We Two Kings

Introduction

Historical Inaccuracies

First is the number three. How many wise men were there? Were there three? Matthew doesn’t provide such a detail. He just says “wise men from the east came to Jerusalem” (2:1). The plural subject of that sentence tells us there were more than one. Were there two? Were there twenty? We don’t know. Well then, where do we get three? This tradition comes from the three gifts mentioned in verse 11, the logic being that if there were three gifts there must have been three men. But such logic is flawed, for if I told you I received a Rolex, a diamond-studded pinky ring, and a body-length mink coat for Christmas, these three gifts would not necessitate three givers, would they? If I told you that my wife gave me these three gifts this Christmas you might be surprised if you knew how frugal she is and that such gifts don’t precisely fit my style. But you wouldn’t be surprised if my wife gave me three gifts, would you? In fact, she did give me three gifts this year—a novel, a used theology book, and a stainless-steel coffee mug—all fitting gifts for my sanctified obsessions.

THERE ARE AT LEAST TWO historical inaccuracies in John Henry Hopkins’s otherwise wonderful Christmas carol “We Three Kings.” First is the number three. How many wise men were there? Were there three? Matthew doesn’t provide such a detail. He just says “wise men from the east came to Jerusalem” (2:1). The plural subject of that sentence tells us there were more than one. Were there two? Were there twenty? We don’t know. Well then, where do we get three? This tradition comes from the three gifts mentioned in verse 11, the logic being that if there were three gifts there must have been three men. But such logic is flawed, for if I told you I received a Rolex, a diamond-studded pinky ring, and a body-length mink coat for Christmas, these three gifts would not necessitate three givers, would they? If I told you that my wife gave me these three gifts this Christmas you might be surprised if you knew how frugal she is and that such gifts don’t precisely fit my style. But you wouldn’t be surprised if my wife gave me three gifts, would you? In fact, she did give me three gifts this year—a novel, a used theology book, and a stainless-steel coffee mug—all fitting gifts for my sanctified obsessions.

So the “three” in “We Three Kings” is not necessarily accurate. Neither is the description “kings.” Again the gifts are to blame for this misunderstanding. Gold, frankincense, and myrrh were very expensive. Such gifts tell us that these men had abundant resources. They had money that allowed them to travel and to give Jesus what they gave him. But such wealth does not necessitate royalty.

I’m sorry to ruin what might be your favorite Christmas carol, but here in 2:1–12 there are not likely three kings. However, there are two! Matthew wants us to take note of two kings—King Herod and King Jesus. Look at verse 1, “Now after Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judea in the days of Herod the king …” Look also at verses 3 and 9. Verse 3 begins, “When Herod the king …,” and verse 9, “After listening to the king.…” The first king is Herod.

5

We Two Kings

THERE ARE AT LEAST TWO historical inaccuracies in John Henry Hopkins’s otherwise wonderful Christmas carol “We Three Kings.” First is the number three. How many wise men were there?

Were there three? Matthew doesn’t provide such a detail. He just says “wise men from the east came to Jerusalem” (2:1). The plural subject of that sentence tells us there were more than one. Were there two? Were there twenty? We don’t know. Well then, where do we get three? This tradition comes from the three gifts mentioned in verse 11, the logic being that if there were three gifts there must have been three men. But such logic is flawed, for if I told you I received a Rolex, a diamond-studded pinky ring, and a body-length mink coat for Christmas, these three gifts would not necessitate three givers, would they? If I told you that my wife gave me these three gifts this Christmas you might be surprised if you knew how frugal she is and that such gifts don’t precisely fit my style. But you wouldn’t be surprised if my wife gave me three gifts, would you? In fact, she did give me three gifts this year—a novel, a used theology book, and a stainless-steel coffee mug—all fitting gifts for my sanctified obsessions.

THERE ARE AT LEAST TWO historical inaccuracies in John Henry Hopkins’s otherwise wonderful Christmas carol “We Three Kings.” First is the number three. How many wise men were there? Were there three? Matthew doesn’t provide such a detail. He just says “wise men from the east came to Jerusalem” (2:1). The plural subject of that sentence tells us there were more than one. Were there two? Were there twenty? We don’t know. Well then, where do we get three? This tradition comes from the three gifts mentioned in verse 11, the logic being that if there were three gifts there must have been three men. But such logic is flawed, for if I told you I received a Rolex, a diamond-studded pinky ring, and a body-length mink coat for Christmas, these three gifts would not necessitate three givers, would they? If I told you that my wife gave me these three gifts this Christmas you might be surprised if you knew how frugal she is and that such gifts don’t precisely fit my style. But you wouldn’t be surprised if my wife gave me three gifts, would you? In fact, she did give me three gifts this year—a novel, a used theology book, and a stainless-steel coffee mug—all fitting gifts for my sanctified obsessions.

So the “three” in “We Three Kings” is not necessarily accurate. Neither is the description “kings.” Again the gifts are to blame for this misunderstanding. Gold, frankincense, and myrrh were very expensive. Such gifts tell us that these men had abundant resources. They had money that allowed them to travel and to give Jesus what they gave him. But such wealth does not necessitate royalty.

I’m sorry to ruin what might be your favorite Christmas carol, but here in 2:1–12 there are not likely three kings. However, there are two! Matthew wants us to take note of two kings—King Herod and King Jesus. Look at verse 1, “Now after Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judea in the days of Herod the king …” Look also at verses 3 and 9. Verse 3 begins, “When Herod the king …,” and verse 9, “After listening to the king.…” The first king is Herod.

The second king is obviously Jesus. Look at verse 2, where the wise men say of him, “Where is he who has been born king of the Jews?” Then, also in verse 2, they speak of “his star”—which most scholars believe is a reference to the oracle of Balaam, “a star shall come out of Jacob, and a scepter shall rise out of Israel” (). This “star” in the sky symbolizes to them this “star”—the coming of the ideal king, from the Jews, for the world. Look also at verse 4, where Herod inquires about “where the Christ was to be born.” The Greek word for “Christ” means “anointed one” or “king.” Also peek at the prophecy in verse 6 that speaks of “the rulers of Judah” and “a ruler” who is to come. So we have “his star,” “the Christ,” and “a ruler.” These are all different words than “king,” but are obviously on the same theme and about the same person.

This kingly theme as it relates to Jesus also fits the immediate context. It fits with the five fulfillments we examined in the last sermon, all of which have to do with Jesus being the King. The prophets—Isaiah, Jeremiah, Micah, and Hosea—all speak of a king to come. It also fits the genealogy (1:1–17) and birth narrative (1:18–25), both of which emphasize Jesus’ official relationship with King David. Finally, it fits what follows in chapters 3, 4, where King Jesus is introduced nearly three decades later by John the Baptist whose message is, “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is at hand” (3:2), the same words Jesus will use in 4:17 as he begins his public ministry.

So, we two kings is what we have here—Herod and Jesus. As readers of this Gospel, our task now is to figure out (which won’t be too difficult) which king is the true king, and thus the king to whom we should submit.

Two Kings—Herod and Jesus

Matthew makes our decision rather easy, doesn’t he? Do you want a madman or the Messiah? Do you want a man who would order the massacre of innocent children (v. 16) or a man who would open his arms to children and lay down his life for the less-than-innocent of the world? Do you want a ruler who rules by force, aggression, and cruelty or a ruler who rules by love, compassion, and the cross of his own sufferings? Do you want a man who slaughtered the last remnants of the dynasty that ruled before him, put to death half of the Sanhedrin, killed 300 court officers, executed his wife and mother-in-law and three sons, and as he lay dying arranged for all the notable men of Jerusalem to be assembled in the Hippodrome and killed as soon as his own death was announced, so the people might weep instead of rejoice on the day of his death? Do you want him for king? Or do you want the One who when reviled did not revile in return, who when he suffered did not threaten but rather bore our sins in his body on the tree (see )? Whom do you want? Do you want the Big Bad Wolf or the Good Shepherd—a “shepherd king” like David, one who would finally and perfectly, as verse 6b puts it, “shepherd my people Israel” (cf. ; )?

The other day I was looking at what I think is one of Rembrandt’s greatest paintings, Belshazzar’s Feast (1635). This work is a depiction of the fifth chapter of Daniel. King Belshazzar of Babylon was throwing a grand feast, where he was surrounded by his lords and ladies. You may recall from that in the midst of his drunkenness and idolatry (as he drinks wine from the temple vessels while he praises the gods of gold, silver, bronze, iron, wood, and stone), suddenly fingers of a human hand appear, which proceed to write something on the plaster of the palace wall, a message that Daniel would later decipher (5:24–28). God’s Word to that king was basically this: your kingdom is coming to an end!

In his painting, Rembrandt uses light to highlight that on which he wants us to focus: the script on the wall, which is the brightest point, as well as the face of the king as he turns toward the wall in absolute shock and fear. Belshazzar is standing with his right hand on an overturned dinner plate, and his left hand is in the air, motioning as if to block the light. His head is tilted back toward the table, and his crown is slowly edging off his head. His kingdom is about to fall.

What happened to Belshazzar also happens to Herod. Herod the Great, as he was called, loses his greatness, and Jesus, the King of Heaven, of whom Daniel and the prophets prophesied, increases in his. , which I slightly paraphrase and reorder for emphasis, summarizes this theme:

Why do the nations rage and the peoples plot in vain? Why do the kings of the earth set themselves … against the LORD and against his Anointed [i.e., the Christ]? Our God in heaven laughs, and he says to such rulers [kings like Herod], “As for me, I have set my King on Zion … and I have said of him, ‘You are my Son’ ”—the king who will judge the nations, the king for whom I will make the ends of the earth his possession.… Be wise, O kings; be warned, O rulers of the earth. Serve the LORD with fear, and rejoice with trembling. Kiss the Son! Do homage to the King of God’s kingdom.

Three Choices

So here in 2:1–12 there are not three kings but two. There is Herod, the Roman appointed “king of the Jews,” and there is Jesus, the God-appointed King of all kings. Yet as it pertains to the second king, our Lord Jesus and our relationship to him, there are three choices—indifference, hostility, or worship.

Indifference

First, we can choose indifference. This is the choice made by the Jewish religious leaders. The wise men come to town and say in effect, “Where is he? Where is the Christ-child?” Herod gets wind of their question, and in his jealousy he is “troubled” (v. 3). While he gladly accepts the title “the King of the Jews,” his knowledge of the Hebrew Bible is insufficient. So he calls in the experts—the chief priests and the scribes. The scribes or “teachers of the law” especially knew their stuff. They spent all day meticulously copying the Holy Scriptures, word by word, line by line. They were professional Bible scholars and teachers. They didn’t have to open to Micah to know in which town the Messiah would be born. For them, Herod’s dilemma was “Bible Trivia for 100.” I envision them standing side by side before Herod, like contestants on the game show Jeopardy, and as soon as Herod is done asking his question all of them simultaneously place their hands on the buzzer—“What is Bethlehem of Judea?”

It is not surprising that they knew the answer. It would be “shame on them” if they didn’t. What is surprising is that they did nothing with the answer. Unlike these foreigners who “traversed afar” over “field and fountain, moor and mountain,” these religious experts pushed their buzzer, won their prize, and went back to bury their heads in the Word of God. As Paul put it, they were “always learning and never able to arrive at a knowledge of the truth” (). They weren’t even curious—“Could this be the one of whom the Scriptures testify?” They were as indifferent to Jesus as the priest and Levite were to the bruised and battered man in the Parable of the Good Samaritan.

The religious leaders weren’t alone in their indifference. Matthew gives the impression that the whole city of Jerusalem knew, yet not one person went to the nearby town to see if these wise men were truly wise, to see if indeed the “star … out of Jacob” () had come into the world. What gross indifference to Jesus! “He came unto his own, and his own received him not” (, KJV).

The church is full of people like this. The church, you say? Don’t you mean the world? No, I mean the church. Sure, there are people in the world who are indifferent to Jesus. They know he was born in Bethlehem, his mother’s name was Mary, he did miracles, he died on the cross, he rose from the dead. They know all this, and they just don’t care. There are lots of people like that in the world. But there are also lots of people like that in the church. If you quizzed them on Bible trivia, they’d do just fine. But if you informed them, “God in the flesh is just five miles down the street. Would you care to join me to meet him?” they would shake their heads and say, “Oh, not this time. You know the NFL playoffs start today,” or “I’m sorry, it’s the last day of this unbelievable New Year’s sale,” or “I’d hate to miss my Sunday afternoon nap. Maybe next time.”

What indifference! We live in a world—a church world—of indifference. People pack the pews each Sunday but live as though there is no King upon the throne but them. They are each their own king, and they do whatever is fitting in their own eyes. But rest assured, King Jesus is not indifferent toward such false, puny, self-appointed royalty. John the Baptist (see the next chapter) will tell us this in quite vivid, nonpolitically-correct language. He will say of Jesus, “His winnowing fork is in his hand, and he will clear his threshing floor and gather his wheat into the barn, but the chaff he will burn with unquenchable fire” (3:12).

Hostility

We can choose indifference, as the scribes, chief priests, and all Jerusalem did. Or, secondly, we can choose hostility, as Herod did. We can choose to hate Jesus and be hostile to him and everything associated with him—his followers, teachings, church, and kingdom.

I don’t know if you’ve noticed this, but recently there has been a sudden increase of such hostility in our country. Some of the best-selling books in the last few years are from these new atheists, self-professed “Brights” as Daniel Dennett and Richard Dawkins call themselves, who are supposedly bringing light into our dark world, yet who are in reality seeking to suffocate the true Light of the World under the bushel basket of a social, quasi-scientific Darwinism.

For example, I read Christopher Hitchens’s book, god Is not Great (the “g” in “god” is purposefully not capitalized). His subtitle is How Religion Poisons Everything. Chapter 7, where he begins to talk specifically about the Bible, he entitles “Revelation: The Nightmare of the ‘Old’ Testament,” and Chapter 8 he calls “The ‘New’ Testament Exceeds the Evil of the ‘Old’ One.”

In this book this intelligent man makes some surprisingly foolish statements. For instance, concerning the four Gospels he says, “Their multiple authors—none of whom published anything until many decades after the Crucifixion—cannot agree on anything of importance.” However, Hitchens’s own statement disproves itself, for all four Gospel writers were certainly agreed on the centrality and importance of the crucifixion! In addition to such self-contradictory statements, many of his assertions seem to be driven by ungrounded hostility. Hitchens writes, “The doings and ‘sayings’ of Moses and Abraham and Jesus [are] so ill-founded and so inconsistent, as well as so often immoral.” He refers to the Christian practice of teaching our children the truths of our faith as “child abuse” (he has a whole chapter on this).

At first I was surprised by such hostility. I thought to myself, If God doesn’t exist or if Jesus wasn’t the Son of God, why make a big fuss? Why write a book against religion? People believe in far crazier things than our religion. Why attack Christianity? Why do these scientists, as many of them are, attack the faith that has thus far produced the world’s greatest scientists and mathematicians, the likes of Newton and Pascal? But then I remembered that an intelligent person only attacks what he knows to be a real threat to his way of thinking and, more importantly, his way of living. And Jesus is such a threat.

Jesus was a real threat to Herod because, as Lawrence W. Farris writes, Herod grasped what was “at stake in the birth of Jesus.” If Herod didn’t think Jesus was actually born, if he didn’t think Jesus might indeed be a king—the king—if he didn’t think this new king, though now just a child, could in fact dethrone him, rule over him, take allegiance from him, he would not have done what he did.

You see, Jesus is a real threat to anyone and everyone who thinks seriously about him. If Jesus is king—and you can almost hear in Herod’s dungeon the prophetic voice of John the Baptist before his beheading (cf. 14:4)—it means you’re not. It means your dethronement. It means your submission. It means you can’t lead your life any longer, as Herod did and as I suggest these new atheists do, by the dictates of your unrepresented immoral desires. If Jesus is who he says he is, you either love him or you hate him! Which is exactly what Jesus said: “Do not think that I have come to bring peace to the earth. I have not come to bring peace, but a sword” (10:34). This is no nice Christmas story. This is a nasty conflict of kingdoms.

Indifference, to me, is illogical. It is to ignore the facts. Hostility, however, is quite reasonable, given that we are naturally inclined to oppose God and his ways and his Son, and given the very controversial claims of Christ. If he is King, you and I are not.

Worship

We can respond to Jesus with indifference or with hostility (both equally reject his rule) or with worship. We can worship him as the wise men wisely did.

Frankincense to offer have I;

Incense owns a Deity nigh:

Prayer and praising, all men raising,

Worship him, God Most High.

reads: “And going into the house they saw the child with Mary his mother, and they fell down and worshiped him. Then, opening their treasures, they offered him gifts, gold and frankincense and myrrh.” When read in the context of all that has come before (the long months of travel, the persistence in finding the child, etc.), I am very close to agreeing with J. C. Ryle who said concerning this verse, “We read of no greater faith than this in the whole volume of the Bible.”

What makes it so “great” is not merely what they did, which T. S. Eliot labeled a “death” to themselves, since “they fell down and worshiped him.” What makes it so great is who did what. Who worships the King of the Jews? Does Herod, the earthly king of the Jews? No. How about the Jewish scribes and chief priests? No. Do all the Jews in all Jerusalem? No. But how about those Gentiles who are not from the promised land? Do they bow down in homage? Do they in essence “kiss the Son” ()? Yes, they do.

What is Matthew doing with this fact? What is the importance of who received Jesus? With the wise men, Matthew is echoing what the angel of the Lord said to the shepherds in , : “Fear not, for behold, I bring you good news of great joy that will be for all the people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is Christ the Lord.” The kingdom of heaven is wide enough to accept Jews and Gentiles, rich and poor, the seemingly righteousness and knowingly unrighteous. This King is for “you”—you lowly Jewish shepherds, you wealthy Gentile pilgrims.

The wise men were Gentiles, no doubt about it. They were either from Arabia, Persia, or Babylon. Following Origen of Alexandria, I think that they were from Babylon. I say this because we know from the book of Daniel that the Chaldeans or Babylonians had “wise men” (, , , ; , ; , ) and also because of the theological significance attached to Babylon. Matthew is possibly saying that the pilgrimage of the nations to the holy city, the flood of Gentiles entering into the people of God, has begun, as the prophets predicted (, ; cf. ; , ). But I also think he is giving an ironic twist. The twist is this: the return from the Babylonian exile is certainly over if the Babylonians themselves are bowing before Zion’s King!

So the wise men were Gentiles, possibly Babylonian Gentiles. But more than that, they were “Gentile sinners,” to borrow a phrase from Paul in . Why do I emphasize “sinners”? It is because of their occupation. The word that the ESV translates “wise men” in verses 1, 7 is magos in Greek, sometimes translated, “magi.” Now, what English word does that remind you of? It sounds like and looks like magic or magicians. In John Milton’s “On the Morning of Christ’s Nativity,” he calls them “the Star-led Wisards.” And I think that is quite close to the truth.

In , LXX, the term magos is used of the wise men Nebuchadnezzar asks to tell and interpret his dream. Also in , which I referred to earlier, after Belshazzar sees the writing on the wall, he “called loudly to bring in the enchanters … and the astrologers. The king declared to the wise men of Babylon, ‘Whoever reads this writing, and shows me its interpretation …’ ” and on he goes. So his “wise men” (although note the Greek word used is epaoidos instead of magos) are likely ours—astrologers, enchanters, magicians, wizards of sorts. I picture them as a mix between Gandalf, David Copperfield, and Jeane Dixon. While I doubt they wrote “the daily horoscopes for the Baghdad Gazette,” I don’t doubt that they were stargazers who thought present and future events were to be found in the stars. And while I don’t think that they were quacks or charlatans as are most astrologers today—for example, Sylvia Browne or Miss Cleo—I do think they believed in and practiced magic of sorts, the same kind as Pharaoh’s wise men (“Then Pharaoh summoned the wise men and the sorcerers, and they, the magicians of Egypt …” [; cf. ]) and as Simon Magus or Simon the Sorcerer, as he is known in (cf. , ).

In our Harry Potter world we tend to think of magic not only as “cool” but spiritually neutral. The Biblical authors never thought so. That is why magic and magicians were condemned. The Old Testament forbade playing with such stuff. Don’t toy with such people. What a Jewish rabbi wrote shortly before the birth of Christ summarizes well the Biblical attitude: “He who learns from a magus is worthy of death.” So these men were Babylonian magi—not the most spiritually-pristine class of people. They were Gentile sinners.

On Tuesday, January 6, twelve days after Christmas, the Western church celebrates Epiphany. The word epiphany comes from a Greek word that means “to manifest” or “to show,” and on this date the church has traditionally commemorated the visit of the magi and the “epiphany.” What epiphany? God’s manifestation to the Gentiles. God showed himself in the person of Christ to the Gentiles. That’s what that holiday is all about. So go ahead and tell your boss that you’ll take Epiphany off because it is an important religious holiday for you. And on that day, before you pack away your Nativity set, celebrate by looking closely at this passage again and noticing how the whole scene is filled with scandal. We have a teenage mother, a child conceived out of wedlock, lowly and dirty and usually irreligious shepherds (as well as lowly and dirty and certainly irreligious animals) and then … the magi—a bunch of “Star-led Wisards,” magicians of sorts, Gentile sinners.

What a scandalous scene! Ah, but what a beautiful one as well. This scene depicts so perfectly the good news of the gospel of the kingdom. This good news is for all people, even the “least likely candidates for God’s love.” Like scrap metal to a magnet, this good news draws “a hodgepodge” of fallen humanity—Samaritan adulterers, immoral prostitutes, greasy tax collectors on the take, despised Roman soldiers, ostracized lepers, me (the son of a poor man from Connemara on the west shore of the Emerald Isle), and even you (the son or daughter of whomever and wherever you are from). Are you a Gentile? Are you a sinner? If so, I have some good news for you! The grasp of the King of the kingdom of heaven can reach even you and even now.

Is Jesus Your King?

When our Lord Jesus was on trial before Pontius Pilate, that Roman governor asked him, “Are you the King of the Jews?” Jesus answered,

“My kingdom is not of this world. If my kingdom were of this world, my servants would have been fighting, that I might not be delivered over to the Jews. But my kingdom is not from the world.” Then Pilate said to him, “So you are a king?” Jesus answered, “You say that I am a king. For this purpose I was born and for this purpose I have come into the world—to bear witness to the truth. Everyone who is of the truth listens to my voice.” ()

We all have a choice to make. Who is the King of the Jews? Who is your king? Whose voice are you going to heed? Will you be indifferent to Jesus? Will you be hostile? Or will you bow low, with whatever gifts you have in hand, adoringly worshipping him?

Look there at the star!

I, among the least,

Will arise and take

A journey to the East.

But what shall I bring

As a present for the King?

What shall I bring to the Manger?

I will bring a song,

A song that I will sing,

A song for the King

In the Manager.

Watch out for my flocks,

Do not let them stray.

I am going on a journey

Far, far away.

But what shall I bring

As a present for the Child?

What shall I bring to the Manger?

I will bring a lamb,

Gentle, meek, and mild,

A lamb for the Child

In the Manager.

I’m just a shepherd boy,

Very poor I am—

But I know there is

A King in Bethlehem.

But what shall I bring

As a present for him?

What shall I bring to the Manger?

I will bring my heart

And give my heart to him.

I will bring my heart

To the Manger.

Douglas Sean O’Donnell, Matthew: All Authority in Heaven and on Earth, ed. R. Kent Hughes, Preaching the Word (Wheaton, IL: Crossway, 2013).

Exported from Logos Bible Software, 11:16 AM October 29, 2018.