Rachael Weeping

Matthew 2: 12-21

I usually breathe a sigh of relief after Christmas Day. The rush is over, and the new year

has not yet begun. These days are meant to be quiet. Restful. Perhaps the most restful part of
these days after the holidays is the experience of returning home. Persons who are visiting me
return to their homes, which makes my world a quieter place…or I return to my home from
visiting family and have that sense of relief when I walk in the front door. Maybe more than
anything else in the world, I love to come home.

The story we will hear today is a disturbing one. It is a story that disrupts that peace on
earth I seek so diligently after the holidays. It is a story about leaving home. A story about grief
and weeping. A story that reminds us that the world where Jesus was born is not so very different
from our own. Listen, with me, to this story in Matthew 2: 12-21.

The story we hear today should be difficult for any serious Christian. The problem of
human pain and suffering faces us at its stark and terrible maximum. “Why didn’t God protect
those other babies?” Matthew doesn’t even ask that question; instead he passes over the massacre
of the infants almost as though it doesn’t matter to him. In fact, this incident is not even
mentioned in the historical documents of the time. One must assume that the murder of a few
baby boys in a small town wasn’t even an item that warranted serious report.

But then, we hear something. It is something that is quiet at first, coming from far away.
Listen. Can you hear it? It is the sound of weeping. Matthew tells us that this weeping is
coming from the grave of Rachael, the mother of all Israel. This is how Matthew reports it:

Thus, says the LORD: "A voice is heard in Ramah, lamentation and bitter weeping.
Rachel is weeping for her children; she refuses to be comforted for her children, because they are
no more"
Rachael wept. The image is from the book of Jeremiah and it takes place in Ramah. The
exiles were leaving their homes to travel to Babylon. As they began that long journey, about 5
miles out of Jerusalem, they passed Rachael’s grave. As the exiles walked away from the ruin of
Jerusalem, the wreckage of the Temple, and everything they knew as home, they could hear

Rachael, the mother of Israel…weeping. Weeping, even in her grave. Weeping, for her children
who were “no more.” Ramah is an image of our world, and the cry we hear is the voice of our
world’s weeping. Matthew pauses, for just a moment, to show us this image as tells us that Jesus,
was homeless, too. Jesus was sent away from his home to Egypt to escape the murder of those
innocent babies.

Isn’t this a little like our world? As we deck our halls, sing our carols, and watch our
Christmas TV specials, horrible events are taking place. More than 2.5 million people have been
driven from their homes in Darfur. As many as 400,000 people have died in the genocide there,
and UN officials estimate that the death toll in Darfur could rise catastrophically if the perilous
humanitarian situation falters. Up to 100,000 people could die each month.

Amid the dying, can you hear something? It is something that is quiet at first, coming
from far away. Listen. Can you hear it? It is the sound of weeping.

How can we keep on singing and praising God when the massacre of the innocents
continues? Well…I don’t know. But I do know that when such things happen, we are not
powerless. We can do something about such needless deaths whether they occur because of
wicked leaders or because of war, or because of grinding poverty and disease. We can do
something, and doing something is, after all, how Christians ought to be celebrating the coming
of the Prince of Peace and the realization of God’s reign on earth.

And maybe the place to start is by weeping. It’s hard to imagine weeping to be an act of
strength…even a political act…but it is. When we weep, we are saying, “This matters!” I care
about these people! They have a place in the world, and they are gone! I will not allow their
departure to go unnoticed! Jesus wept at the grave of a friend before he died. He cared enough to
weep. Mary wept at Jesus’ grave on Easter morning. And Rachael wept for the exiles that were
sent far from their homes, not knowing if they would ever return.

But listen, do you hear it? It is another sound. The sound of a voice speaking to Rachael
as she weeps. Do you hear it? It is the sound of the Lord! Hear what the Lord says: “Your work
will be rewarded. Your children will return to their own home. I have heard you. “

Going home. They are going home. The exiles will return home. Jesus will return home
to Bethlehem. The children of Israel will be brought home. Home.

You see, right in the middle of the killing, the hate, the despair….is our Savior. It’s a
message easy to miss. It’s a message that speaks in whispers, in silence. The war, the hate,
suffering…. that is easy to hear, easy to read about. We are a people who get our daily fix of bad
news from the newspaper, the television, and the internet. We are a people accustomed to
hearing the noise of bad news as our daily bread.

But I want to leave you today with a gentle glimpse of the good news. Jesus has come.
Jesus has come to us, where we live. Right here, in the middle of our sinful, messy lives. Jesus
has come, and Jesus is still alive. In the meantime, we are not a people who must weep without
hope. We are a people who are going to be brought home.

A friend of mine called me a couple of weeks ago to tell me that her mother, who has
been suffering greatly these past few months, was near death. As she talked, we wept together. I
have known Peg since Seminary, and Peg has cared for her mother for many years. Peg told me
that night she knew her mom was near death when they took her to the hospital and her mother
said, “What are all these other people doing here?” Peg asked, “What other people?” Then Peg’s
mom told of relatives and friends that had died years ago. She was seeing her departed loved
ones. A homecoming was being prepared for her. She was being brought home, and a
celebration was being planned.

In these quiet days after Christmas, before the new year begins, listen to the quiet truth of
redemption, that whisper of hope that rose up amid bloody Bethlehem. It comes to us again this
year….

For God so loved the world…