And death squads spread their curse across the world.
But every Herod dies, and comes alone
To stand before the Lamb upon the throne.*
There they are, shuffling their dusty feet—refugees in a long line. Their eyes are wide—tired, scared. Every century, every country has experienced these streams of displaced persons. It is not just a thing that happened "way back when," but is happening around the world even as you read these words. On this day, we remember the Holy Family's flight to Egypt and the death of the innocents left in Judea.
We recall Herod's vicious, visceral actions to save his tiny kingdom, a kingdom he could not take with him beyond the grave. Every Saddam Hussein, Mao Tse-tung, Benito Mussolini, Joseph Stalin, and Vladimir Lenin grasp at their kingdoms the same way, not caring whose life it costs to keep their power. Yet every dictator, president, king, senator, and CEO will die one day. Their wealth, power, and 'stuff' will remain and crumble to pieces as they turn to dust in the grave. Their kingdoms and empires will not save them from death, nor the judgement seat. No one else can die for them—and as they stand bare before the throne of God, they will find they are just as much in need of a Saviour as everyone else... But by then it will be too late.
As we remember the Holy Innocents—and the unholy tyrant who desolated "Rachel's children"—let us bear in mind that one day we, too, will die alone to stand stark before God's throne... The refugee who fled to Egypt, returned to Galilee, walked the streets of Jerusalem, died, and rose again is the only one Who can cover our shame and turn it to glory; Who can remove our sin from us "as far as the East is from the West." Let us turn to Him before, like Herod, it is too late.
*Reprinted with the author's gracious permission. If you have not read Malcolm Guite's blog or books, you should do so here. If you click the poem's title, you can hear Malcolm read the sonnet himself—it is beautiful.