Death and Christmas
The Feast of the Holy Innocents // Jer 31:15–17; Rev 21:1–7; Matt 2:13–18
Jesus the Vulnerable
Since today is December 28, I faced a choice this week between celebrating the First Sunday of Christmas or the Feast of the Holy Innocents—a choice between celebrating the Incarnation or confronting the death of children. As you can tell by now, I chose the latter. I made this decision not because I want to spoil your Christmas joy, nor just because December 28 is the traditional day for this festival. Instead, I chose to honor this feast day because it’s imperative that we recognize that, despite all the lights, joy, and festivities of Christmas, the Incarnation did not occur in a safe and sanitized world. God didn’t come to a peaceful and stable place. He entered a world where kings murder children to hold onto power and where families sometimes flee their homes as refugees to protect their vulnerable children.
You may have seen online recently that some people, including a very famous pastor, suggest that the Holy Family doesn’t technically qualify as refugees because they remained within the Roman Empire when they traveled to Egypt. Those who feel the need to make this point are usually politically minded commentators who want Jesus to side with their political views rather than with the weak and vulnerable. They try to ignore the obvious in Matthew’s account by insisting on modern definitions of “refugee” and asking whether the Holy Family fits those criteria. That approach is as misguided as insisting on our contemporary definitions of God and then asking whether Jesus meets our standard.
Matthew isn’t writing legal briefs; he’s telling a story. And stories don’t work by checking jurisdictional boxes. They work by connecting human experiences across time. Matthew wants us to see that when God entered the world, he identified not with the mighty and powerful but with the weak and the vulnerable. Pope Pius XII wrote:
The émigré Holy Family of Nazareth, fleeing into Egypt, is the archetype of every refugee family.1
God entered this world as a vulnerable child whose family had to flee to another country to escape political violence. As the disciples of this vulnerable child, how we treat others in similar situations matters. How we treat the weak and the vulnerable matters. As Anglican priest and New Testament scholar Esau McCaulley writes:
You cannot worship a vulnerable God and smash hurting people in his name; that is blasphemy.2
Jesus enters a broken, violent world not as the mighty, invincible warrior but as a vulnerable child whose life is spared while the lives of other vulnerable children are not. That sobering truth is a part of the Christmas story just as much as the angelic choir and the worshiping shepherds. It just doesn’t look as good on our lawns or sound as good in Christmas carols. Death is part of the story of Christmas and the story of Jesus because death is an inescapable part of the human experience—inescapable, that is, except through the resurrection of the dead.
Even on Christmas Eve, as we celebrate Jesus’ birth, we also celebrate his death and resurrection. We do this because birth leads to death, and for those who trust in Christ, death leads to resurrection. So, this morning, as un-Christmas-like as it may seem, I want to explore death and Christmas, and I suggest we think about this unusual pairing in two ways—first, death at Christmas; and second, death defeated by Christmas.
Death at Christmas
The story begins with the Magi following a star. They arrive in Jerusalem and ask what seems like an innocent question: “Where is he who has been born king of the Jews?” But there’s nothing innocent about that question, especially not when you ask it in Herod’s hearing.
Herod the Great was not born king of the Jews. He was appointed king by Rome—a political arrangement, not a birthright. And he knew it. Everyone knew it. Herod tried desperately to legitimize his rule. He even married Mariamne, a Hasmonean princess, hoping to marry into the royal bloodline and gain acceptance. But the people never accepted him as the true king. He was always Rome’s puppet, always the outsider, and always insecure on his throne.
So when the Magi arrive asking about someone who has been born king of the Jews—the one thing Herod could never claim—it’s not just a political threat. It’s a personal humiliation. It exposes everything Herod isn’t and could never be.
Herod responds with cunning. He tells the Magi to find this child and return to tell him where the child is, “so that I too may come and worship him.” But Herod has no intention of worshiping. He’s already planning murder. The Magi find the Christ child, but they’re warned in a dream not to return to Herod. They go home by another route, and when Herod realizes he’s been deceived, he enacts his terrible plan.
Then Herod, when he saw that he had been tricked by the wise men, became furious, and he sent and killed all the male children in Bethlehem and in all that region who were two years old or under, according to the time that he had ascertained from the wise men (Matt 2:16).
I won’t go into detail about what this might have looked like because it’s honestly horrific. You don’t have to think too long and hard to get a pretty accurate idea of what it would have been like for Herod’s soldiers to carry out this order. Matthew doesn’t give us the details, and neither will I, but his point is still clear. This violence is what empires do when they feel threatened—they kill the vulnerable to protect the powerful.
Notably, these children didn’t just die in the same world where Jesus was born. They died because Jesus was born. Herod is hunting for one specific child—the one born to be King of the Jews. But he doesn’t know which child it is, so he devises an elegant, evil solution. He’ll kill them all. Every male child in Bethlehem and the surrounding villages, two years old and under, is slaughtered because the true King has been born, and the empire cannot allow it.
The presence of the Christ child threatens Herod’s power, and Herod responds the way empires always respond to threats—with violence against the vulnerable. That’s why these children are martyrs: the first martyrs of the Incarnation. They shed their blood not because of their own faith—they were infants—but because of Christ’s presence in the world. They died because the King had come, and his coming exposed and threatened every false king and every earthly power that claims ultimate authority.
Let’s be clear. The Incarnation isn’t a neutral event. We’ve sung the Magnificat for four weeks in a row now, and I hope you were listening. God does not politely slip into the world without disturbing the present order of things. The moment the Word became flesh, the kingdoms of this world were put on notice. And when you threaten the empire, the empire strikes back. Those children in Bethlehem died because the true King had come. They died because Christmas happened.
Matthew reaches back to Jeremiah to make sense of this nightmare:
Then was fulfilled what was spoken by the prophet Jeremiah: “A voice was heard in Ramah, weeping and loud lamentation, Rachel weeping for her children; she refused to be comforted, because they are no more” (Matt 2:17–18 quoting Jer 31:15).
Again, this is not literal prophecy and fulfillment. In Jeremiah 31, Rachel—the matriarch, long dead and buried in Ramah—weeps as her descendants pass by on their way to exile in Babylon. Matthew takes that same image and applies it to the mothers of Bethlehem who are grieving for their murdered children.
Death at Christmas isn’t an interruption to the Christmas story but exhibit A of the broken world Christ has entered into—a world still under foreign occupation, a world where empire still murders the innocent, a world still in exile, still in bondage, still waiting for the liberation God promised through the prophets. And that’s where Matthew leaves us—with Rachel weeping, refusing to be comforted. But Matthew knows something the mourning mothers don’t, and that leads us to our second point.
Death Defeated by Christmas
Matthew quotes only from verse 15 of Jeremiah 31, but he expects his reader to know what comes next. In Jeremiah 31:17, as Rachel weeps for her children, God speaks into her grief.
There is hope for your future, declares the Lord, and your children shall come back to their own country (Jer 31:17).
Rachel weeps, yes. But her weeping isn’t the end of her story. God promises a return from exile. God promises restoration. God promises hope. And please notice that this isn’t just any chapter in Jeremiah—this is Jeremiah 31, the famous New Covenant chapter.
For this is the covenant that I will make with the house of Israel after those days, declares the Lord: I will put my law within them, and I will write it on their hearts. And I will be their God, and they shall be my people (Jer 31:33).
Matthew, in one of the darkest moments of his Gospel outside the crucifixion, quotes from the very chapter that promises the New Covenant, indicating that what God had promised through Jeremiah is now being fulfilled through Jesus. The same God who promised to end the Babylonian exile, the same God who promised a new covenant written on hearts rather than stone, is now acting in the world to end the Edenic exile that still enslaves his people and to establish a new covenant that will never be broken.
The Incarnation that entered a world of death leads to the death and resurrection that defeats death forever. Jesus doesn’t just sympathize with these martyred children—he joins them. He suffers the same fate as them. He dies at the hands of the same empire. He tastes death just as they did. And then he rises, breaking death’s power once and for all.
The Incarnation that entered a world of death leads to the death and resurrection that defeats death forever.
Our reading from Revelation shows us the final reality:
Behold, the dwelling place of God is with man. He will dwell with them, and they will be his people, and God himself will be with them as their God. He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away (Rev 21:3–4).
Those weeping mothers of Bethlehem—their tears will be wiped away. Those slaughtered innocents—they will stand vindicated before the throne of the Lamb. The exile will end. Imperial and spiritual bondage will break. Death itself will die. Christmas didn’t just bring a baby in a manger. Christmas brought the King who defeats every empire, breaks every chain, and conquers every would-be ruler and tyrant, even death.
The children of Bethlehem died because the King was born. But because the King was born, died, and rose again, death no longer has the final word. Not for them. Not for us. Not for anyone who belongs to the Lamb who was slain.
That’s the promise of Christmas. Not that the world is safe, not that suffering doesn’t exist, and not that empire won’t still lash out in violence.
The promise of Christmas is that despite all that, God has entered our world of death to defeat death itself.
The exile is ending. The Kingdom is coming. And one day, there will be no more weeping, no more mourning, no more death because the child born in Bethlehem sits on his throne, and he has overcome the world.
Conclusion
So what do we do with death and Christmas? We don’t sanitize the story. We don’t pretend the Incarnation happened in a world without violence and suffering. We face the reality that the King was born into a world where the powerful destroy the vulnerable and weak for their own ends, and we remember which side Jesus identified with, regardless of their legal status.
But we also trust the promise. The same God who entered our world of death through the Incarnation will one day wipe away every tear from every eye. Our exile from the Garden will end. Death will be defeated. And the weeping will stop.
Until that day comes, we live as people who know the truth: the Incarnation happened. The King is here, and he is the God of the weak and the vulnerable. No matter how violently empire responds, the Kingdom of God is coming. Death no longer gets the final word.
Amen.
Life Group Guide
Intro Prayer
Heavenly Father, as we gather today to study your Word, we ask that you open our hearts and minds to receive what you want to teach us. Help us see both the harsh truths and the hope within the Christmas story. May we be receptive to your Spirit’s guidance and willing to be challenged and transformed by your truth. Guide our discussion and draw us closer to you and to one another. In Jesus’ name, Amen.
Ice Breaker
What is one Christmas tradition from your childhood that you remember most fondly, and why was it special to you?
Questions
How does learning about the massacre of the Holy Innocents change or deepen your understanding of the Christmas story?
Why do you think it’s important to acknowledge the difficult parts of Jesus’ birth narrative rather than focusing only on the joyful elements?
What does it mean to you that Jesus identified with the weak, vulnerable, and displaced rather than the powerful?
How should the fact that Jesus was essentially a refugee child influence how Christians today treat immigrants and displaced people?
The sermon mentions that ‘you cannot worship a vulnerable God and smash hurting people in his name.’ What are some ways Christians might inadvertently do this?
How does recognizing that the Incarnation threatened earthly powers help us interpret contemporary opposition to Christianity?
What comfort can we find in the promise that God will ‘wipe away every tear’ when we face suffering and injustice in our current world?
How can we live as ‘people who know the truth’ that the King has come and death no longer has the final word?
Life Application
This week, identify one way you can show Christ’s love to someone vulnerable, displaced, or marginalized in your community. This could involve volunteering with a refugee resettlement organization, visiting someone lonely, or advocating for those who have no voice. Remember that Jesus identified with the weak and vulnerable, and let that guide your actions.
Key Takeaways
The Christmas story includes both joy and suffering - Jesus entered a violent, broken world where empires kill the vulnerable to protect their power.
Jesus identified with the weak, vulnerable, and displaced rather than with the mighty and powerful, a fact that should inform how Christians treat others in similar situations.
The Incarnation was not a neutral event but a direct threat to earthly powers and false kingdoms.
While death is part of the Christmas story, Christ’s birth ultimately leads to death’s defeat through his resurrection.
God promises to end all suffering, wipe away every tear, and defeat death itself through the King who was born in Bethlehem.
Ending Prayer
Lord Jesus, thank you for entering our broken world as a vulnerable child, identifying with the weak and displaced. Help us to follow your example by standing with those who are marginalized and suffering. Give us the courage to live as people who know that your kingdom is coming and that death no longer has the final word. Until that day when you wipe away every tear, help us to be your hands and feet in bringing comfort and hope to a hurting world. May we never forget that you came not for the powerful, but for the vulnerable. In your precious name, Amen.