A short while ago I mentioned reading old stuff, so here’s a suggestion: reading the church fathers during Lent.
I grew up in an ahistorical form of Christianity and it was refreshing for me to learn that truly God doesn’t leave Himself without witness. The Holy Spirit was at work long before 1900, albeit using flawed human beings.
The readings start on Ash Wednesday (the 13th) and run from Monday through to Saturday. If you’re short on time, there’s a lite version. Happy reading!
Here’s a baker’s dozen of Christmas songs, complied by Glen Scrivener:
See you in 2013, Lord willing!
Matthew’s gospel contains the only reference—inside or outside the Bible—to the massacre of the innocents, Herod’s killing of all the baby boys two years and younger in Bethlehem and its environs.
So, was it all a Christian invention to gain sympathy for their founder? Was Herod even capable of such a cruel act? Following is a very lightly edited transcript of an interview of historian Paul Maier (one of whose novels I loved). The interview was conducted by Tony Reinke for one of Desiring God’s podcasts, Authors On The Line.
Tony Reinke: Tell us more about the character we find embedded in the Christmas story, this man we know as Herod.
Paul Maier: Well, Tony, you may be surprised to hear this, but believe it or not, if you’re ever asked which is the one figure from the ancient world on whom we have more primary evidence from original sources than anyone else in the world, the answer is not Jesus or St Paul or Caesar Augustus or Julius Caesar—none of those… Not Alexander the Great, no, no. It’s Herod the Great, believe it or not. Why? Because Josephus gives us two whole book scrolls on the life of Herod the Great, and that’s more primary material than anyone else. And I don’t think Herod deserved it. [Laughter]
He was a very remarkably successful politician, keeping the peace between Rome which had conquered Judea in 63 BC. And he acted simply as a Roman governor overseas. He was simply known as a ‘client king’. Meaning, very often when the Romans conquered a province and they didn’t want to send a governor out, and there was a local king doing a good enough job… And so, yes, he may be called ‘king’ but he was definitely deferent to Rome for his whole administration.
In 40 BC he was awarded the title king. He didn’t actually take control of the land until with Roman help he drove some adversaries out of Jerusalem. From about 37 BC on he’s in charge until his death in 4 BC.
Actually he was remarkably successful in a lot of ways. He deserves the title ‘Herod the Great’ if we talk about his accomplishments for much of his life. He was the one who rebuilt the great temple in Jerusalem. He was the one who single-handedly created the city of Caesarea: where there was no good port in the Holy Land, he creates one by sinking some ship hulls and then using them as a base to build a breakwater in an otherwise rectilinear sea coast. He built Caesarea in 12 years, and he built other cities like that too. In Jerusalem he face-lifted the entire city in addition to building a gorgeous palace for himself. He had a hippodrome, a stadium, theatres and this kind of thing. He was kind of a Hellenistic monarch.
And he also built seven great fortresses across the land, strong points at which he could defend his administration. One, the most famous, was Masada, down along the south-west corner of the Dead Sea. Everything he touched diplomatically seemed to turn to gold. He kept peace both with Jerusalem and Rome, and that says he was very successful.
Reinke: There’s another side to Herod. Tell us a little bit about the paranoid side of Herod that begins to emerge later in his life.
Maier: Well, basically, he was responsible for many of the problems back home. His home was a can of worms, simply because he married 10 wives and each of those produced princes for him and each of those male princes was scheming to succeed as number one. And there can only be one number one. And so if there weren’t two or three collateral plots taking place before they had orange juice in the morning, you knew something was wrong.
Josephus gives a hideous tale of what was going on in the family: attempted poisonings, one brother against another. It so rattled Herod that he actually put to death 3 of his own sons on suspicion of treason. He put to death his favourite wife out of the 10 of them. Mariamne was his favourite, she was a Hasmonean Maccabean princess and he put her to death then he killed his mother-in-law—I should have said one of his many mothers-in-law. He invited the High Priest down to Jericho for a swim. They played a very rough game of water polo and they drowned him. He killed several uncles, a couple of cousins… A fellow said he’s a real family man—in that negative respect.
As a matter of fact, Augustus himself, to whom Herod was always very deferent, said, “I would rather be Herod’s pig than his son.” It’s a double pun. In Greek it’s suos and huios—a clever turn on words. The other idea is that at least pigs weren’t slaughtered for human consumption over there, and they had a better chance of a longer life. And so it’s a brilliant pun on the part of Augustus.
Reinke: At one point late in his life, Herod plots to kill a stadium full of Jewish leaders. The plot ultimately failed, it doesn’t pan out. But explain that episode from his life and why he did this.
Maier: Well, Josephus says here a very grisly thing to report about Herod in his last months. He was so paranoid that he … Of course, he did have some grasp of reality, for instance he was worried that nobody would mourn his own death in the Holy Land, which shows how deadly accurate he was. [Laughter] They were preparing general celebrations. And nobody likes to die knowing that they’re going to dance in their grave. And so he was going to give the people something to cry about.
It’s in 4 BC, he’s down in his winter palace in Jericho—it’s the only place in the Holy Land that doesn’t snow or get cold in the winter, it’s 1200 feet below sea level. Herod is dying and he tries every remedy in the world to stop the gang of diseases that were creeping up on him. He went to the hot springs at [unclear name] at the north-eastern corner of the Dead Sea—by the way they’re still springing hot water 2,000 years later—and that didn’t cure him. And so now he goes back to his winter palace and he invites his sister Salome in and he says, “I want you to arrest all the Jewish leaders in the land and imprison them in the hippodrome just below the palace here.” And that hippodrome has been discovered archaeologically, by the way. And so she does and then she says, “Brother, why am I doing this?” And Herod says, “Well, I know that when I die the Jews are going to rejoice, so let me give them something to cry about.” And so he wants them all executed in that hippodrome so that there will be thousands of households weeping at the time Herod the Great dies.
So is that the kind of a sweet guy who could have killed the babies in Bethlehem? Yeah, I think so.
Reinke: Speaking of Matthew 2, the Bible records a scene from Herod’s paranoia late in his life. The wise men, of course, alert him to the birth of the new king in Bethlehem. They don’t then return to him and Herod eventually slaughters all the boys that are two years old and under in Bethlehem and in all the region.
For all that Josephus wrote about Herod, he doesn’t mention this. In fact there’s no extra-biblical evidence that this event even happened. How do you respond to that claim? Is the slaughter of the innocents historically reliable?
Maier: It’s interesting. Josephus does not mention it, and therefore a lot of biblical critics will pounce on that aspect of the nativity account and say therefore it didn’t happen. Now please understand this is an argument from silence, and that’s the weakest form of argumentation you could use. As we say in the profession, “Absence of evidence is not evidence of absence.”
And in this case, one or two things could have happened. Josephus may have heard about it and not used it. Because you don’t have hundreds of babies killed; you only have about 12, as a matter of fact—12 or 15. The infant mortality in the ancient world was so huge anyway, that this is really not going to impress a reader too much, believe it or not. And I think Josephus is choosing between the two stories about how Herod dies and right before his death. I think I would take the one where he’s going to slaughter hundreds of Jewish leaders. Or he may not have heard about it. Again, simply because little Bethlehem didn’t amount to much. A little village of 1500 or so. We did an actuarial study of Bethlehem at the time. You wouldn’t have more than about 2 dozen babies two years old and under, half of them the wrong sex. And so this is not a big deal, and I think that’s why Josephus either never heard about it or didn’t feel it important enough to record. So this does not militate against Matthew’s version by any means.
In fact I was arguing once, years ago, on the infant massacre with a professor in Wagner College in New York who claimed that this is all fiction, and that surely a massacre of hundreds of Jewish boy babies would have come to the attention… I agree it would have if there had been hundreds. It couldn’t possibly be the case.
And ‘all the coasts thereof’… Well, look, Jerusalem is 5 miles away. So therefore this would include Jerusalem as well if we’re going to take literally ‘all the coasts thereof’. We’re talking about Bethlehem and probably a half mile around when we’re talking about the surroundings of Bethlehem.
Reinke: As a historian, is there any doubt in your mind about the historicity of the slaughter of the innocents?
Maier: I see not one iota of evidence that it could not have happened. And therefore, again, there’s no reason to doubt the account as far as I’m concerned. To be sure, Luke hasn’t heard about it. Remember, Matthew and Luke don’t copy from one another when it comes to the nativity. And that’s good, because this way they can hit it from different angles.
I think it really happened, and let’s remember again that the first martyr of Christianity was not Stephen, it was Jesus, but not even Jesus… For my money the first martyr in Christian church was the first baby that was killed in Bethlehem, and we always overlook that.
We know the story of the birth of Christ: Mary and Joseph arrived in Bethlehem after dark. She is riding a donkey and is just about ready to deliver, but they can’t find any lodging. A rude innkeeper turns them away and out of desperation, they resort to shelter in a stable filled with animals where Mary gives birth alone and unattended.
A few years ago, I posted a Christmas quiz that had helped me see that much of what I “knew” wasn’t supported by scripture. Here I go again:
Did they arrive after dark with little time to spare before the birth?
On a purely human level, what does that say about Joseph? What kind of husband was he, travelling such a long distance with his heavily pregnant wife? Remember that he was considerate enough to want to divorce her quietly (Matthew 1:19). Couldn’t that consideration for Mary’s welfare have extended to other areas as well?
Thankfully for Joseph’s reputation, Luke 2:6 informs us that “while they were there, the days were accomplished that she should be delivered” (KJV). Thus, they’d been in Bethlehem for a while when the time came for the baby Jesus to be born.
What about not finding accommodations?
Luke gives us some historical context: that a census was underway when Christ was born (Luke 2:1-3). Bethlehem was likely teeming with people who, like Joseph, lived elsewhere but had come to register. So that explains the crowds. But was Joseph incompetent at finding a place to stay? And were the people of Bethlehem so hard-hearted as to turn away a pregnant woman?
Bethlehem was Joseph’s ancestral town, so he must have had relatives—however distant—living there. In that family-oriented (not individualistic) culture he could simply turn up and recite his genealogy and be welcomed. Even if he were a total stranger, he would have found hospitality, if only for the sake of his pregnant wife.
Further, if Bethlehem proved so unfriendly, Elizabeth and Zechariah lived nearby “in the hill-country of Judea”—Joseph and Mary could have gone there, though admittedly that would mess up the prophecy of Messiah’s birth in Bethlehem.
So we can safely conclude that Joseph and Mary stayed with relatives, or other well-wishers. But wait, what’s all this about inns then?
What about there being “no room in the inn”?
The Greek word translated ‘inn’ in Luke 2:7 (kataluma) is used in Luke 22:11 and its parallel in Mark 14:14 to describe the upper room where the Last Supper took place. Why is the word translated as ‘guest room’ at the end of Christ’s life and ‘inn’ at the beginning? Besides, Luke uses the common word for inn (pandocheion) in the parable of the Good Samaritan (Luke 10:34), so he could have chosen to use it earlier in his gospel.
Additionally, it is uncertain whether Bethlehem would have a commercial inn. Inns were normally found on major roads. No major Roman road passed through Bethlehem, and small villages on minor roads had no inns.
So that leaves us with Mary and Joseph finding the guest room occupied, likely by older people who would have had precedence. Which leads us to the manger.
Was the manger in a stable?
To answer this, we return to archaeology. Homes in that part of the world at the time featured two sections: near the door, a place where the family animal was tied up at night (Luke 13:15) and a raised section that was the main family living quarters. So it would seem that Mary and Joseph were staying in this main section, and because no crib was available, the manger was put into service as a cradle.
Luke also reports the visit of the shepherds. Had the family been in unsuitable housing, the shepherds in their peasant simplicity would have helped to make other arrangements (or at least their wives would have!).
Who was present at the birth?
There is no conclusive proof that oxen, donkeys, camels and the like were present, despite what one Christmas song I really like affirms. But what of other humans?
I once heard an American pastor tell a story of watching a nativity play while he was a missionary in Ethiopia. When the time came for Mary to deliver, the village women attended her, singing loudly all the while. The pastor at first thought it very odd as he’d never considered that she would have had help. I’m convinced that the Ethiopians with their strong traditional society had it right.
Hopefully your understanding and appreciation of the Christmas story has been heightened and not diminished. Christ, in whom the fullness of deity dwells, was born among the people of the city of David, surrounded by family and helping hands. Or, as the hymn puts it He was “pleased as man with men to dwell; Jesus our Immanuel”.
This post is based on Kenneth Bailey’s article The Manger and the Inn, which is totally worth the half hour it takes to read it.
If you prefer video, here’s close to 1 hour covering the same ground. Too long? Skip right to the Q&A.
See also The first Christmas: Myths and realities by Paul Copan.
Christos Anesti! Christ is risen!
Christ the Lord is risen today, Alleluia!
Sons of men and angels say! Alleluia!
Raise your joys and triumphs high, Alleluia!
Sing, ye heavens, and earth, reply. Alleluia!
Love’s redeeming work is done, Alleluia!
Fought the fight, the battle won: Alleluia!
Lo! our sun’s eclipse is o’er, Alleluia!
Lo! he sets in blood no more. Alleluia!
Vain the stone, the watch, the seal, Alleluia!
Christ hath burst the gates of hell: Alleluia!
Death in vain forbids his rise, Alleluia!
Christ hath opened Paradise. Alleluia!
Lives again our glorious King, Alleluia!
Where, O death, is now thy sting? Alleluia!
Once he died our souls to save; Alleluia!
Where’s thy victory, O grave?” Alleluia!
Soar we now where Christ hath led, Alleluia!
Following our exalted head; Alleluia!
Made like him, like him we rise, Alleluia!
Ours the cross, the grave, the skies. Alleluia!
I imagine that Charles Wesley (author of this hymn) was a prim and proper British gentleman. But some of his hymns—this one included—just beg to be sang at the top of one’s lungs with reverently reckless abandon. After all, in the first stanza, he calls upon the entire created order—human beings, angels, the earth and the heavens—to join in praise. That can hardly be a quiet, dignified affair (unlike the video I’ve embedded ).
So this resurrection day, pull a David and sing like crazy to Jesus Christ, for “He was delivered over to death for our sins and was raised to life for our justification.” (Romans 4:25)
This hymn comes from the last section of a seven-part Latin poem written in either the 12th or 13th century. Each of the seven sections focuses on one aspect of Christ on the cross—His feet, knees, hands, side, breast, heart and head.
O sacred Head, now wounded,
With grief and shame weighed down,
Now scornfully surrounded
With thorns, Thine only crown.
O sacred Head, what glory,
What bliss till now was Thine!
Yet, though despised and gory,
I joy to call Thee mine.
What Thou, my Lord, hast suffered,
Was all for sinners’ gain:
Mine, mine was the transgression,
But Thine the deadly pain.
Lo, here I fall, my Saviour:
‘Tis I deserve Thy place;
Look on me with Thy favour,
Vouchsafe to me Thy grace.
The joy can ne’er be spoken,
Above all joys beside,
When in thy body broken
I thus with safety hide.
Lord of my life, desiring
thy glory now to see,
Beside Thy Cross expiring,
I’d breathe my soul to Thee.
What language shall I borrow
To thank Thee, dearest Friend,
For this Thy dying sorrow,
Thy pity without end?
O make me Thine for ever;
And should I fainting be,
Lord, let me never, never
Outlive my love for Thee.
Be near when I am dying,
O show Thy Cross to me;
And for my succour flying,
Come, Lord, to set me free.
These eyes, new faith receiving,
From Jesus, shall not move;
For he, who dies believing,
Dies safely, through Thy love.
“Christ died for me.” What a simple statement. What a profound statement. As I read the second stanza of this hymn, I imagine the poet with tears in his eyes as the truth of Christ’s substitutionary sacrifice sinks in. I deserve death and eternal separation from God, but because of the cross I am His beloved child. I think that’s worth shedding some tears over—tears of sorrow at my sin and of joy at my salvation.
At the end of the fourth stanza is a prayer I’ve appropriated for myself: Lord let me never, never outlive my love for Thee.
Happy Palm Sunday!
Today’s hymn has been sang in countless Palm Sunday services since it was penned (in Latin) in around 820 A.D. by Theodulph, bishop of Orleans. Theodulph had been imprisoned on suspicion of treason in 818, and died in prison in 821.
All glory, laud and honor,
To Thee, Redeemer, King,
To whom the lips of children
Made sweet hosannas ring.
Thou art the king of Israel,
Thou David’s royal Son,
Who in the Lord’s name comest,
The King and Blessèd One.
The company of angels
Are praising Thee on High,
And mortal men and all things
Created make reply.
The people of the Hebrews
With palms before Thee went;
Our prayer and praise and anthems
Before Thee we present.
To Thee, before Thy passion,
They sang their hymns of praise;
To Thee, now high exalted,
Our melody we raise.
Thou didst accept their praises;
Accept the prayers we bring,
Who in all good delightest,
Thou good and gracious King.
I’m guessing that the prison wasn’t a most congenial place for hymn-writing, yet Theopdulph’s mind and pen only pour forth praise. His starting point is the original Palm Sunday (Matt. 21:1-17, Mark 11:1-10, Luke 19:28-38, John 12:12-13), to which he adds a scene of angelic worship from Revelation.
What I found delightful is that from the third stanza on, he places the worship then alongside our worship now. They presented their praise, and so do we; they sang a melody, and so do we; God accepted their praise, may He do the same with ours. Isn’t that such a lovely picture of the continuity of God’s covenant people? And as we sing this centuries-old hymn, we too join in the multitude of the redeemed who are now singing it in a nobler and sweeter tongue (to borrow words from here).
Happy fifth Sunday in Lent!
This hymn was first published in 1875. The following year its author, Philip Bliss, died in a railway accident that also took the life of his wife.
Man of Sorrows! what a name
For the Son of God, who came
Ruined sinners to reclaim:
Hallelujah! what a Saviour!
Bearing shame and scoffing rude,
In my place condemned he stood,
Sealed my pardon with his blood:
Hallelujah! what a Saviour!
Guilty, vile, and helpless, we;
Spotless Lamb of God was he;
Full atonement! can it be?
Hallelujah! what a Saviour!
Lifted up was he to die,
“It is finished!” was his cry:
Now in heav’n exalted high:
Hallelujah! what a Saviour!
When he comes, our glorious King,
All his ransomed home to bring,
Then anew this song we’ll sing:
Hallelujah! what a Saviour!
I hit on the idea of summarising each stanza in one word, and as a pale imitation of Bliss’s far superior rhymes, all my words end in -ion.
- Mission: To reclaim sinners for God
- Substitution: Christ took my condemnation and secured my forgiveness
- Perfection: Of Christ’s sacrifice of Himself and its effect of full atonement
- Completion: Of the work on the cross
- Consummation: Christ will return to take His people to their eternal home.
Hmm… Maybe I should keep well away from writing poetry…
On a serious note, I’m loving how these hymn-writers pull together the past, present and future works of redemption in five stanzas or less. Such rich content to meditate on!
Happy fourth Sunday in Lent!
This hymn, written by William Cowper, was first published in 1772. It is based on Zechariah 13:1, “In that day there shall be a Fountain opened to the house of David and to the inhabitants of Jerusalem for sin and for uncleanness.”
There is a fountain filled with blood
Drawn from Immanuel’s veins;
And sinners, plunged beneath that flood
Lose all their guilty stains.
The dying thief rejoiced to see
That fountain in his day;
O may I there, though’ vile as he,
Wash all my sins away!
Dear dying Lamb, thy precious blood
Shall never lose its power
‘Till all the ransomed Church of God
Be saved to sin no more.
Ever since, by faith, I saw the stream
Thy flowing wounds supply,
Redeeming love has been my theme
And shall be ’till I die.
But when this lisping, stammering tongue
Lies silent in the grave.
Then in a nobler, sweeter song
I’ll sing thy power to save.
Though a brilliant poet and hymnodist, Cowper struggled with deep depression much of his adult life and some of that struggle is visible in this and other of his hymns.
He starts off by putting together the prophecy from Zechariah and its fulfilment in Christ. The purpose of the fountain is to cleanse sinners, like the thief of Luke 23. Yes, he was a nasty piece of work, that thief! But wait, I am as vile as that criminal… I too need to be cleansed. I too can be cleansed in the same fountain!
The third stanza touches on the efficacy of Christ’s work at the cross. As I was reviewing YouTube videos for this post, the last line in the third stanza really got me and bounced around my head for hours. How wonderful that would be, to never sin again! to never live in fear of displeasing God! I imagine that Cowper, with all his dark moments, must have eagerly looked forward to that day.
The fourth and fifth stanzas, written in the first person, get sweetly personal. While awaiting the time that sin will be no more, Cowper and the hymn-singer can revel in God’s saving love (stanza 4). What’s more, the singing of praise will not cease with our death, but instead will become even more glorious (stanza 5). (By the way, does the poetry of these two stanzas turn you to mush as it does me?)
Here’s a biographical sketch of William Cowper along with lessons we can learn from his life, by John Piper.