This narrative makes a prominent appearance at the very beginning of the gospel records. There are two birth narratives in the New Testament, one in Matthew and one in Luke; in a very interesting fashion, both of them set the stage for the life of Jesus in a world of contrast.
The gospel of Matthew draws out the deep background of the rule of Herod the Great. It showcases how paranoid Herod was that a future ruler would ever pose a threat to his kingdom.
Depending on how reliable one finds our historical sources (extra-biblical as well as biblical), Herod was the richest man ever to walk the face of the planet. If history is correct, there would not be even a close second; Bill Gates would mow Herod’s lawn. One of my teachers taught me that Herod’s income came in at well over a hundred times the national GDP of his country (don’t ask me how the math is done on those numbers, but just imagine even a fraction of that being true).
In Israel, everywhere you go you can see signs of the impact that Herod had on the world. Herod desired to be the greatest man who ever lived. He took this pursuit very seriously and did everything so wildly over-the-top that to this day, we are not sure how he and his architects did what they did at that point in history. The list is quite staggering. Whether the stones that we still find on the Temple mount (we’re talking about the sheer size of the stones, the perfection of the construction, the magnitude of the project), the underwater harbor poured in the self-built city of Caesarea, the construction and opulence of the famous fortress of Masada — even a cursory study of one of these sites would impress any student.
Yet, the King of the Universe wraps Himself in flesh and is born in a stable in Bethlehem, which isn’t just the backwater town of Joseph and his family. Bethlehem also happens to be the location for one of Herod’s three great palaces, the Herodium. Herod built an entire palace on top of a mountain that he had constructed.
Yes, I said that Herod built a mountain.
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| The ruins of the Herodium |
And to steal a phrase from my teacher, Ray Vander Laan, the subversive nature of God’s plan is that He will send His son to be born in the shadow of the palace of the “greatest” man to walk on Roman soil. There are two kingdoms that are being put on display in Matthew’s gospel.
One king is the richest man ever to live. He constructs incredible buildings that stagger the mind and accomplishes incredible feats of human engineering. His ingenuity and wealth are second to none. He builds mountains where there aren’t any, pipes in water to places that it could never previously reach, and corners the market on beauty and innovation. He is the most powerful human being that the world has ever seen. His life is decorated with silver, gold, and the richest of fare.
The other king is born to a poverty-stricken, rejected family from the rural town of Nazareth. He is born in sheep crap surrounded by the ash of shepherd’s fire and the feces of cattle. His birth is announced to the marginalized of society and his advent is celebrated by shepherds.
One king is the leader of Empire. The other is the king of Shalom.
Luke’s gospel seeks to accomplish a similar juxtaposition. With a very brief phrase, Luke sets his audience on alert:
In those days Caesar Augustus issued a decree that a census should be taken of the entire Roman world.
And in those five words, Luke says more than we probably realize. These words are chosen deliberately by Luke. It should be noted that in no historical setting can Quirinius be the governor of Syria during the birth of Jesus. I have watched some biblical literalists do incredible gymnastics to try to explain how this is accurate; however, in no possible scenario is Jesus born during the census of Quirinius. We do not have record of a census taken by Augustus for those details, either, so this could be a marginal addition by somebody trying to make sense of the story, or Luke may be trying to make a statement that we are missing context for, or we may not have all the pieces of history yet. Regardless, it’s worth noting that something is taking place there.
At any rate, Luke is trying to set his own stage for his own narrative about the tale of two kingdoms. His version of the Christmas story puts us in the juxtaposition between two other kings.
One king thought himself to be god incarnate. The son of an ascended Julius Caesar, Augustus claimed that a mighty star in the sky (apparently seen by many), referenced today as “Caesar’s Comet,” was actually his father Julius ascending to his rightful throne as god. If Julius was god, then that would make Augustus the son of god. From this point in Roman history, emperors would — almost without exception — claim incarnate deity among their many attributes. Augustus was exclaimed by Roman propaganda (we already looked at the “gospel” plague found in Priene) to be “the Son of the Most High,” the “eternal Prince of Peace,” the “King of kings,” the “Lord of lords,” etc. It was often proclaimed that there was no other name under heaven which a man could be saved from terror except that of Caesar Augustus.
And yet in a stable is born a baby, who Luke claims to be the true King of kings, Lord of lords, Prince of Peace, and Son of the Most High God.
One king plays the part well. The other king challenges everything we expect of the Ruler of the Universe.
It’s a Tale of Two Kingdoms. And we’re being invited to consider our deepest assumptions about the world. What is real power? What is wealth? Where does security come from? Who is God? What is God trying to save me from?
What do I really want and what do I strive for? Empire? Or shalom?
Would I have even noticed the King of the Universe, born in a stable, or would I simply look for a better Caesar? Is this a problem?
Who is truly King?
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