(SLIDE 1 fanfare) Voices from the fringe First UMC, Carroll 12/30/18

(SLIDE 1 fanfare)

Voices from the fringe

First UMC, Carroll 12/30/18

 (Entering in a wheelchair) Hurry up slave I don’t have all day. Slow down you’re going to crash men into the furniture. No, you fool, put me in the middle where everyone can see me! I hate being pushed around. I am used to doing the pushing. I am the one who pushes; and everyone else jumps.

I’m sure you all know who I am. But I’ll warn you. I will not tolerate getting my name wrong. It is not just Herod. It is Herod the Great. No excuses. I employ 2 fulltime executioners, and I keep them pretty busy. Got it?

“The Great” is important as opposed to my bumbling sons and grandsons “Herod The Lesser,” “Herod Agrippa,” and “Herod Antipas.” I have to admit Antipas was able to get rid of that Jesus. That was only because he was in the right place at the right time. 

You probably wonder what I’m doing here. Feels a little odd to me, too; more uncomfortable than I thought it would be. They warned me of that. But I have to warn you about something and I’m not about to leave before I do that.

Before I get to the important stuff, I just want you know that if I weren’t dead there would be trouble here. I’ve seen it before. I’ll bet you have had a second rate Christmas pageant where some snot-nose kid pretends to be me, wearing his dad’s old bathrobe and a cardboard crown, tries to look as mean as he can. Last year some 3rd grader, in a Baptist church in Memphis, pompously announced he was “Harold the Grape”! What’s that make me? An old raisin? That’s beside the point, though.

  I need you to understand is why I made the choices I did. I’m not going to deny that I did some pretty unpleasant stuff. Being king is a rough business, especially in the situation in which I found myself. My father was appointed procurator of Judea by Julius Caesar in 47 B.C. (according to your calendar),

 and he in turn appointed me military prefect of Galilee. It was a chance to make a name for myself. I did my job with the sort of efficiency and dedication the Romans love, so I somehow survived the upheaval in Rome when Caesar was assassinated.

  I kissed up to Marc Antony, the new emperor, and by 40 B.C. I was declared “King of the Jews” by the Roman senate. The Jews didn’t think much of me because I was only partly Jewish. The Romans, on the other hand, were suspicious of me because I was partly Jewish. Tough position to be in, let me tell you. To survive, to have the power necessary to rule that unruly backwater of the Empire, I needed to consolidate my position. And it wasn’t easy. If people wouldn’t love me, I had to make them fear me. If the people wouldn’t willingly offer me their allegiance, I had to take it by force. If I couldn’t maintain order, the Romans would send their armies and, believe me, it would have been far worse for the Jews. If you don’t look out for yourself, no one else will. Therefore, I protected myself, whatever it took.

Don’t kid yourselves that you wouldn’t have done the same. Oh, I know, the record isn’t pretty. It’s true that I had my wife Mariamne killed, but you need to realize that I married her for political, not romantic, reasons. There were three of my sons that revolted against me, and we had to take care of them. I know it looks bad. But we — all of us — use the power at our disposal, don’t we?

You don’t think you would have done such a thing? Really? Have you ever felt threatened by someone? Ever felt the knife of jealousy thrust deep into your heart? Ever wanted to get rid of a person? Oh, you don’t think you would murder, of course not, but I am sure you use whatever means at your disposal. Maybe you have twisted the truth and passed on gossip disguised as Christian concern? Maybe you gave someone the cold shoulder to manipulate them? Your courts have made it all so neat and tidy to get rid of a spouse. But the results are the same. I’m pretty sure you are more like me than you want to admit. And I was not all bad. To this day, there are ruins of cities I built still hugging the Mediterranean. And the beloved Temple of the Jews in Jerusalem — I built it. But am I remembered for any of these things? No!

No one’s perfect. It’s ironic that I should be remembered in history for that brief conversation with three wise astrologers from Persia. Who would have thought anything momentous or historic was happening?

It had been one of those days. The chief contractor on one of my building projects had inconsiderately dropped dead; I had heard that a group of crazy fundamentalists had locked themselves in a synagogue in Jericho and vowed to fast until the Messiah came; and one of my wives told me the latest court rumor about another of my wives. I could have used a Messiah myself at that point, but rarely do we know what we really need.

 So I had just reached for a bottle of Scotch. That’s when my aide- a squirrelly little guy who always smelled like he hadn’t bathed in a month and had a bald spot in his beard, a thoroughly unpleasant creature, but loyal, oh so loyal — he came into my office announced with a shower of spit falling on my latest papers from Rome--- that some foreign visitors had just arrived bearing greetings. I started to tell him where he could put their greetings, when they walked into the room.

After the usual diplomatic niceties, they got to the point: “Where is He who has been born king of the Jews? For we have seen His star in the east and have come to worship Him.” You know the story. You’ve heard it told many times.

They assumed that the next “King of the Jews” would be my son and they would find him in the palace. I knew nothing about that. I had to get to the bottom of it. I did know that was my title granted from Rome. I couldn’t allow anyone else to take it from me even if he was only a baby today, eventually he would grow up, and I couldn’t allow that.

I summoned my theologian who told me tradition said the Messiah would be born in Bethlehem; we gave the astrologers directions to Bethlehem, and told them to let us know what they found there. When they slipped across the border without getting back to me, I got worried. What if they did see some newborn royalty and had pledged their allegiance or vowed a treaty with him to undermine me? I will admit the truth: I was threatened by this baby. If He was the Messiah, my days were numbered. My reign was based on force, but if one came who had the power to sway the people’s hearts, I would soon be forced from my throne. If there was any truth in this, he was a dangerous person and I knew I had to deal with it swiftly.

I couldn’t take any chances. I had to destroy Him. I had to protect myself. I know. It looks like a heinous crime. “The slaughter of innocents” the church has called it. Yes, I suppose some might say that. But if that’s what it took to get rid of this dangerous influence, that’s what I had to do. He was dangerous to me and fear makes you do strange things. Doesn’t it?

I’m asking you. Do you ever feel threatened? You should. They said he was a king— a king in a way that I could never be, King of the Universe, the eternal Lord. And that is threatening. Make no mistake about it. You, too, are threatened by Him. You think you are king of your life, but you and Jesus can’t both be Lord. You make such a sentimental mush about Christmas. Choirs and gift-giving and Sunday School pageants (Harold the Grape… for one gold coin I’d just …) Never mind… back to you. 

Christmas has a dangerous message: a new king has been born. And you must do one of two things with Him: worship Him as Lord or force Him out of your life. I had my chance; I made my choice.

You have to make a choice too. If you are going to celebrate Christmas, you need to know that this sweet little baby is not so sweet. This child is not innocent. This Jesus who claims to be king is a dangerous guy.

Think about it.

•            You  must be born again… what kind of crazy talk is that.

•            Take up your cross and follow me… you don’t want to do that.

•            Forgive your enemies…really? If I did that, they would have stabbed me in the back 100 times over.

•            Love your neighbor, the poor, the Samaritans, the centurions, the tax collectors and the list goes on and on… love just makes you vulnerable to being hurt. That’s not for me. And not for you either.

•            Son of God? Not likely…but even if he is, don’t YOU want to be in charge of your life?

•            The greatest will be a servant…are you kidding me? That’s just crazy talk.

I tell you, that you have romanticized this baby in the manger with his sweet little mama, and proud little papa. He is here to take over your life. He is here to change the world forever, and you will be the ones who lose your power, you are the ones who will be asked to give until it hurts, you will be the ones who are asked to rub shoulders with the undesirables. You will be the ones who are left to finish the work he starts. You will be the ones who will have hopes dashed when he doesn’t come back as he promised.

You are the ones who will have to give to the poor, visit the sick, care for the imprisoned, accept the migrants and the homosexuals. You are the ones who will be asked to stand up for the weak and defend those who are abused. You are the ones who will have to look at that horrible cross and wear it around your neck and sing songs about it.

You will be the ones who are asked to forgive as you have been forgiven.

You are the ones who will be asked to love as you have been loved.

You are the ones who will be asked to share his peace as he has given you his peace.

You are the ones who will be asked to share his joy as he has filled you with joy.

 You are the ones who will have hope you never had before.

Wait a minute… I think I am losing my argument. Love, peace, hope, joy… I can’t win against a king like that… Just believe me… this Jesus is a dangerous guy… stay away from him.

 Get me out of here.