Jeremiah 31: 15-17
Psalm 124
Matthew 2: 13 – 23
In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.
When I’m faced with an event which defies belief I tend to turn to other people’s words to express my shock and horror. I’m afraid that in the face of a heinous crime, a massacre or other act of violence perpetrated on one human by another I retreat to silence. Silence is my defence mechanism to process the facts and try to make some sense of the unthinkable. Even as a teenager I found it hard to muster the right words to respond adequately to the type of event that we find described in the Gospel reading today.
And because I was silent, something or someone else needed to do the talking. Because an event such as a massacre, in this case a slaughter of innocent children, seems to require a response, don’t you think? Some authors are amazing at articulating a response to the most dreadful events. Words seem to flow, words that will make sense of things or ease the pain, or at the very least record the event; nail it firmly into the consciousness of all those who have witnessed it. I think particularly here of Primo Levi, the Italian Jewish author who wrote with enormous precision and emotion about his time in Auschwitz. His book – If this is a Man – is possibly the best book you could ever read about the dreadful events of the Holocaust.
So, I look to the words of others to articulate my outrage or my grief. But some pieces of music also help – they too can express our response to a tragic event – whether that might be the Song for Athene composed by John Taverner for the death of Diana, Princess of Wales. Music has a way of communicating emotion and giving us the space to allow these emotions full expression. The Coventry Carol is a most effective way of meditating upon the events of today’s Gospel reading.
And then, of course, there is art. If you look online you will see many depictions of the massacre of the Holy Innocents. Some are quite vivid and not for the faint hearted. Some concentrate instead on evoking the fear and hurry of the Holy Family as they begin their flight into Egypt.
No matter how you approach it, this story is dreadful especially as it comes so close to Christmas and the the joy of the birth of the Christ child. What are we to do with it?
Well, we know quite a lot about King Herod, that he built may great monuments and palaces. We also know that he was famously cruel; even to killing his own children. However we cannot be sure that Herod actually gave an order to kill all the children in Bethlehem. So why does St Matthew include this story (bearing in mind that it does not appear in the other three Gospel accounts). This story helps to establish the identity of Jesus and places him in the company of some of the greatest leaders of the Jewish people. There are parallels between Jesus and the young Moses. He had to be hidden in a basket to be saved from a very similar decree from Pharaoh – kill all the children. The flight into Egypt to escape the massacre also fulfils the prophecy of Hosea, that the Messiah would come out of Egypt. Hosea says ‘out of Egypt I called my son’ (Hoses 11:1). This continuity between the the life of Moses and Jesus, and the links to the writings of the prophets was employed by Matthew to help the Jewish-Christian community to keep and develop their Jewish roots. As his community attracted and included Gentiles, he wanted to keep these links and parallels alive and fresh for both his Jewish and Gentile believers. So we can understand him including a tale such as this.
But what are we – in 21st century Britain – to make of this text. It is shocking, it may even reduce us to silence. And we know that atrocities like this still take place in our world. The concentration camps of Nazi Germany, the Siberian death camps of Stalinist Russia, the massacre at My Lai, the destruction of the whole country of Cambodia by The Khmer Rouge, neighbour against neighbour in Rwanda, the innocence of youth taken by those who abuse, the list goes on and on.
When faced with the massacre of the innocents where can we turn? St Matthew gives us a clue today. He points us towards the passion of Christ in the suffering of the children of Bethlehem. And what can we do in the face of great suffering but turn to the One who was innocent and yet suffered, the One who went like a sheep to the slaughter. We turn to the God who has known suffering. God knows suffering because suffering itself was gathered into the life of God by the passion, death and resurrection of the Christ.
Yet in pointing us to that death, St Matthew also gives us solace and hope. As we heard in the reading from Isaiah ‘he became their saviour in all their distress’ (Isaiah 63: 8,9). In our distress we remember that Jesus’s suffering and death did not end in vain – he rose again, he conquered death and all the pain and suffering that went with it.
God knows suffering, he has experienced it. Anyone who suffers stands with the suffering servant, Christ himself. And we know that he will bind our wounds and gather us to himself. I may have no words in the face of suffering, but Jesus does ‘Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.’ (Matthew 11: 28 – 30)
The Coventry Carol
Loo lee loo laLullay, Thou little tiny Child, Bye, bye, loo lee loo lay. Lullay, Thou little tiny Child. By, by, lully, lullay.
O sisters, too, how may we do, For to preserve this day, This poor Youngling for whom we sing, By, by, lully, lullay.
Herod the King, in his raging, Charged he hath this day, His men of might, in his own sight, All children young, to slay.
Then woe is me, poor Child, for Thee, And ever mourn and say, For Thy parting, nor say nor sing, By, by, lully, lullay
Innocent’s Song
Who’s that knocking on the window,
Who’s that standing at the door,
What are all those presents
Laying on the kitchen floor?
Who is the smiling stranger
With hair as white as gin,
What is he doing with the children
And who could have let him in?
Why has he rubies on his fingers,
A cold, cold crown on his head,
Why, when he caws his carol,
Does the salty snow run red?
Why does he ferry my fireside
As a spider on a thread,
His fingers made of fuses
And his tongue of gingerbread?
Why does the world before him
Melt in a million suns,
Why do his yellow, yearning eyes
Burn like saffron buns?
Watch where he comes walking
Out of the Christmas flame,
Dancing, double-talking:
Herod is his name
Charles Causley (24 August 1917 – 4 November 2003)