Herod, Egypt, & The New Exodus

Sermon 416 St. Martin’s 170 (Riverway) 1/4/26

The Unthreatening Baby There’s a true story of an old historian who was convinced by his family to attend a Christmas Eve service, though he thought it was all a bunch of rubbish.

At the conclusion of the service, as people shuffled out of the church, the skeptical historian approached the priest at the door with a big smile on his face.

“I’ve finally worked out why people like Christmas,” he declared.

“Really?” the priest replied. “Please share.”

The historian leaned in, and his smile grew even bigger, “A baby threatens no one, so the whole thing is a happy event, which means nothing at all!”

And with that, the historian walked out into the chilly darkness, leaving the priest dumbfounded.[i] 

In all of his years of study, hadn’t the historian read anything about Herod the Great?

King Herod was a mixed bag of ambition, vision, and violence. “He was a racially Arab, religiously Jewish, culturally Greek, and politically Roman, which made him the perfect puppet king, who could ensure loyalty to Caesar while also appeasing (at least some of) the religious sentiments of Jewish people.[ii]

Like most—if not all—human leaders who have tasted power, Herod became paranoid in preserving his unique role as head of the Roman occupation in Judea.

His paranoia led him into some dark places, going as far as killing three of his sons and his wife to ensure that not even they would usurp his power. Caesar Augustus went so far as to say that it was better to be Herod’s pig than his son.[iii]

It should be no surprise, then, that a man who was willing to kill his own family would have no trouble ordering the death of all two-year-old boys living in Bethlehem.

All this violence and bloodshed because of one child who was foretold to be a future king. All this, to protect Herod and his grip on power.

We haven’t made it out of the Christmas season—Jesus hasn’t even made it out of his toddler years—and yet he’s already in grave danger; his parents are fleeing to save their son from a death sentence.

It’s probably a good thing that we don’t read this part of Matthew 2 on Christmas Eve, though it may be helpful for those who, like the historian, walk away assuming the Christmas story is just about a cute and innocent baby.

From the very beginning, we learn that not everyone was as joyful as the shepherds and wise men to meet the long-awaited Messiah. In Herod’s mind, the birth of the Christ Child was a big enough national security issue to warrant numerous civilian casualties, with no guarantee that they ‘got him.’

Many had to die to save the one (Herod, being ‘the one,’ in this case).

Egypt In this morning’s gospel, we gain a clearer understanding of the world in which Jesus was born, and Matthew provides details absent from the other three gospel accounts. We hear about Joseph, we encounter Herod, and we learn of the Holy Family’s desperate flight to Egypt.

The dangerous position that this “holiest of families” found themselves in is a stark irony that poets, priests, and theologians have not allowed to go unnoticed.

The poet Malcolm Guite, in his poem titled "Refugee," reminds us that there is more to the Christmas message than meets the eye. He writes,

"He is with a million displaced people On the long road of weariness and want. For even as we sing our final carol His family is up and on the road, Fleeing the wrath of someone else’s quarrel."

Flight into Egypt (1899) Henry Ossawa Tanner

But I find it curious that to escape Herod’s Most Wanted List, they went to Egypt. Of all places in the Bible, Egypt carries a lot of baggage, a lot of bad memories, you could say. This would not only be the family’s refuge during this crisis; we must not forget that this was indeed Jesus's home for months, if not years.

Like every child who spends a significant amount of time in a foreign land, dare we ask if Jesus came back with a slight Egyptian accent? 

So, why would Israel’s Messiah flee to Egypt rather than north to Syria or east to Jordan? Matthew, who emphasizes Jesus’ fulfillment of the Old Testament prophets, is adamant that this part of Jesus’ childhood is told as a way of showing how Israel’s story is being fully retold (and redeemed) in the person of Jesus.  

Here are a few Old Testament connections that echo in our passage this morning and are vital to understanding what God was doing, not because of Herod’s violence as much as for a greater redemption that was unfolding.

In the Book of Genesis, the patriarchs go to Egypt several times during periods of instability. Abram and Sarai fled to Egypt because of a severe drought, and, shockingly, were taken in by Pharaoh. Abram doesn’t do himself any favors by lying to Pharaoh with the weird line, “My wife is my sister, Pharaoh.” Yikes.

Later, Jacob’s beloved son, Joseph, was sold into Egyptian slavery, but rose through the ranks until he was second in command of the entire empire. Yet again, famine in Canaan forced his brothers to journey to Egypt in search of food, only to discover that Joseph was alive and well.  

Jacob and his entire clan moved to Egypt, a shocking twist for a family that was promised a land of its own. Egypt became a safety net, too good to give up.  

As we know, the years passed, and a Pharaoh arose who didn’t know Joseph (nor care for his people), and so the Hebrews found themselves enslaved. Egypt, which had once been a refuge and oasis for the patriarchs, was transformed into an evil oppressor.

Through Matthew’s account, he shows the connection of the old to the new: just as the patriarchs dwelt in Egypt during troubling times, so did Jesus.

But the Old Testament echoes don’t end there.

We mustn’t forget the unique — even singular— role Moses played in Israel’s story. The parallels begin early. Remember that Moses was hidden away in a basket because Pharaoh ordered all the Hebrew boys to be killed at birth. He was saved from the ruler’s genocidal rage, which sounds a lot like Herod.

Moses became the leader of the Exodus, God’s mouthpiece to his people, the lawgiver, and the mediator and intercessor between the people and God. Through the ages, Moses is seen as both the great liberator and the definitive teacher of his people.

“If only someone like Moses would come again,” you might’ve heard people say.   

Yet again, the story of Jesus mirrors Moses, and Matthew’s point is clear: Jesus is the New Moses, the fulfillment not only of a longed-for leader, but he is the fulfillment of the national narrative; the consummation of all of Israel’s hopes and dreams.

He is the Beginning and the End, and he is redeeming their past, present, and future. From the depths of Egypt, we find that Jesus is Israel, and that a new (and even more expansive) Exodus is underway.

Jesus’s incarnation inaugurates the New Exodus of the people of God, but without his flight to Egypt, we may miss these hints and echoes of what his ministry will ultimately be about.

It wasn’t really Moses who freed the Hebrew slaves; it was God. God led his people through the wilderness; God is the one who fed them, and it was God who gave them the Law.

And here again, God was going to lead all people out of the bondage of Sin, Death, and the Devil. God, and God alone, would save. 

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From the experience of the first Exodus, the people of God were given a unique identity. They were a people who had been saved. Much of the Old Testament prophets and a large portion of the Psalms remind the nation of what God had done for them.

The word ‘remember’ is used throughout these passages. The great danger for God’s people was that they’d forget their story. They would forget that they were once slaves in Egypt and God saved them; he brought them out of bondage and into the Promised Land.

‘Remembering’ became a sacred task of identity. If you forget your past, you soon lose sight of your future.

That is why Passover is the yearly remembrance of what God did for his people on Egyptian soil. Pharaoh, who considered himself a god, learned in no uncertain terms that there was only one God, and nothing was going to stop him from saving his people.

It is no surprise, then, that the backdrop behind Jesus’ Last Supper and even his death is the Passover feast. When the nation came to Jerusalem to be reminded that God saves his people from bondage, Jesus was living out the Passover in its fullness, transfiguring it and infusing it with even greater meaning.

“This is my Body.” “This is my Blood.”

Instead of being the angel of death, he took death onto himself as the Passover lamb, whose blood ensured salvation. He is the firstborn of all creation who died like the firstborn in the plagues. He is both the priest and the sacrifice.

You cannot understand the Last Supper and the Crucifixion without hearing the echoes of the Passover, and you definitely cannot understand Jesus’ ministry without seeing it in the context of the Exodus.

Even in the waning days of Christmas, we are reminded: Passover and the Cross are closer than they appear because of Matthew Chapter 2.

As hard as he tried, Herod never had a chance of stopping this New Exodus. God’s work of salvation was destined to begin in Bethlehem and to come out of the land of Egypt, just as the prophets foretold. 

The Historian What’s unfortunate in the historian’s snide remarks about Christmas’ innocent message is that he would not begin to imagine what the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes would end up doing for all people, even for him.  

As innocent as Jesus appeared, he was a threat not only to the rulers and principalities of this world, but to the whole cosmic powers enslaved by the works of darkness.

But we are reminded that nothing can stop God and his work of bringing light out of the darkness. Pharaoh tried, and yet the Hebrew slaves were led to freedom. Herod tried, yet not even he could stop the true king of Israel from coming up from Egypt to lead the New Exodus and take his rightful throne.

Jesus’s kingdom is one of redemption and release; to free all those enslaved by sin so that we might find freedom, identity, and purpose in his marvelous light.

And he can free you—and he has freed you— from whatever binds you and draws you away from the love of God. Jesus is a threat only to those who seek to prevent him from fulfilling his perfect will in this world and in our lives.

Jesus is perceived as a threat by anyone who does not want to get behind him, and, if there is one lesson from the Exodus, it is: let God lead. Get behind the pillar of cloud and fire, listen to his voice, follow him to the Promised Land.

That is the clarion call of the gospel, and the great failure of Pharaoh and Herod. The powers of this world cannot diminish the power of the gospel. Instead, this power is enhanced and comes into its full fruition in the lives of believers who recognize that they are caught up in God’s great story of Exodus, liberation, and new creation, even today.

The New Exodus is not only to be ‘remembered,’ but to be lived out, in the power of the Spirit, by each follower of the Crucified and Risen Lord. It is not a story of long ago; it is our story, and it is for all people.

For you and me. It’s for the refugee and those who live in fear. It’s for skeptics and even despots. As Malcolm Guite ends his poem,

“But every Herod dies, and comes alone To stand before the Lamb upon the throne.”

And somehow, this child that is hidden away in Egypt is the Paschal Lamb, and he died as much for a skeptic like Herod as for each of us. And so, yes, the Christmas story is a happy event that means everything to all people.

[i] A story told by Tom Wright in Matthew for Everyone, Part 1.

[ii] An observation made by Kenneth Bailey.

[iii] (Bruner 65)

Photo by atiyeh fathi on Unsplash