The following is a first-person narrative written from the perspective of Herod the Great based on Matthew 2:1-21. While it is in part a work of imaginative Bible reading, it is true to the historical facts known about Herod the Great, a notoriously cruel and paranoid ruler who stopped at nothing to protect his own power.
I have been called many things: cunning, cruel, brilliant, lucky. I own them all. But there is one word I savor most: king.
Sweeter than honey is the sound of this word next to my name: King Herod.
Lest you think I was born with a silver spoon in my mouth, history shows otherwise. I was born a commoner like all of you, and I fought my way to the top.
I am a winner.
Although many have tried to snatch my kingship from me—there have been assassination plots, coups, rivalries—I have always outfoxed my enemies. It is an unfortunate business, but sometimes even wives and sons need to be eliminated. A man like me cannot be too careful.
If it has been necessary to get blood on my hands, surely I have done enough to wash them clean.
Am I not the great patron of our faith, who rebuilt the temple in Jerusalem, the pride of the Jews and the envy of the Gentiles? How many oxen and sheep have been sacrificed on those hallowed altars due to my benevolence? How many prayers have risen to heaven on my behalf? Surely no man has done more for God than I.
Yes, I allow God his rightful place. As long as he allows me mine.
My vindication is this: against all odds I reigned for 33 years, a feat that few can boast.
But there was one threat to my throne that I was unable to eradicate.
It began one day in the twilight of my reign when royal emissaries from the east, Magi, arrived at my palace. They were dressed in finer robes than mine, and came with an impressive retinue of servants. These unexpected guests troubled us by asking, “Where is he who has been born king of the Jews? We saw his star when it rose and have come to worship him.”
Did my ears deceive me? Or were these men uninformed that the title “King of the Jews” was rightfully mine, granted by the Roman Senate and certified by the hand of Caesar himself?
It is beyond my comprehension why Magi from the East would willingly come and bow down to a Jewish infant. In this world where so many are eager to take away your power and treasure, why give it freely?
The smell of some treachery filled my nostrils. I knew what I had to do, and I did it quickly.
First I sent away the Magi. Then I sought council with the chief priests and learned men of Israel, to see if some prophecy in the Scriptures could locate this new king. For surely anyone born a king must be one called Messiah. These gray-headed men searched the scrolls and found their answer.
“In the village of Bethlehem” they said, quoting from some prophet or another, “for out of you will come a ruler who will shepherd my people Israel.”
I had the information I needed. Sending them away, I then called the Magi in secret to find out exactly when the star had appeared. “Two years ago” they said. My stomach turned within me. All this time, right under my nose!
“The child you seek is in Bethlehem,” I told them. “Now go—search carefully for him and quickly report back to me so that I too may go and worship him.”
And so they trotted off, acting as my unwitting informants.
Days passed. My appetite left me. I trusted no one.
Finally, a messenger came into my chambers. He was trembling.
“I bring news, oh King” he said. “And I beg your mercy when I tell it.”
“Out with it!” I said. “What of the Magi? What do they report?”
“Your highness,” He croaked, “only that the Magi were spotted yesterday returning east by another road. Your spies came with the word and I have run to tell you.”
I threw my wine goblet across the room.
I should have known they would deceive me!
But when diplomacy fails, there is always the sharp edge of the sword.
I ordered my royal guard to go and kill all boys in the vicinity of Bethlehem two years old and younger, which they did. Spare your tears; there could not have been more than a few dozen that fit this description, and they were all peasants. Many would have died before reaching maturity anyway.
I think you will agree that it was the only thing I could have done to stamp out this imminent threat.
I died soon after these events, but at least went to my grave with my reputation and pride intact. I was not so foolish as to surrender that title king to another, and no man was able to pry it from my hands.
So why do I bother to tell you this story now? I speak from beyond the grave to warn you. This baby they call the Christ may appear harmless. I see they have even made a holiday called “Christmas” that is supposedly about love and cheer. But do not be fooled!
My instincts were correct. This one they call the Christ was a threat to my power—and a threat to any who want to remain in control of their lives.
From my place among the dead I have seen the madness of this story. How this so-called Christ lived in poverty and had no throne or palace. How he associated not with royalty but with riff-raff. How he never gained power but in fact was crucified, the most spectacular failure imaginable. And yet millions have bowed the knee and thrown away their lives for this pathetic excuse for a king. The Magi were the first to follow this foolish course.
And so I warn you. If you desire to remain the master of your own destiny, you must not cede an inch of ground to this one they call the Christ.
If you resist, I promise you this: You may not have a vast domain like I did. Yours may only be the domain of your own four walls, your own family, your own self. But at least you can lay your head on your pillow at night and say these words: “I am king.”
