By Scott Dickison
Yesterday was a lesser-known holy day tucked within this Christmas season. The 28th of December is kept within the church year as “Holy Innocents’ Day,” or more traditionally, “Childermas.” The “Children’s Mass,” remembers the account from the second chapter of Matthew when Herod ordered the slaying of all children 2 or younger in an attempt to end the story of Jesus before it began.
Of the two accounts of Jesus’ birth recorded in Scripture, the other being in Luke, Matthew’s account is easily the darker of the two. Luke’s story is one of cousins getting together to celebrate their pregnancies, their children “leaping” in the womb when they do. It features beautiful songs — the Magnificat and Benedictus — shepherds watching their fields by night, choirs of angels filling the sky with music, and of course the holy couple gathering around a manger, beholding their newborn son. Luke’s account is the one of kid-friendly nativity scenes and Christmas cards.
Not as much with Matthew. If Luke tells the story of hope, peace, joy and love which we celebrate with candlelight each Advent, Matthew tells the story of all the darkness that makes this light necessary.
Matthew has no memory of an annunciation to Mary, meek and mild. The angel in his story comes to Joseph, confused and brokenhearted, having already learned that his bride-to-be is bearing a child who is not his. He’s no doubt labored over the question of what to do, finally deciding to let the matter go quietly (as if that’s ever really possible) before the angel tells him to stay the course. There’s more tension in this heavenly conversation. “The Lord is with her” is much different from “The Lord is with you.”
After quickly relaying that the holy couple indeed had a son and named him Jesus, Matthew widens the lens to speak of political affairs. Foreign delegates from the East come to see this new King of the Jews of whom they’ve heard, which sends the current King of the Jews, Herod, into a preemptive fury. It’s this fury that leads to a massacre of children, with the holy family escaping to Egypt in the night. Luke may have imagined Jesus being born in lowly estate, but Matthew takes it a step further and remembers the holy family as refugees, with this future savior coming into the world amidst unspeakable suffering and death.
Perhaps you’re like me in thinking this has been more of a Matthew kind of year.
By some accounts, 2014 has been one of the worst years for children in recent memory. Millions displaced and caught in areas of conflict across the globe, hundreds killed in attacks at schools (both here and abroad), tens of thousands recruited by armed groups, and the list goes on.
And of course, these statistics only scratch the surface because even tragedies that don’t seem to directly involve children always do. Soldiers have children, terrorists have children, police officers and petty offenders have children — children are always a part of the often unnamed collateral damage of any conflict or out-and-out disaster. So it’s important to remember that Matthew’s Jesus is born into a world very similar to the one known by millions of children today: a world of senseless and cyclical violence.
But in an attempt to make sense of such an unspeakable tragedy as Herod’s massacre, Matthew does something that may hold some healing potential for us today.
First, he reads the present through the past, and remembers the harrowing words of the prophet Jeremiah during the exile to Babylon, “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.” Matthew reminds us we live in a world scarred many times over by tragedy, loss, unspeakable violence, and at times utter darkness. As painful a reality as this is, it’s also important to remember that we are not alone in our suffering.
But then — and more importantly — for the next 26 chapters he offers his testimony about what God is doing about it. And this is what we’re called to do, too.
Like Matthew, we’re first called to name the brokenness and woundedness of the world — this is an important first step. But then we’re called to speak the greater truth of what God is doing to mend and heal it; to mend and heal us. Like Matthew, we’re called to offer our testimony, if not in our words then most certainly in our lives. A testimony of a savior — a healer — to a world in desperate need of one. Given the state of things this may seem too small a task, but it’s quite literally “the gospel truth.”
No, 2014 has certainly been a “Matthew” kind of year. Here’s to hoping 2015 will see a little more of “Luke.” But the good news is that either way you tell the story, Christ has come. Praise God, Christ has come.