Christmas Day is a celebration that Herod must not hear of — it is a whispered celebration. What would it feel like to celebrate Christmas with a whisper?
The dead of winter seems to welcome whispers. Why is Christmas celebrated on December 25th? In part, because the winter solstice — the longest night of the year — so closely reflects the incarnation (and, practically, because it aligned well with the Roman calendar).
Palestine under the Roman Empire felt like winter. The population was impoverished, suffering under brutal taxation by both Roman and Jewish elites. It was the long night of Herod’s reign and of proud, honor-hungry priests. Where was God?
Matthew’s story begins:
“In the time of King Herod, after Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judea, wise men from the East came to Jerusalem, asking, ‘Where is the child who has been born king of the Jews?’”
King Herod: let me tell you about him. Jesus was born and Herod died in approximately the same year. Herod died in the city he had modestly named Herodium, a lavish monument to his own glory and fame. He reigned over a police state marked by torture, mass killings, and surveillance.
One story illustrates Herod’s brutality: Just before his death, he ordered that leaders from every town be locked in the hippodrome and executed upon his passing so that there would be mourning throughout the land. Thankfully, his ghastly instructions were never carried out.
Into this dark winter, a child is born.
Not a full-grown king, but a baby.
The incarnation is a glorious whisper — not a shout.
A beautiful moment in Matthew’s retelling comes when the magi kneel and pay homage to Jesus. Historically, magi from the Parthian Empire once traveled to Rome to honor Nero, bowing to Caesar and giving extravagant gifts.
But in Matthew’s story, they journey not to Rome but to the backwater province of Judea. They find hope for liberation not in Caesar’s splendor, but in a baby lying in a feeding trough. And they bow to Jesus — king of the Jews.
Still, the incarnation is a whisper. After their visit, the wise men slip away under cover of night, for fear of Herod.
At Christmas, the season has turned. Spring is on the horizon, though not yet here. The nights shorten, little by little. The incarnation is joyful, yes — but not yet Easter’s full-throated victory.
It is whispered into the long night. And soon after, infants are slaughtered.
Herod still rules — for now.
In the Northern Hemisphere today, we celebrate Christmas at the very heart of winter. The Christmas festival announces the end of death and the beginning of new life. And yet, new life is not our full reality — Herods remain alive and well in our world.
Matthew raises a question: How do we celebrate Advent and Christmas in a way faithful to Matthew’s tone? How do we feel warmth in Herod’s winter?
Perhaps Christmas invites a clandestine celebration — one the great kings must not hear. Maybe we dim the lights and sit in reflection. Maybe we learn about suffering and oppression together. Maybe we whisper prayers of hope by candlelight, watching and waiting for our Savior’s coming.
Here is my favorite song for such an Advent and Christmas: “When the Glory of the Lord Descends” by Tom Wuest.
Dr Mark R. Glanville
works as Director of the Centre for Missional Leadership, University of British Columbia, Vancouver. Mark has co-written Refuge Reimagined: Biblical Kinship in Global Politics with Luke Glanville. His most recent book is Preaching in a New Key: Crafting Expository Sermons in Post-Christian Neighborhoods, and he hosts the Blue Note Theology podcast.
