Lectionary Commentaries for December 28, 2025
First Sunday of Christmas

In Judeo-Christian traditions, one expects God not to let evildoers prosper and not to let innocent people suffer. When this expectation is not met, the victim or the general public raises the question whether the God who allows such things to happen is just at all. It is called the theodicy question.

In Matthew, one of the most obvious places where the theodicy question should be raised is the infanticide by Herod the Great. When Herod heard a portent of the birth of a future king of the Jews, he decided to eliminate the threat. When his attempt at a targeted attack failed, he sent his soldiers and had them kill all the infants two years old and under in Bethlehem and its vicinity.

Matthew reports that Joseph had been pre-warned by the angel and had already taken the baby Jesus to Egypt to escape the massacre. This means Jesus would be the only baby in Judea whose life was spared because of God’s direct intervention, while all the other innocent babies unfortunate enough to be born in Bethlehem around the same time as Jesus perished.

Matthew narrates this tragic event in a matter-of-fact manner without raising the theodicy question.¹ On the other hand, if this was a real historical event,² I would say Matthew’s authorial decision to document the incident, in and of itself, could be seen as an act of protest against the autocratic abuse of power. If that is the case, it is a cautiously presented exposé of a heinous state crime committed by a corrupt tyrant.

After reporting the incident with no unnecessary details, Matthew cites a passage from Jeremiah 31:15 about Rachel weeping for her lost children (2:18–19). Rachel, as Jacob’s second wife in Genesis, is the mother of two sons, Joseph and Benjamin, but she never lived long enough to see her sons grow, let alone die (Genesis 35:16–20). That is, Rachel in Genesis never lost her children, to be able to grieve for them.

According to Jeremiah 40:1, Ramah is the temporary gathering place for the people of Judah who are being deported to Babylon after the fall of Jerusalem. Therefore, the weeping Rachel in Jeremiah’s oracle does not represent the original Rachel in Genesis. Rather, she symbolizes a matriarch of Israel who is weeping for the children of Israel, who are lost, metaphorically speaking, because of the imperial conquest by Babylon.

When this passage is cited by Matthew in the context of Herod’s infanticide, it offers the intended audience of Matthew a parallel imagery of two colonial powers wreaking havoc on the lives of innocent people in Israel: one by the Babylonian kingdom and the other by the Roman vassal kingdom of Herod.

This citation of Jeremiah’s oracle does much more than add one more piece to Matthew’s fulfillment theology, even though that is the primary function in this passage (verse 17). By summoning the weeping voice of Rachel, the Matthean text symbolically resurrects the then-forgotten voices of the grieving mothers who lost their newborn babies at the hands of Herod. That is something that no other historian of Matthew’s time had done. It is a belated and yet powerful protest against Herod as one of the puppet kings of the Roman Empire.

With this intertextual allusion to the past event through the Jeremiah citation, Matthew raises the question of theodicy in his own way—that is, in poetic language, if not with explicit statements. The cited cry of Rachel is not just a sound of wailing, but it has a clear message. It is a cry for justice that is not being served.³

Still, a troubling question remains regarding Matthew’s treatment of Jesus as the only one whose life was preserved by God’s deliverance. Is Matthew expecting his audience just to be content that the baby Jesus survived the massacre? How are Matthew’s readers supposed to feel about the fact that Herod lived a long and fortunate life without being held accountable for his massacre of the Bethlehem babies and for any other atrocities he had committed?⁴ The answer might lie hidden underneath the surface of the text, to be discovered only through perceptive reading.

This story of Herod’s infanticide has an intra-textual connection to the Parable of the Sheep and Goats (Matthew 25:31–46), which is the conclusion of the last of the five major discourses of Jesus in Matthew (chapters 24–25).

Jesus, the eschatological judge, separates all the people between the right and the left. He calls the former the righteous/just and the latter the accursed. The just will receive eternal life while the unjust will go to eternal punishment. It is remarkable that the single criterion for the verdict of Jesus is how one treated the least ones in the world. The “least” in this parable are illustrated as the hungry, the thirsty, the foreigners, the naked, the sick, and the captives (verses 35–36). Comprehensively, they can be called the smallest people who have no power or protection.

The slaughtered infants in our passage are a small fraction of all the “least” in the Parable of the Sheep and Goats, but certainly they are included in that category, as they are literally the smallest ones. In this scenario, Herod will be among the first to be condemned by Jesus and sent to eternal punishment. Neither during the time of Jesus nor that of Matthew’s composition was justice served against Herod’s infanticide, but through Jesus’ farewell sermon, Matthew gives a dire prediction that it will surely be served in the ultimate eschatological judgment.

Notes

1. Ulich Luz, Matthew 1–7 (Fortress, 2007), 121.
2. Many scholars doubt the historicity of this story on account o,f the lack of corroborating evidence elsewhere.
3. For a fuller exegesis on this point, see Eugene Park, “Rachel’s Cry for Her Children: Matthew’s Treatment of the Infanticide by Herod,” CBQ 75 (2013): 473–85.
4. Josephus, Antiquities of the Jews, 17.8.1, notes how fortunate Herod was to have lived a long life in spite of all the dangers threatening him because of the many barbaric acts he had committed.

In Isaiah 63:1–6, the writer recounts the failures and shortcomings of God’s people. In all fairness to them, we should not judge them too harshly, for in truth, all of us fall short in some way or another. Yet, this portrait of human fragility is juxtaposed, in 63:7–9, with God’s faithfulness. The writer’s use of the Hebrew word ḥesed (steadfast loyalty, faithfulness, love) in 63:7 is consistent with how it is used throughout the Old Testament to describe God’s commitment to God’s people. The speaker reflectively reminisces on God’s “gracious deeds” and “praiseworthy acts.” To “reminisce” is not mere nostalgia—it is a testimonial to God’s mercy and love for the “house of Israel.” 

The favor God extends to these people shows up in God’s abundant love for them. And as the speaker reminisces, the people are also invited to reminisce, to look back on what God has done and look forward to what God can and will do. The people’s apostasy and spiritual short-sightedness cannot detract from or derail God’s love. The relationship between God and God’s people is framed—and continually sustained—by God’s ḥesed. When the people failed to follow God and keep the covenant, it was God who remained faithful. 

The writer supplies the rationale that underlies God’s motive for this unwavering commitment.  “For he said, ‘Surely they are my people, children who will not act deceitfully, and he became their savior in all their distress’” (63:8). God not only calls them “my people,” but he also affectionately calls them “children,” intimating a familial bond of affection on one hand and expectation on the other hand. God expected the people to walk in faith and obedience, distinguished by trustworthiness and loyalty rather than deceit. This walk of faith and obedience is characterized in Micah 6:8: “He has told you, O mortal, what is good, and what does the LORD require of you but to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God?”  

Although Israel often stumbled in this regard, God’s mercy never failed; even in all their distress, God continued to be their savior. In other words, God consistently showed up in the ordinary and the messiest moments of their lives. God crossed the Red Sea with these people, put up with their complaining and grumbling through the wilderness, and endured their constant rebellion and apostasy, and yet never gave up on them, choosing instead to dwell among them.

Throughout the Bible, we find that in times of great need, God sends messengers—angels—to intervene on behalf of God’s people. It was an angel of the Lord who stayed Abraham’s hand and spared Isaac (Genesis 22:11–18). Angels were sent to lead Lot and his family to safety before Sodom was destroyed (Genesis 19:1–17). Gabriel came to Daniel with words of encouragement and hope (Daniel 9:21). An angel brought messages to Zechariah and Mary (Luke 1:11–19, 26–38). Joseph was guided by an angel in his dreams (Matthew 1:20–24), and angels announced the birth of Christ to shepherds in the field (Luke 2:8–14). Even Peter, bound in prison, was set free by angelic hands (Acts 5:19–20). 

While God sent angels to guide, protect, and deliver, God never entrusted salvation to a messenger. It is God who shows up. It is God’s presence that ultimately saves. The writer of Isaiah reminds us that God is not distant. Our God is personally invested in us, walking with us, redeeming us, and securing our salvation by God’s own presence and power. Our God feels what we feel, sees when we struggle and fall away, hears our cries, shares our sorrows, and has mercy on us. God’s promise remains true: “I will never leave you nor forsake you” (Hebrews 13:5–6). And just as God carried Israel through the wilderness (Deuteronomy 1:31), God, like a loving parent, has been with us from the beginning and will continue to carry us to the end (Isaiah 46:4).

So, this Sunday after Christmas, as the celebrations fade and the ordinariness of life returns, remember that Christ is still present among us; his light is a beacon that guides, guards, and saves.

Psalm 148 is third in a set of five hymns bounded by “hallelujah” concluding the psalter.

This hymn focuses on creation and God’s sovereignty, particularly God’s design for creation to harmoniously coexist and praise God.

Whereas other hymns, like Psalm 146, vividly recall Israel’s experiences of marginality, oppression, and suffering, Psalm 148 reflects a transition to a summons for praise or, rather, an entirely positive view of creation disconnected from the lived reality of suffering. This shift away from human pain and injustice toward idyllic order might function as a proclamation of God’s intent for creation, or it may be an intentional forgetting of their pain following the exile. Either way, this praise of God separated from human passion shapes the people who rely on its formula for worship, ushering out the status quo and complacency in favor of transfigured renewal.

The first section of Psalm 148, verses 1–6, focuses on praise from heavenly beings and from the heavens themselves. Reminiscent of Genesis 1–2, this psalm celebrates God’s nature and purposes revealed in creation. Can you imagine if, when congregations read Genesis 1–2, rather than falling into scientific skepticism or prooftexting battles, they burst into songs of praise for how God created all that is? How does the Christmas cycle potentially change our perspective on collective praise?

The second section, Psalm 138:7–14, focuses on praise from earthly creatures and objects, both animate and inanimate. Stars best serve God by shining brightly, and the wind by blowing. Everything best serves God simply by being what it was created to be. Creation exists symbiotically, under the sovereignty of God.Just as each element of creation honors God best by existing as created, so humankind can best fulfill God’s command by living as God created us to live. Our purpose in life is to praise God alongside and as part of God’s creation.

From animals to the natural elements, from the sun to the moon, and from the most powerful leaders to the youngest child playing outside, this psalm calls creation to join together in praise of God. Humans might be tasked with stewardship of creation, but as servants rather than as having dominion. Humanity best honors God when it serves creation. As commentator James Limburg paraphrased, “Praise is the business of all that exists.”

Psalm 148 models a fully inclusive invitation to praise God. Israel will be one of many participants in praising God. Humans are partners with multitudes of others, including creation itself, in praise. This recalls Genesis 1 and 9, where all living things and the earth itself praise God and exist in relationship with God. In the New Testament, Jesus teaches that if humanity ceased to praise God, the very rocks would cry out in praise. Being the people of God has never been an exclusive opportunity, but rather, God has always invited all of creation to live in sacred, covenant relationship with God.

The placement of this psalm near the end of the Psalter is critical for orienting readers. Life will continue to have ups and downs, ecstasy and tragedy, harmony and division, and yet, God calls us to live in praise. Holiday seasons usher in a mixture of celebration and mourning. By orienting and reorienting ourselves to praising God’s creation, we not only remember God’s promises, but we literally re-member ourselves according to God’s design of harmonious creation of loving community.

How does God’s creation guide us in how we are to relate to each other and to creation itself? What is the role of prayer in reorienting ourselves toward God’s plan for creation and our part within that larger pageant? As we traverse the seasons of Advent and Christmas, what does it mean to join with all creation in praise of God? How does celebrating Jesus’ birth unite creation and reorient us to God’s design?

Are there times when harmony interferes with justice? Can disharmony at times be pleasing to God? If so, what does authentic praise look like in moments of justice-centered disharmony? What does reconciliation look like, and how can prayer and praise be part of reaching and achieving reconciliation? How do our commitments to justice and community influence our decisions about how we spend our holidays?

The Christmas holidays are especially difficult for many believers. What grief are you and your congregation bringing into worship this season? How does this grief isolate you from others, and how can it bring you together with others? How do experiences of trauma and suffering shape us theologically, psychologically, and physically, and can our answer to this question be different at this time of year? How might traumatic experiences and suffering influence the way we worship? As we praise God for all that God has done and is doing, how do we hold our experiences in tension with God’s promises, and which promises in particular?

Are there “good” and “bad” ways to praise (or to celebrate the holidays), or can God be glorified in all forms of praise/celebration? Are there particular songs, movements, or postures to which you repeatedly turn for spiritual formation and comfort during this season, or throughout the year? What traditions have been most meaningful to you?

Note

1. Commentary previously published on this website for December 29, 2019.

References

Brueggemann, Walter, Israel’s Praise: Doxology against Idolatry and Ideology (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1988).

Cotter, Jim, Psalms for a Pilgrim People (Harrisburg, PA: Morehouse, 1998).

deClaissé-Walford, Nancy, Introduction to the Psalms: A Song from Ancient Israel (St. Louis: Chalice Press, 2004).

Mays, James L., Preaching and Teaching the Psalms (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2006).

Mays, James L. Psalms, Interpretation (Louisville: John Knox Press, 1994).

Limburg, James, Psalms (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2000).

McCann, J. Clinton, “Psalms,” in The New Interpreter’s Bible, vol 4, ed. Leander E. Keck et al. (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1996).

Reid, Stephen Breck, Listening In: A Multicultural Reading of the Psalms (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1997).

Christian prayer is the spiritual and mystical act of being incorporated into the life of the Son by the Spirit and coming before God the Father, being received as the Son, and speaking to the Father in the Name of Jesus, who intercedes on our behalf (Romans 8:15–16, 34). Enabled by the Spirit, we call out in the voice of the Son, “Abba! Father!,” being confirmed by the Spirit that we are children of God. As such, the privilege of prayer is participation in the eternal life of the Triune God through the communion of conversation. 

Paul confirms even further that we are “caught up” in the divine embrace of God going to very God on our behalf. Just as the Son mediates for us (8:34), so the Spirit intercedes on our behalf in prayer (verse 26). We are graciously caught up in this inner-divine dialogue, sharing in the very life of God! 

In Hebrews, we are invited to overhear this eternal conversation in the attribution of scriptural speech to the voice of the Son addressing the Father. The Son does so precisely as one who speaks to his family on behalf of God when he declares, 

“I will proclaim your Name to my brothers and sisters;
     in the midst of the congregation I will praise you”
(Hebrews 2:12; citing the Septuagint Psalm 21:23 [Hebrew text 22:22]), 

and, 

“I will put my trust in him”
(Hebrews 2:13a; citing Septuagint Isaiah 8:17; see also 12:2), 

followed by speech directed up to God: 

“Here I am and the children whom God has given me”
(Hebrews 2:13b; citing Septuagint Isaiah 8:18). 

The privilege of communal reading of Scripture is an invitation to overhear the eternal divine conversation between the Father and the Son about how the gracious divine life invades and infuses the creation. 

Previously in the text, we heard God speak to the Son, confirming his identity, 

“You are my Son;
     today I have begotten you”
(Hebrews 1:5a; citing Septuagint Psalm 2:7). 

Contrasting the status of the angels to the superior status of the Son, in this scripturally attributed conversation, God even addresses the Son as “God”: 

“Your throne, O God, is forever and ever,
     and the scepter of righteousness is the scepter of your kingdom.
You have loved righteousness and hated lawlessness;
therefore God, your God, has anointed you
     with the oil of gladness beyond your companions”
(Hebrews 1:8–9; citing Septuagint Psalm 44:7–8 [Hebrew text 45:6–7]). 

God refers also to the Son as “Lord,” who is the very Creator: 

“In the beginning, Lord, you founded the earth,
     and the heavens are the work of your hands;
they will perish, but you remain […] you are the same,
     and your years will never end”
(Hebrews 1:10–11a, 12b; citing Septuagint Psalm 101:26–28 [Hebrew text 102:25–27]). 

None of the angels has been invited to share the throne of God’s rule: 

“Sit at my right hand
     until I make your enemies a footstool for your feet”
(Hebrews 1:13; citing Septuagint Psalm 109:1 [Hebrew text 110:1]). 

Throughout this astonishing attribution, we are invited to hear God confirm the identity of Jesus the Son in the most exalted possible terms as one who uniquely shares in the identity of the one true covenant and creator God. The Son is the one who has acted as the great high priest performing the purification for sins and sitting down at the right hand of Majesty on high (Hebrews 1:3; 2:17).

This is the same Son proclaimed by Matthew’s Gospel as “Immanuel, God with us” (1:23; citing Septuagint Isaiah 7:14). It is this embodied presence of God who must flee as a vulnerable infant from the threat of the tyrant Herod, who seeks to destroy his life (2:13–15). Enraged at the refusal of the magi to be complicit in his scheme to eradicate his rival, Herod commits the atrocity of massacring all the children in and around Bethlehem who were two years old and younger, trying to stamp out any possible candidate who may have fit the description. Under the regime of this despotic king over Israel, Death swallowed up the innocent, thus evoking the convulsions of grieving parents. 

Born into a world plagued by suffering, this Son himself is “perfected” as the “pioneer of … salvation … through suffering” (Hebrews 2:10). The Son who, we recall, was confirmed as God, who is enthroned in heaven and is the Lord Creator, is the same one who was “tested by what he suffered” (verse 18) and shared in the common struggle of humanity, staring down the nullifying abyss of death. 

Death, and the devil who wields the power of death, is the great equalizer. With Death, all balances are zeroed out. All accomplishments are stripped from the adornment of every corpse. All achievements are mitigated, relegated, at best, to the memory of those who remain. All hopes are buried and absorbed into the composition of the dirt. Death threatens to quash the joyous vibrancy of humanity. Death enslaves God’s image-bearers in a crippling fear of one who reigns through the terror of corrosive eradication. Death threatens to silence all, regardless of whether we devote ourselves to good or evil ends. 

We look around at those whom we love, and we know it is inevitable that we will join “Rachel “weeping for her children, [refusing] to be consoled, because they are no more” (Matthew 2:18b; citing Jeremiah 31:15 [Septuagint 38:15]).

Jesus, the Son, injects our miserable disease of mortality with the divine antidote of hope. Only because Jesus became “like his brothers and sisters in every respect,” serving as a “merciful and faithful high priest in the service of God so he could make a sacrifice of atonement for the sins of the people” (Hebrews 2:17), can we stare the enemy, Death, in the eye with courage, knowing that we will inherit the kingdom that cannot be shaken (12:28).

The enfleshment of God the Son, who entered into solidarity with us who are weak and oppressed by the one who has the awful power of death, is our hope. He is the one who leads the way to restore humanity’s vocation as those whom God “has crowned with glory and honor” (Hebrews 2:7b; citing Psalm 8:6b) to rule over creation on God’s behalf (Hebrews 2:8; see also Genesis 1:26–28). It is God the suffering and exalted Son who stands now as “the pioneer and perfecter of faith, who for the sake of the joy that was set before him endured the cross, disregarding its shame, and has taken his seat at the right hand of the throne of God” (12:2). 

In the deepest of gratitude, let us now stand in solidarity with our Savior, consoling those who suffer, encouraging those who are tested, and pursuing the path of our high priest by approaching the throne of grace with humble boldness (Hebrews 4:14–16).