Of kings and kingdoms: Lessons on real power

Illustration by Steph Bravo

The old, old Christmas story is ever new. Each time we read the Scriptures during Advent, we see something fresh—something strange—about the baby, about kings and kingdoms, about power and powerlessness.

At each telling of the Christmas story, whether he likes it or not, another king is mentioned along with the baby in the manger. King Herod, born to a political family, destined for greatness, was, at age 25, the governor of Galilee. After almost four decades in power, his reign was threatened by the arrival of a baby, or so he thought.

King of power

Appointed in 37 BC by the Romans to rule the Jews as King of Judea, King Herod was a picture of success.

During his reign, he expanded the land he governed from Palestine to parts of modern Jordan, Lebanon and Syria. He constructed mighty fortresses, networks of aqueducts, magnificent palaces and colossal amphitheaters.

As a politician, he was savvy; he neutralized the guerrillas. As a man of power and attraction, he reportedly had 10 marriages.

King Herod was the envy of his contemporaries. He was powerful, but vulnerable. He was ruthless, yet paranoid. It was not without reason, for his own father was poisoned by an enemy.

With elaborate systems of spying, surveillance and safety precautions, King Herod thought his reign would last forever.

But, on this night in Jerusalem, as Herod was admiring his success, he was met with a query that shook him. Three magi came asking: “Where is the one who has been born king of the Jews? We saw his star in the east and have come to worship him.” (Matthew 2:2)

“When King Herod heard this, he was disturbed” (Matthew 2:3). Curious and crafty as a political leader could be, King Herod called his cabinet of ministers and contacted religious leaders. “In Bethlehem,” they answered.

Herod instructed the three magi to investigate and report their findings back to him. “So that I could go and worship him,” he lied.

King of the powerless

What the three magi found was exactly the opposite of power and grandeur.

Away in a manger, no crib for a bed,

The little Lord Jesus lay down His sweet head,

The stars in the bright sky looked down where He lay,

The little Lord Jesus asleep on the hay.

There lay the Messiah, the King who would never live in a palace, who would wear no crown nor jewelry, who would possess no servants or horses, who would befriend the poor and lame, who would choose the fishermen—not lawyers, for his team, who would serve the needy but not the mighty, who would conquer hearts but not lands, who would love and forgive, who would have no earthly power whatsoever, but would give heavenly rest to whoever believed. He would be the King.

The baby king scared King Herod out of his wits. The magi had not reported back to Herod so he searched high and low for the baby king, who had since escaped with Mary and Joseph to Egypt, forewarned by an angel.

In his desperation, Herod executed all Jewish baby boys under age 2 in Bethlehem, a killing frenzy to feed his miserable paranoia. It was cruelty unparalleled—just to cling to power. In the end Herod died of a painful disease.

Forever and ever

Every year, twice in church, during Easter and Christmas, we sing the glorious “Hallelujah Chorus” from Handel’s “Messiah.”

I have sung this piece over a hundred times and have conducted it a few times, but every time, as I sing from memory, I show a triumphant expression on my face—so say my friends who are in the audience.

As we sopranos hold our breath over several bars of “King of Kings and Lord of Lords,” and the pitch goes higher while excitement palpably intensifies, I would look up to the wooden cross on the sanctuary’s glass ceiling.

In that instance, images of how powerful kings and despotic tyrants had come to their tragic end would come to mind. For, from ancient times to recent years, kings and leaders who had attempted to be messiahs had all failed. No king, no kingdom on this earth shall last forever.

As for Baby Jesus, He and His kingdom shall reign forever. “King of Kings and Lord of Lords. Forever and ever, forever and ever, forever and ever, forever and ever.”

Then, as all the instruments and singers take the great pause—much like the world worshipping in majestic silence—

all come together again, trumpets and timpani and hundreds of singers and instruments, here in this church on earth, as in the heavenly realms, proclaiming the final “Hallelujah!”

Long live the one and only Messiah!

The writer is a professor of Educational Psychology at the University of the Philippines. E-mail her at [email protected].