“We Are Herod” : Thoughts on The Feast of the Holy Family

*A Meditation on Matthew 2

The Flight from Herod’s Terror

Picture them.

A young mother, barely out of girlhood. A working man with calloused hands. A baby who doesn’t know yet that anyone wants him dead.

They’re packing in the dark. Not much to pack – they were poor before the angel came, and they’re poorer now. A few clothes. Some bread. Whatever coins Joseph had saved.

Mary wraps the baby tight against her chest. She can feel his heartbeat through the cloth. She keeps thinking about what the angel said. Herod is going to search for the child to destroy him.

Destroy. Not arrest. Not question. Destroy.

Joseph takes one last look at the house. They won’t be coming back. He doesn’t know how long they’ll be gone. He doesn’t know if they’ll survive the journey. He just knows they have to go. Now. Tonight.

They slip out into the darkness and flee toward Egypt.

I want you to hold that image. A mother, a father, a child. Fleeing through the night. Fleeing toward a foreign country where they don’t speak the language, don’t know anyone, don’t have papers or permission or any legal right to be there.

They’re not going through proper channels. They’re not waiting in line. They’re not applying for asylum through the correct process.

They’re running.

Because if they don’t run, their baby dies.

Another Mother

Now I want you to picture another mother.

She’s about Mary’s age. She’s got a baby too …maybe a little older, old enough to walk, young enough to carry when he gets tired.

She’s packing in the dark. Not much to pack…some clothes, some food, the little money she managed to hide. She wraps her son tight against her chest and flees north.

She’s heard about America. She’s heard there are Christians there. She’s heard they might help.

She walks for days. Weeks. She crosses deserts. She drinks dirty water. She watches other travelers die beside the road.

Finally, she reaches the border.

And we arrest her.

We put her in a detention center. We take her son and put him somewhere else. She doesn’t know where. She asks and no one tells her. She screams and no one listens.

She came looking for Egypt.

She found Herod.

The Open Door

I’ve been thinking about what made Egypt different.

Egypt had no reason to help. The Egyptians didn’t worship the God of Israel. They didn’t know the prophecies. They had no idea this baby was supposed to save the world.

They just saw a family in trouble. And they let them in.

No vetting. No process. No detention. No separation.

Just an open door.

A pagan empire showed more mercy than we do.

Herod Had His Reasons

We tell ourselves we’re different from Herod.

Herod was a monster. Herod slaughtered babies. Herod bathed Bethlehem in blood.

We’re not like that. We’re just enforcing the law. We’re just protecting our borders. We’re just making sure people come the right way.

But here’s what I can’t stop thinking about:

Herod thought he was protecting something too.

Herod had reasons. Herod had fears. Herod had a kingdom to secure and threats to neutralize. Herod wasn’t killing babies for fun…he was killing them because he was afraid of what would happen if he didn’t.

He was wrong. But he had reasons.

We have reasons too.

And children are still dying.

The Ones Who Survive Herod

I’ve met them, you know. The ones who make it. The ones who survive the journey and the detention and the deportation orders and the appeals.

I met a woman who fled Honduras with her daughter. Took them three months. The girl was six years old. Six years old and she made it across Mexico.

I asked the mother why. Why risk everything? Why put your daughter through that?

She looked at me like I was stupid.

“They were going to kill her,” she said. “The gangs. They were going to take her. What was I supposed to do? Stay and watch?”

She came here because she thought we would help.

She thought we were the good guys.

Following Orders : Everybody Just Kept Doing Herod’s Bidding

Matthew tells us that when Herod realized the wise men had tricked him, he was furious. He sent soldiers to Bethlehem with orders to kill every male child under two years old.

Every one.

The soldiers went house to house. They pulled babies from their mothers’ arms. They listened to the screaming and did it anyway. They were just following orders. They were just doing their jobs.

I wonder if any of them went home that night and told themselves it was necessary. Told themselves Herod knew best. Told themselves the security of the kingdom required it.

I wonder if any of them went to the temple the next week and prayed.

Sunday Morning / Expecting to Find Safety from Herod

We go to church on Sunday. We read about the flight into Egypt. We thank God that Mary and Joseph and Jesus made it safely.

Then we go home and watch the news. We see families at the border. We see children in cages. We see deportation flights.

And we tell ourselves it’s different.

It’s not different.

The Holy Family didn’t have permission to enter Egypt. They just showed up. Desperate. Afraid. Begging for shelter.

And Egypt…Egypt, the house of bondage, the land of Pharaoh, the nation that once drowned Hebrew babies in the Nile – Egypt said yes.

Come in. Stay. Rest. You’re safe here.

That’s how Jesus survived.

He survived because a foreign country had more mercy than his own people.

Still Coming / Finding Herod

They’re still coming, you know. Every day. Families just like the Holy Family. Running from violence. Running from death. Running toward what they hope will be safety.

They’ve heard about America.

They’ve heard we’re Christians.

They’re about to find out what that means.

I wish I could tell you we’re Egypt.

I wish I could tell you we’re the refuge, the shelter, the open door.

But I can’t.

I’ve seen what we do to them. I’ve seen the detention centers. I’ve seen the deportation flights. I’ve seen mothers screaming for children they may never see again.

We’re not Egypt.

We’re not the refuge.

We’re the thing they were running from.

We are Herod.

In Jesus’ Name…We Actually Should Declare it to be in Herod’s Name

And the worst part?

We do it all in Jesus’ name.

We do it with crosses around our necks and Bibles on our shelves and nativity scenes on our lawns. We do it while singing hymns and saying prayers and calling ourselves a Christian nation.

We worship a refugee. And we turn refugees away.

We kneel before a child who fled across a border in the night. And we cage children who do the same.

We are Herod. And we don’t even know it.

No Ending

I don’t know how to end this.

I don’t have a call to action that makes it better. I don’t have a policy proposal that fixes it. I don’t have a prayer that washes the blood off our hands.

I just have this story. A mother. A father. A baby. Fleeing through the night toward Egypt.

And another mother. Another father. Another baby. Fleeing through the night toward us.

One found refuge.

One found Herod.

God forgive us for which one we know we are.

Amen.