Abstract
It can seem almost unfair, the way some people appear to be destined for greatness. While the rest of us have to work for success, others are born into families that impart nature and nurture that almost guarantee achievement. Some of us have to make connections to land good jobs; others take over their parents’ firms. Some of us study for hours and hours to learn a new language; others are raised in bilingual homes and taken on fabulous holidays that double as language immersion. Some of us sweat and struggle to waddle down the block, while others have the blood of Olympians running through their veins.
For example, think of families where multiple generations have won medals at the Olympics. Their resumes read like a genealogy of athletic achievement. Like the Keller family of Germany in field hockey: Erwin—silver medalist, begat Carsten—gold medalist, begat Andreas, Natascha, and Florian—all gold medalists. Amongst them, they’ve collected four gold and four silver medals in nine Olympic games. 1
It makes sense, I suppose. If mom was a gold medalist and dad took home a bronze in speed skating, for example, how much lying on the couch and watching cartoons on Saturday mornings do you think there would be in that household? How much junk food passed the lips of children in that family? I’m guessing not much. With the combination of genetics and nurture, it’s no wonder that in some families generations of athletes have excelled. They were born for this.
We can take delight in this phenomenon or we can fume: it’s not fair. We can wonder and appreciate or we can stew.
Some people were born for this—whatever their ‘this’ may be. Others, not so much.
I used to think that when the magi came to Herod’s palace and inquired, ‘Where is the child that was born King of the Jews?’ they were just asking where to find the baby that would be known by that title. The way we talk about babies is to say they were born. As in ‘arrived’, ‘here now.’ A baby has been born. What else would we say about a child? And, of course, the fact that the magi were looking for a child born ‘King of the Jews’ would get Herod’s hackles up because Herod already had the title King of the Jews and he wasn’t about to hand that title over to anyone, least of all a child he hadn’t even heard of.
But Rodney Reeves got me thinking that maybe there’s more to it than that; at least maybe there was for Herod. Just maybe the magi putting the question that way, ‘born King of the Jews’, not only sounded like King Herod had a rival of whom he was previously unaware, but also that this child born King of the Jews had a birthright that Herod did not. The child sought by the magi was born for this, whereas Herod was not. Reeves writes, Herod was an illegitimate king. Everyone knew who was actually ‘running the place’.… In the minds of his subjects, … Herod was nothing more than a puppet-king with Rome pulling the strings.… Herod was not the legitimate ruler of Israel because he wasn’t ‘born’ king of the Jews. He acquired the throne via power politics, that is, through shrewd maneuvers by his father (a friend of Caesar) and by his own cutthroat tactics to remove every potential enemy.
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Herod wasn’t born king of the Jews—he got his power through political machinations. Herod couldn’t trace his lineage back to prior kings of the Jews. When Herod was born, there was no royal announcement that he was the such-and-such number in line to the throne. Herod had to struggle. Deals had to be struck. Competitors had to be gotten out of the way. Herod wasn’t born for this.
And here come these strangers threatening to prove it. ‘Where is the child who is born King of the Jews?’
What did they know that Herod didn’t? Herod wondered.
It turns out that, even though the magi are popularly known as wise men, they didn’t know much about the child or his birth. They didn’t know where to find him. The palace in Jerusalem was a reasonable place to inquire when searching for a king, but they didn’t seem to know the child wasn’t related to the current occupant. They didn’t (and, of course, couldn’t) know about Jesus’s genealogy, neatly laid out by Matthew in the chapter before, or they would have known that, yes, Jesus was descended from King David, through Joseph. But Jesus’s lineage would be a little odd, since Matthew also tells us ‘the child conceived in Mary was from the Holy Spirit’. No political machinations here, but bigger forces—much, much bigger—are at work in Jesus’s claim to the title King than some Caesar in Rome concerned about the best person for the job of keeping folks in line in some outlying province. No, Jesus is born King of the Jews because he has much greater concerns, much bigger work, much more at stake in his reign, in the coming of his kingdom, than Herod ever would.
Just because the magi didn’t know all this doesn’t mean they got it wrong. Sometimes it’s outsiders who are the most free to see the truth and most free to respond. The magi have simply been paying attention, watching the signs, doing what they know to do: watch, listen, rejoice, worship. They do what they came to do. They found the one born for this, even though the greatness of this King isn’t about his DNA (as interesting as that may be) or what deals his family connections could get for him. It’s about what he does with his title.
King of the Jews: Jesus was born for this. So what is the ‘this’ he was born for?
The rest of the Gospel will spell it out and entering into the story, following Jesus chapter by chapter to see what he does, how he describes his kingdom, and what he will do for his subjects and the whole world, is the best way to find out. But even in this episode we get some clues. Jesus will be a very different kind of king from Herod, one who gives life rather than dealing in death, one who teaches truth rather than telling lies, one who exemplifies service rather than issuing orders for others to fulfill, one who welcomes and blesses children, one who is willing to give his own life, to forgive, to save.
