reed he will not break, and a dimly burning wick he will not quench; he will bring forth justice." (Isaiah 42:1-3)

Did you ever see a kid step on a bug just because he could?

Have you ever been the one who yanked a flower out of the soil where it was struggling to blossom, or snapped a limb off of a tree for no other reason than that it was there?

I suspect if each of us is honest, we've been there before. We've seen it, and we've been the ones breaking things, squishing things, or even killing things, just because we can. Not because they were in our way or harming us, not because they posed a threat to us or anybody else, and not even because of fear--but because we had the power and whatever happened to be in our target sights had no power to stop us. 

And, not to be too hard on ourselves, realizing that we have power over some things in our world is probably one of those steps in our mental development as human beings. You learn that you have the ability to affect your environment, and sometimes little children figure that out by breaking or stomping on things in that environment. You just hope that before long, each of us learns to outgrow that kind of gratuitous destruction.

But to be honest, I'm not sure that we always really do arrive at the realization that gentleness is a mark of maturity--not raw power. The ability to crush, break, or step on things isn't really a sign of greatness, but we don't always realize that. We still do fall for the childish thinking that raw power is a mark of strength, rather than the ability to temper and harness power in ways that nurture life rather than destroying it. One of the sad lessons of history is how often crowds rally in support of the strongman, the authoritarian, the dictator, and the bully, all because they fool the people into confusing recklessness with strength, and gentleness with weakness.  The conventional wisdom of the day even now is that here in "the real world" things get done "by strength," "by force," and "by power," and that you have to push people around to get your way. We still hear it from podiums and talking heads on television all the time to justify all sorts of things.

God, of course, is not fooled by those demagogues, and never has been. We sometimes forget this, too, and think that whoever has the most sheer raw power at any given moment must have God's endorsement [although I'll bet Goliath, Pharaoh, and Nebuchadnezzar would all eventually have admitted as much]. If we've been actually listening to the voices in the Scriptures, though, we'll hear that God has always chosen to work in gentleness and kindness rather than domination and cruelty. In fact, the prophets were convinced that such compassionate love would be the telltale sign of the Messiah.

I love the way this passage from Isaiah 42, which many of us heard this past Sunday, puts it. In speaking of God's chosen "servant," (whom we have come to recognize as Jesus!) the prophet says, "a bruised reed he will not break," and "a dimly burning wick he will not quench," and yet he will bring about justice for all peoples. God's chosen one--whom we often name "the Messiah" or "the Christ"--doesn't resort to sheer displays of domination or cruelty in order to get things done. He isn't even the sort of person to snap a bent stalk off of a plant or snuff out a weak flame. He wouldn't even step on a bug "just because he can." He doesn't need to shout obnoxiously or rile people up to get their attention. He doesn't need to threaten or intimidate, and he doesn't destroy things or harm people simply to make an example of them. And he doesn't need to pick on someone smaller to make everybody else in the schoolyard afraid.  That is simply not the way of God's Chosen One.

Those kinds of tactics, however, are exactly how empires operate--from Pharaoh insisting on the enslaved Hebrews making more and more bricks without straw, to Rome crucifying whomever it saw as a potential troublemaker, just to set an example of what they could do to you, to every empire and superpower since. Bullies flex their imperial muscle like that because they think it makes them look strong... when in actuality it makes them look childish. God's Chosen One knows that and doesn't have to resort to saber-rattling, angry yelling, or shows of brute force to do God's work.

We are constantly reminded of the brutish--and childish--things people are willing to do if they think it will make them look great or put them on top. Each day's news keeps giving us disappointingly fresh examples of that tired way of doing things. But the prophet points us to Someone who doesn't snuff out fragile flames or break what is bruised. The Servant of God--Jesus--offers us an alternative to the dangerous (but childish) bullying we are so used to settling for. Today, it is worth asking, "Where have I allowed myself to think it was OK to step on someone else to get ahead? Where have I let myself believe that sometimes you have to step on people and intimidate others in order to get your way? Where have I let the voices around me persuade me into believing that gentleness is weakness, or that domination is strength?" And maybe we might find the way of Jesus, God's chosen one, to be just the antidote we didn't know we needed.

Perhaps we'll recognize that our whole lives are made possible because the Almighty God doesn't just step on beings that are smaller [or troublesome] just because God "can."

This is just the sort of thing that will happen to us as we hear ourselves called by Christ to follow in the same way of life as Jesus.  We will also become gentle like Jesus. We, too, will set aside childish bullying tactics or angry threats, because we are called to become like him.

O Gentle One, where we are bruised and dim breath life and strength into us again, so that we may grow and shine... and walk in the ways of your Chosen One, Jesus.

God's Beloved, Too--January 13, 2026

God's Beloved, Too--January 13, 2026

"And when Jesus had been baptized, just as he came up from the water, suddenly the heavens were opened to him and he saw God’s Spirit descending like a dove and alighting on him. And a voice from the heavens said, 'This is my Son, the Beloved, with whom I am well pleased'.” (Matthew 3:16-17)

Our older brother in the faith, Martin Luther, called it "the happy exchange." 

It's the notion, grounded in the New Testament, that whatever belongs to Christ is given to us because we have been joined to Christ... and whatever was ours belongs to Christ as well.  The reason he called it a "happy" exchange is that it turns out to be completely lopsided in our favor.  We gain Christ's righteousness, abundant life, and identity as God's beloved children, and Christ gets... our sin, our fragility, and our death. Talk about a good deal, right?

The whole concept boggles the mind and begs the question: Why would Jesus be willing to do such a thing?  Well, love, obviously.  The same way when two people get married and one of them still has college loans to pay off, the debt is assumed by both and taken on together, or the same way a new baby in the family is given the same home, name, and family belonging as the parents who have brought the child home from the hospital.  Jesus is willing to take all of our baggage and give us all of his freedom because he loves us. It seems like utter nonsense from the perspective of self-interested logic, but it makes perfect sense from the vantage point of self-giving love.

And at least part of what that great exchange means is that Jesus' standing as God's Son, and as God's "Beloved," is conferred on us as well.  It happens, at least at some level, because of what transpires at the waters here.  As we saw yesterday, when we first looked at this passage that many of us heard this past Sunday, when Jesus went to be baptized by John in the Jordan River, at least part of what he is doing is standing in solidarity with a world full of sinners.  In effect, Jesus is saying, "Count me with them.  I am one of them.  They are mine, and I am theirs" as he gets in line with all the others who have come to John as a public sign of repenting of their sins--even though Jesus is the one person in all of human history who has no sins to repent of.  And on the other side of that equation, the apostle Paul wrote to the Romans that "all of us who were baptized into Christ Jesus were baptized into his death... so that, just as Christ was raised from the dead by the glory of the Father, so we also might walk in newness of life. For if we have been united with him in a death like his, we will certainly be united with him in a resurrection like his" (Rom. 6:3-5).

You can hear that "happy exchange" idea in there, can't you?  Because we are joined to Christ in our baptism, we are connected both to his death and resurrection.  All of our sin has been taken into Christ, and all of his righteousness has been given to us.  All of our mortality is taken with Jesus to the cross, and all of his resurrection life is shared with us.

So when the voice from heaven calls out, while Jesus comes up out of the water from being baptized, saying, "This is my Son, the Beloved," this isn't just good news for Jesus--it is good news for us, too.  It is not only Christ who is declared to be God's own Son, but we who are named as sons and daughters as well. This isn't just a story about Jesus being claimed by God--but about us being claimed as well, because we are joined to Christ.

That's what we mean by saying we are a part of the "found family" of God.  We don't belong because we share DNA with Jesus, per se, but because he has claimed us.  Our status in the family of God doesn't depend on our accomplishments, achievements, or performed piety, but because of Jesus standing with us and calling us his own.  The whole good news of the Gospel hangs on the reality of God choosing to include us regardless of how far out, far away, and estranged we have been.  We belong because God says we do--and that's enough.  What is true for Jesus is true for us as well, and since Jesus is God's beloved child, so are we.

Whatever else happens in this day, this year, or this life, that identity cannot be undone or taken away. You are not an employee on God's "staff," carrying the risk of being let go if they need to downsize or you don't perform well next quarter.  You are a child of God, whose identity is irrevocable and whose belonging is grounded in God's claim--because of Jesus.

Yeah, sounds like a pretty happy exchange to me, too.

Lord Jesus, assure us today of who we are because of who you are.

Strange Righteousness--January 12, 2026

Strange Righteousness--January 12, 2026

"Then Jesus came from Galilee to John at the Jordan, to be baptized by him. John would have prevented him, saying, 'I need to be baptized by you, and do you come to me?' But Jesus answered him, 'Let it be so now, for it is proper for us in this way to fulfill all righteousness." (Matthew 3:13-15)

Whatever it means to be righteous, it doesn't include looking down your nose at other people. At least not for Jesus.  For him, "righteousness" isn't about being "above" somebody else or treating another person as "less-than." And it doesn't involve intimidating, threatening, or zapping some group or person you have labeled "unrighteous."

We need to start here today, I think, because so often in our day the word "righteous" itself comes with the unavoidable baggage of the term "self-righteous," and it conjures up all the times we've seen people look down on others from their own holier-than-thou perch.  All too often, the word "righteous" gets invoked by arrogant zealots who have deputized themselves to condemn anybody they think doesn't measure up, or folks who won't associate with the sinners, mess-ups, and failures because of some presumed need to keep their holiness untainted. And if that's what "righteousness" means, well, it sure doesn't make sense then that Jesus would show up in line like this to be baptized by John for the sake of "righteousness."

That's because going out to be baptized by John in the Jordan wasn't a proud sign of your holiness and moral perfection--it was a statement of your need to repent and turn around in a new direction!  The folks who went out to John the Baptizer came, as the gospels remind us, "confessing their sins," and used this moment as a turning point in their lives to reject all the rotten stuff, sins, and guilt of their past.  It had the feel very much of going to your first AA or other Twelve-Step program meeting--you went forward, basically to admit that you were a mess-up, had gotten in over your head, and couldn't manage in the old patterns anymore.  For the folks there on the banks of the Jordan River, being baptized wasn't a way to show folks how "righteous" you were--it was an admission of how "unrighteous" you were, in the hopes that such radical honesty would let you turn a new way.

And all of that leads to the conundrum about Jesus being there.  Why would Jesus come to be baptized as a show of repentance? Isn't he supposed to be the sinless Lamb of God?  Isn't he the one person whose Permanent Record doesn't need to be wiped clean? And why would going there to be baptized by John somehow "fulfill all righteousness"? We are so used to assuming that being "righteous" involves condemning or criticizing all the unrighteous people that we might expect a holy messiah to scold or smite these sinners at the shore, not to stand in solidarity with them.

But that's just it: Jesus redefines "righteousness" for us to show us that it was never about zapping rule-breakers or condemning people for not measuring up. Jesus' strange kind of righteousness comes and meets us where we are and stands with us--as one of us.  When Jesus goes to be baptized by John, it is a public statement that says, "Count me with all of them.  I'll stand in their place.  I haven't come to send people to hell--I've come to bring them to life."  For Jesus, "righteousness" is solidarity with a world full of unrighteous people.  

This takes the scandal of the gospel to a whole new level.  We have just finished the season of Christmas, of course, and its mind-blowing claim that God took on flesh in Jesus.  That by itself is staggering.  But now at the river Jordan in line with a whole crowd of people who are confessing that they are sinners looking for a new start, Jesus' presence is like saying that same holy God is willing to be associated with unholy and sinful wretches.  In Jesus, God identifies with us all, and not only us at our best moments of good behavior, but precisely when we are face to face with our sins.  Whatever it means for Jesus to be "righteous," then, it is not about condemning sinners, but actually taking their side--our side.  Whatever it means for God to be holy, it can't be that God is unwilling to be associated with the likes of us--because in Jesus, there is God standing in line with a bunch of sinners all seeking a new beginning at the water.

If that's true (and Matthew sure seems to believe it is), then our presence in the world isn't meant to be a condemning or condescending one. Rather, we are called to be, like Jesus, people who stand with others in love.  We are called, like Jesus, to be on the "side" of folks who are facing their baggage and their demons and starting over.  And because we know that Jesus' "righteousness" doesn't involve him zapping sinners but coming along beside them, maybe we can be honest and admit our own sins rather than covering up our worst selves because we are afraid of being found out.  Jesus' presence there at the waters makes it possible for us to be brave enough to tell the truth about ourselves rather than point the finger at somebody else in order to take the focus off of our own failures.

Whatever it means to be righteous, it doesn't mean that Jesus is our enemy or adversary looking to condemn us.  Jesus' kind of righteousness takes our side--the whole human family--and says, "Count me with them."

That is absolutely good news.

Lord Jesus, help us to see you, not looking down on us in condemnation, but at our side in solidarity.

An Alternative Way--January 9, 2026

 An Alternative Way--January 9, 2026

"And having been warned in a dream not to return to Herod, they left for their own country by another road." (Matthew 2:12)

Yes, the Magi go home--but they go home differently. These would-be wizards and sky-watching gurus who appear out of nowhere, following a light in the sky to find the true king of the Jews, they do return back to where they started, but you get the sense that they will never quite be the same again.  Not to steal from the well-known musical Wicked or its recent two-part cinematic adaptation, but they "have been changed... for good."

We can't say, of course, exactly how they have been affected by this journey--although, I suppose like anyone who makes a religious or spiritual pilgrimage, maybe the Magi themselves can't quite put their finger on how they have been changed by the experience. But they still know that they have been. I think of how T.S. Eliot imagines their contemplation and remembrance in his poem, "The Journey of the Magi." He voices one of these wise men saying they "returned to our places, these Kingdoms/ But no longer at ease here, in the old dispensation/ With an alien people clutching their gods." Everything about their old lives has faded in comparison to being in the presence of the Christ-child, even if they struggle to put that difference into words.  I think something like that must have been the case for Matthew's Magi.

But even without that kind of faithful imagination and scriptural speculation, I think Matthew has given us evidence of at least one other important change that comes from this encounter with Christ.  He mentions that after the Magi find the Christ-child, having been drawn by their belief that stars and astrological phenomena could tell them about truths in the world, they no longer need the star--or at least, it doesn't seem to be their navigator any longer.  Now, an angel visits them in a dream (the same way Matthew tells us that God had communicated with Joseph when he was about to break up with a pregnant Mary!), and they learn that they are not supposed to go back down the route that leads them back to Herod. The Magi are to go home "by another road" and not to play into Herod's schemes any longer. Perhaps they had been fooled before by his ploy, but now they can admit it and refuse to be bamboozled any longer. They know that they must choose a different way--there must be an alternative to Herod.

At this point in the story, that is quite literally "different way," that is, "another road" to get them back to their homes in "the east" without taking them through Jerusalem and back into the clutches of Herod and his political machine.  But in a sense, Matthew is preparing us for a major theme that will come back throughout the story and message of Jesus in his Gospel: a choice of which "way," which route, which path, we will take in life.  Jesus himself will describe later a choice of two "ways"--the wide one which terminates in a dead-end, or the narrow way that goes in his footsteps. He will also continue to contrast his own sort of "kingdom" and way of life with the world's sorts of "kingdoms." The world's way of operating--whether typified by Herod or Caesar or "the rulers of the gentiles"--is always one of domination, conquest, and violence. And Jesus' way of operating--which he unapologetically claims is also God's way of operating--is the opposite. There is no invading, no conquering, and no killing in Jesus' way; his path is quite literally an alternative way, and a different road from the one that leads to Herod.

Now to be sure, the Magi don't know yet all of Jesus' teaching, and they cannot yet have gotten a preview of the Sermon on the Mount with its call to enemy-love and self-giving.  But at least they must have witnessed the stark contrast between an insecure bully of a ruler holding court in a palace decked out in gold on the one hand, and a vulnerable toddler with his mother in a modest peasant dwelling in a two-bit town like Bethlehem (remembered, at least in part, for its smallness in the prophets).  And when the angel makes it clear to them not to return to Herod, perhaps at least that much came into focus: they could choose one or the other--Herod, or the child--but not both.  The way of Jesus always runs counter to the way of Herod, the same way that the choice to bear being crucified meant refusing to be the one crucifying his enemies. If we are going to seek after the same Christ whom the Magi found, we will also be called to walk the alternative way of Jesus. There is no going back.

Like I say, we don't really what became of the Magi after they saw the Christ-child and made their way home by "another road." They were changed, we can presume, but we dare not assume it was an easy life or that they could pick right up with their comfortable old routines once they arrived back home.  The same can be said for us if we are followers of Jesus who walk his alternative way.  We will be changed, certainly.  It will not always be easy, for sure.  And we will often feel the pull to go back into the old violent ways of the new Herods and Caesars, or at least to keep our heads down and not call them out. But the witness of the Magi sure seems to be that it is worth it to direct our lives down that other road, the one that does not lead back to Herod and his insecure outrage.

Like the poet says, when we take that road less traveled--the way of Jesus--it really does make all the difference.

Lord Jesus, lead us on your way, even when it runs counter to the prevailing order of the day.

A Revealing of Allegiances--January 8, 2026

A Revealing of Allegiances--January 8, 2026

"On entering the house, [the Magi] saw the child with Mary his mother, and they knelt down and paid him homage. Then, opening their treasure chests, they offered him gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh." (Matthew 2:11)

How does Jesus say it later on in the story? "Where your treasure is, there your heart will be also." Whomever or whatever you give your most valuable and precious things to, that will be an indication of where your heart is aimed. Whether we're talking in dollars, minutes, emotions, or effort, where we direct those things will tell you what (or who) matters most to you.

You might even say that where you direct your treasures is a sign of where you have given your allegiance. If you support your local school district, chances are that you'll be willing to support the tax levy when the school board recommends it and puts it on the ballot.  Or conversely, I remember learning somewhere back in school about Henry David Thoreau being jailed for refusing to pay his poll tax as a protest against the unjust Mexican-American War and against slavery.  Your convictions will direct the choices you make with your treasures, and your willingness to give away the things you value will reveal the causes and people that matter most to you.

So what does any of this have to do with the story we've been exploring this week with the Magi visiting the Christ-child? Well, I want to suggest that Matthew our storyteller is giving us a glimpse of this revealing of allegiances in the response of the Magi. Upon finally finding the long-sought-after Child in Bethlehem, they open up their treasure chests and proceed to offer up gifts of great value (in addition to whatever symbolic significance one might glean from the items listed: gold, frankincense, and myrrh).  Presumably they have had all of these treasures with them on their whole journey--there's no indication they stopped at a market or shopping mall between Jerusalem and Bethlehem after leaving Herod's palace.  And presumably, too, that means they had these treasures even when they first went to the palace in Jerusalem, originally seeking the newly born "king of the Jews." When the Magi find out that there is no child to be found in the city, and instead the current claimant of that title, Herod, meets them, it is worth noting that the Magi don't offer up their treasures to him instead. There's no, "Oh, sorry--we must have been mistaken and misread the stars; I guess these presents are for you instead."  

No, rather, the Magi meet Herod, who calls himself "King of the Jews" even though he is merely the puppet ruler that the Romans have placed on the throne provided that he doesn't step out of line, but they do not give their treasures to him at all. There is no "paying homage" (the same word you would use for "worshiping" in Greek, too) toward Herod, either. The Magi hold back what is most valuable for the one they have truly come to find; only when they meet the toddling Christ-child still clinging to his mother's side do they offer up these precious things. Christ alone is worthy of their allegiance, and therefore of their treasures.  They can spot a phony, it would seem, and they know not to give him the gifts they have brought for the true king.

Even though the Magi will soon disappear from the story, never to be heard from again in the Gospel, I think Matthew trusts that his point is made.  To give our allegiance to the God revealed in Jesus Christ will mean a refusal to give it to the Herods around us. For the Magi, that means their long-held treasures will not be handed over to the pretender-king, but reserved for the child once they find him. For us, it will mean that our time, our resources, and our energy are not to be offered up in Herod's service, but for Christ's. And Christ, of course, ends up directing our lives and serving outward to the people around us.  This same Christ-child will later grow up to be the one who tells us that when we have fed the hungry, clothed the naked, welcomed the foreigner, and visited the sick, we have done it for him.  To offer our time, treasure, and talent for the sake of the vulnerable, the adult Jesus will tell us, is the way we do what the Magi accomplish with their gold, frankincense, and myrrh. But we are never to give over to Herod what should go to Christ.

We may well be putting away our Christmas decorations by now and boxing up our figurines of the wise men along with the ceramic sheep and angels, but the power of this story persists.  Every day we have to choose to whom we give our allegiance--and therefore, to whom we offer what we value most.  Who and what gets our time? Our energy and passion? Our money and goodwill? And where, like the Magi, might we be led to hold back our treasures from the counterfeit causes who are not really worthy of what we deem precious, until we are brought face to face with Christ? And might we hear the words of the adult Christ to us as well, reminding us that if we want to care for him or pay him homage, we will care for those who are most vulnerable among us right now?

If you look for Jesus in the manger, he won't be there. Even the Magi eventually find the Christ-child in a house by the time they get to Bethlehem.  We aren't sent to find Jesus frozen in a moment of the past, but to recognize him in the faces of those with whom he identifies right now--and to give for their sake the things we hold as treasures.

Lord Jesus, help us to see your presence among us and to give all that we have to honor you and worship you by caring for those in whom you are present.

The Relentless Light--January 7, 2026

The Relentless Light--January 7, 2026

"When [the Magi] had heard the king, they set out, and there, ahead of them, went the star that they had seen in the east, until it stopped over the place where the child was. When they saw that the star had stopped, they were overwhelmed with joy." (Matthew 2:9-10)

I have absolutely no idea how to explain the celestial event that Matthew describes here, but I find it utterly beautiful to envision a light that patiently waits for us when we get sidetracked, persists in sticking with us, and then leads us precisely to the place we need to be. I don't have a scientific accounting for a star or other cosmic entity that can steadily move in one direction, then hover in place like a car left idling outside while you run into the store on an errand, before resuming its motion and coming to rest at precisely the house that is your destination.  But I do know that it says something about the way God's patient grace takes us by the hand while even taking into account our habit for getting lost, derailed, and detoured.

This isn't the typical behavior of astronomical phenomena, in other words. A comet might suggest a direction in the sky, but they tend not to hold in place while they orbit the sun.  A supernova might well have provided a bright and new flash in the sky, but they tend not to shift position, only to sparkle and fade in place.  And the motions of the planets were already well known even in ancient times, so nobody would have confused Jupiter or Venus with a new star in the sky that had some new significance.  In other words, Matthew intends for us to see the peculiar hand of God in this scene. The motion of this curious star--including its patient waiting while the Magi get held up by Herod's scheming--is a glimpse of how God operates. The relentless light that ensures these traveling magicians are brought to Christ is a picture of God's own insistent and enduring love that pulls us into God's embrace.

And honestly, once you realize that's what is going on here, you realize that God's modus operandi in the Bethlehem Star keeps showing up all throughout the Bible. Back in the early memories of ancient Israel, God had accompanied the people through their journey in the wilderness in fits and starts, bearing with them when they complained, providing for them despite their doubts, and getting them back on track when they got distracted (or started making golden calves). Then Jesus calls a bunch of thick-headed, easily distracted, frequently misled fishermen and tax collectors to be his disciples--and when they do get themselves off track, he waits patiently, gets their attention again, and calls them back to himself.  And as the disciple-community starts figuring out how to carry out its mission to share the news of Jesus with the world, there again is the Holy Spirit nudging, waiting, guiding, and sometimes grabbing by the scruff of the neck to lead the early church to reach new people and live the Jesus way of life.  The patient persistence of the star that guided the Magi is just one more instance of God's way of acting toward us in the world.  The relentless light is the same as the relentless love of God: drawing constantly like gravity, and yet also able to hold in place when we get off course to pull us back rather than leaving us behind.

When we see that in the story of the Magi, and then recognize the same pattern throughout the Bible, it dawns on us that this is how God relates to us, too.  We sometimes imagine that our progress in faith is ever-forward with no missteps or dead-ends, like a short straight line between two points.  Much more honestly, though, our real journeys of faith come in fits and starts like the Magi--going off course when we think we know where we are headed, getting sidetracked when the latest demagogue mesmerizes us, and then looking for how to get back on track when we realize we've gotten lost.  We sometimes struggle with doubts, with grief, with trauma, with rabbit trails that lead us astray, and through all of those seasons, God remains patient, faithful, and persistent to keep calling to us like a light in the sky that keeps grabbing our attention.  And the same is true with others, even when we want to give up on them or write them off.  When someone else is going through a time in their faith when it seems like they are off course or getting sidetracked, we can be tempted to leave them behind as though they don't matter.  But God doesn't give up on them. God continues to reach out, to radiate love, and to call them--the same way God does each of those for us as well.

Today, wherever you have felt stalled out, off course, or unsure of where to put your next footstep, the good news of the Bethlehem star is that God is willing to bear with our fits and starts, and to keep calling and drawing us more fully into the presence of Christ. No matter where you've been, no matter what mistakes you fear you've made, and no matter how many times it feels like one step back for every step forward.  The love of God will not let us go--it is as relentless as the light.

Lord God, keep drawing us into the presence of Christ with your unfailing, undimming love.

Distinguishing Righteous From Ruthless--January 6, 2026

Distinguishing Righteous From Ruthless--January 6, 2026

"When King Herod heard this, he was frightened, and all Jerusalem with him, and calling together all the chief priests and scribes of the people, he inquired of them where the Messiah was to be born. They told him, 'In Bethlehem of Judea, for so it has been written by the prophet: And you, Bethlehem, in the land of Judah, are by no means least among the rulers of Judah, for from you shall come a ruler who is to shepherd my people Israel.' Then Herod secretly called for the magi and learned from them the exact time when the star had appeared. Then he sent them to Bethlehem saying, 'Go and search diligently for the child, and when you have found him, bring me word so that I may also go and pay him homage'." (Matthew 2:3-8)

I'm not sure which is most terrifying: do you suppose Herod knew he was the villain in this story? Do you suppose he really thought he was being a good and just ruler by trying to hunt down the rumored messianic baby? Or do you suppose he didn't even care if he was being righteous or ruthless here?

To be honest, I'm not sure which is the most horrifying possibility to me, because they are all terrible. And, to be even more honest, I know that nobody likes to spend much time at all thinking about this part of the Bible story. Somehow, nobody's Nativity set includes a Wicked King Herod figurine, but lots of people shell out extra money for the "Three Wise Men Expansion Pack," carrying their obligatory jars, boxes, and bottles. And yet, truth be told, Herod gets more speaking lines and screen time, so to speak, than the Magi do. We don't want to ask the unpleasant questions about Herod's place in the story, because they mess up the sentimentality we try so hard to cultivate at Christmas-time, and because those questions end up poking us as well if we think them through.

Because, here's the thing: even if Herod doesn't realize that he is the villain in this story, we should be able to say it. We need to be able to recognize that there is no good "spin" to put on Herod's choices, his actions, his words, or his trickery. He may not realize that what is doing is terrible and wicked, but we need to be able to say that about him. We have to be able to name the villain, or else we lose the ability to say anything credibly. And the Respectable Religious People in this story--the people who have cashed in their integrity and leveraged their positions as Religious Professionals to lend support to Herod without question--they should know better. They should have been able to see that Herod is neither just nor wise in his plotting to hunt out the rumored Messiah, and they should have realized that this quest to find out from the Magi about the appearance of his natal star was a cowardly and cutthroat plot to kill a possible rival, not a show of true faith.

And this is what frightens me about saying this out loud, or writing it down so my eyes can't ignore it: other voices, including Jewish voices, of the time, were able to see the truth about Herod... and they saw he was despicable, insecure, and narcissistic. And they said so. Josephus, for one, was a Jewish historian who lived just after the time of Jesus in the first century, was critical of Herod as basically unfit to reign. Herod was cruel, paranoid, and in need of near constant ego-stroking. He was, in other words, known far and wide not to be faithful doer of justice or even a wise ruler, but was often petty, violent, and cruel. And yet, when a "frightened" King Herod summons the priests and scribes (the biggest names in Respectable Religious Professionals at the time), they help him in his quest for finding the birthplace of the rumored child, and they do not speak out or see his true intentions. They are complicit, by their silence, if by nothing else.

And maybe, most frightening to me (a religious professional myself... cough, cough) is the possibility that someone could be so swayed by someone like Herod that they would no longer be able to see what was righteous and what was ruthless any longer. Maybe after so long, accepting Herod's ways bit by bit over time, they lost the ability to see it... or they lost the courage to say it. But by the time the Magi actually visit, these chief priests and scribes, these big-name Respectable Religious leaders of the day, they can no longer name the villain for what he is, whether by inability to see it, or cowardice to face the truth.

Our older brother in the faith, Martin Luther, famously pointed out that Herod surely knew how to present himself like he was a defender of truth, justice, and national security. In one Christmas sermon, Luther says, "Doubt not that Herod would find a plausible defense so that people would regard it, not as tyranny, but as necessary severity…. He could plausibly argue that it were better to bereave a few hundred fathers and mothers of their children that to ruin the whole land. Thus Herod and his men took the sword, and became frightful murderers even though they put out such a persuasive defense that everyone thought they were keeping the peace." That, I think, is the most haunting thing about this part of the story of the journey of the Magi: that their presence interrupts and exposes how Herod had convinced even many faithful and devout people into thinking that he was good and wise and just, and that God wanted him on the throne.

But the fact that the Respectable Religious Leaders in Jerusalem all gave their support to Herod (or were willing to look the other way, or to stay silent in their complicity) forces me to ask for myself: are my senses so dulled that I would not have spotted Herod's rottenness? Am I so afraid--of what people will say, of being unpopular, of losing a comfortable situation, of all of the above--that I would, like the Religious Professionals of Herod's day, have just kept my mouth shut and implicitly endorsed Herod's treachery and cruelty? Because, if Herod couldn't even recognize that he had become the villain, I suspect that the Respectable Religious Leaders could no longer recognize what they were doing as complicit in his wickedness, too. They could not see that they were henchmen to the villain, which is no better than being the villain himself. And I am reminded of that famous Pogo cartoon which ends with the line, "We have met the enemy. And he is us."

If the Respectable Religious Leaders of Herod's day were either fooled or intimidated into aiding him, what will keep me from being so fooled or fearful myself?

And in this day, what are the ways I, and all of us who dare to name the name of Jesus, allow our silence to keep terrible things happening? What are the ways we allow ourselves to be coerced into cowardice or to have our sense of right and wrong dulled so that we do not see any longer what rottenness is all around us? What are the ways we get so used to our comfortable way of life that we don't want to make waves or be the ones to stick our necks out? And what would give us the holy courage to see the ways we ourselves are the enemy, that we ourselves are part of the problem, and that we ourselves are in need of God's transforming presence to cleanse the rottenness in our own hearts, to shake up the complacency in our spirits, and to clear our vision once again?

If we dare to ask such questions about the Respectable Religious Folk in first-century Jerusalem during the time of Herod, we are going to have to ask the same uncomfortable questions of ourselves, and how each of us either helps or hinders the work of Christ in the world. In the end, God is going to get done what God wants to get done--even when the preachers, priests, and holy folk fail and fall silent in complicity, God finds other ways to get the Magi to the Christ-child and then to rescue the Christ from Herod. But what a shame--what a literally damned shame it is--if God has to work in spite of the religious folks to advance the mission of Christ.

I am afraid to ask it, but I keep needing to ask: how can each of us look in our own hearts, our own actions, our own words, and our silences, to see where we have allowed ourselves to become obstacles to God's purposes, to be ruled by fear, or to be complicit with Herod? And how can each of us turn from those old ways to be used to bear Christ for the world?

It starts with being able to name the villain: and including in that recognition that we are, each of us, part of the problem, too.

Lord God, give me the courage and clarity to speak and act for the sake of your love for the world in Christ.