As Rachel was expiring from childbirth she named her son Benoni: son of my sorrows. And then Jacob’s cherished wife dies. Jacob had worked under Laban’s tyrannical demands for fourteen years in order to claim Rachel as his bride. She’d been barren for long years before bringing forth his beloved son Joseph. And now his bride perished in anguished sorrow. Jacob buried her in Bethlehem (Ramah is relatively nearby to Bethlehem). Rachel had prayed, “Give me children or I die” and it was in bringing forth her second son that she died. This baby boy was both a son of sorrow and a son of his father’s right hand.

The hallmark of Christmas is joy. Ear to ear grins. Hot chocolate mustaches. Gleeful shouts as presents are unwrapped. But your joy, true joy, is given to you by the grief of the Man of sorrows. The story of Christ’s birth, which brought glad tidings and peace on earth, is swiftly followed by a grisly tale of the ravenous wolf of sin. The Advent story, to put it another way, is no Hallmark movie. It doesn’t airbrush away the vileness of depravity, nor does it paper over the weight of our grief & suffering. The Advent story tells us that Jesus had come to engage in fierce combat with that ancient dragon. Christ in the manger is not a story of escapist sentimentality. It is the first jab & parry in the war He’d come to wage on evil.
The Text
Then Herod, when he saw that he was mocked of the wise men, was exceeding wroth, and sent forth, and slew all the children that were in Bethlehem, and in all the coasts thereof, from two years old and under, according to the time which he had diligently enquired of the wise men. Then was fulfilled that which was spoken by Jeremy the prophet, saying, In Rama was there a voice heard, lamentation, and weeping, and great mourning, Rachel weeping for her children, and would not be comforted, because they are not.
Matthew 2:16-18
Tyrannical Brutes
The slaughter of the infants of Bethlehem is staggering. Herod stands in a long line of brutes who use their throne to slaughter the innocent. Pharaoh killed the Hebrew infants. Saul deputized Doeg (an Edomite like Herod) to slaughter the priests in Nob for helping David. Nebuchadnezzar starved the Jews of Jerusalem (during the two year siege, circa 587BC), and then as he marched them off to exile he brutally slaughtered many of them (Cf. Lam. 2:19-22, Ps 137:8-9, 2 Ki. 25:20-21).
The thing which set Herod off was the wise men refusing to cooperate with his design to destroy the Christ-child. Herod had been informed that Bethlehem was prophesied to be the birthplace of the new davidic king (Micah 5:2), and he knew that the star had appeared less than two years before, implying the baby was no older than that. Caesar Augustus is said to have stated that he’d rather be one of Herod’s swine than one of his sons. Herod’s brutality was well-known. But in the slaughter of Bethlehem’s sons, his wicked wrath is put on full and gruesome display.
Adam & Eve submitted to the Serpent, and reduced mankind to the level of brute. The first tyrant bludgeoned his brother. Man’s depravity always leads to murder. It leads to devouring others. The coming of Christ the King is good news, and this is put in stark relief when contrasted with the reign of Man in bondage to sin and Satan. Herod is the City of Man. He is a mirror held up to us to see the depravity of the human heart. But in Christ, the Kingdom of God has come upon us.
Weeping Exiles
Matthew tells us that this slaughter was a fulfillment of Jeremiah’s prophecy in Jeremiah 31:15, “Thus saith the LORD; A voice was heard in Ramah, lamentation, and bitter weeping; Rahel weeping for her children refused to be comforted for her children, because they were not.”
When the Babylonians took the Jews into exile, they released Jeremiah at Ramah: “Nebuzaradan the captain of the guard had let him go from Ramah, when he had taken him being bound in chains among all that were carried away captive of Jerusalem and Judah, which were carried away captive unto Babylon (Jer 40:1).” Jeremiah then is taken down to Egypt by a remnant of Jewish leaders (Jer. 42-43). Meanwhile, Jerusalem’s young men in particular were being cruelly slaughtered at Riblah (Jer. 52:27). There are echoes of Jeremiah in the story of Joseph whisking his wife and son down to Egypt (in fulfillment of another prophecy, Cf. Mt. 2:15), while Herod’s henchmen slaughter Bethlehem’s boys.
This is the context for Jeremiah’s prophecy. His prophecy had a two-fold fulfillment; first in the events that shortly followed his prophecy. But these events themselves become a type of the slaughter of Bethlehem’s sons. Both Nebuchadnezzar & Herod are non-davidic kings slaughtering the sons of Israel. A theme we’ll revisit in a future sermon. For now, it suits our purpose to simply make mention of it.
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The biblical authors view the law as a unified whole, that the Sinai legislation is inextricably bound up with the Sinai covenant, and that it comes to the Christian therefore not directly but mediated through the accomplished work of Christ.

The Need for Proper Balance
Discerning how to apply the law of Moses to the Christian life proves challenging because the law of Moses appears to be both rejected and received in the New Testament. At times the biblical authors will critique the law as impotent and obsolete (e.g., Heb. 7:19; 8:13), whereas at other times the biblical authors will praise the use of the law for Christian instruction (e.g., 2 Tim. 3:15–16). More than that, seeking application for the law is fraught with danger. On the one hand, if we overemphasize redemptive-historical continuity, we run the risk of, like the “foolish Galatians” (Gal. 3:1), losing the gospel. On the other hand, if we overemphasize redemptive-historical discontinuity, we run the risk of ignoring divine covenantal instruction and thus finding ourselves awash in a sea of antinomianism.
To achieve the biblically faithful balance, we must recognize that there are elements of continuity and discontinuity between the law of Moses and the Christian life. Whole books have been written on this subject, but in what follows I will offer two ways to apply the law of Moses to Christian life.[1]
The Law as Pointer to Christ’s Finished Work
First, Christians rightly apply the law of Moses to their lives when they trust in Christ’s finished work of fulfillment and covenant ratification on their behalf. Christ fulfilled the law through his perfect obedience and through his death that ratified the new covenant. His finished work should lead Christians to trust afresh in Christ as our only hope for righteousness before God.
Throughout Jesus’s life he kept the commandments and thus fulfilled the law. At his birth he was circumcised on the eighth day, and his mother and adoptive father kept the law of purification associated with birth (Luke 2:21–24). As a boy, he exemplified a life of wisdom and attentiveness to God’s will, while maintaining submission to his parents (Luke 2:40–52). As a man, unlike Adam and Israel, Jesus as God’s son exhibited covenant loyalty to God in his time of testing (Matt. 4:1–11; cf. Deut. 6:13, 16; 8:3). Throughout his ministry he embodied the twin summary commands of love of God and love of neighbor, thus fulfilling the true intent of the law. On account of his life of righteousness, Jesus is “the Righteous One” on our behalf (Acts 22:14; 1 John 2:1; cf. Matt. 3:15).
Not only did Jesus fulfill the law in his perfect life, but he also brought it to its intended conclusion, ratifying the new covenant through his death. Many New Testament texts speak of the planned obsolescence of the Sinai covenant and its accompanying legislation. In Jesus’s teaching, he did away with the food laws, as well as the temple tax the law required (Matt. 17:24–27; Mark 7:19; cf. Exod. 30:11–16; Lev. 11:1–47). At the Last Supper, Jesus interpreted his death as inaugurating the new covenant, replacing the old (Luke 22:20). Paul and Hebrews call the Sinai covenant “old” in contrast with the “new” covenant Jesus ratified (2 Cor. 3:14; Heb. 8:6). For Paul, the Sinai covenant was in force only until the arrival of the Messiah, and at his coming he abolished the law in its entirety, such that it is no longer binding for Christians as covenant legislation (Rom. 10:4; Gal. 3:15–4:7; Eph. 2:15).
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Written by Carl R. Trueman |
Tuesday, May 16, 2023
Nietzsche noted it takes a long time for societies to grasp the significance of the death of God. But we are surely at that point now. Our artistic class makes that very clear, and so it is time to put these artists in the dock: We get it. You hate Christianity and the Western cultures that it informed.

One of the hallmarks of the modern age has been the death of the sacred. Nietzsche’s Madman understood that this was one of the central consequences of the death of God. But he, unlike the polite atheists he berated in the town square, knew that this was both an exhilarating and a terrifying matter: Now human beings would themselves have to rise to be gods, to create their own systems of value, their own sacred rites, their own meaning of life.
This was never going to be either easy or stable. Nor has it ultimately led human beings to transcend themselves and ascend to some higher, übermenschlich plane. Today we witness merely the desecration of all that was once held to be sacred. Our culture remains trapped by the sacred idioms of the past and doomed to the constant and increasingly conformist transgression of old boundaries.
Take, for example, the latest “art” promoted by the European Union: A series of photographs, currently on display at the European Parliament building, taken by lesbian artist Elisabeth Ohlson. The images depict, among other things, scenes of Jesus surrounded by gay men dressed in leather bondage gear. Now, if Jesus were alive today he would certainly be speaking to such people, as he spoke to prostitutes and tax collectors in first-century Palestine. But Ohlson claims that her work represents Christ “loving LGBT rights.” Whether all gay people like to see themselves caricatured in bondage gear might itself be an interesting question to ask. The left’s favored word “fetishization” came to my mind as I looked at the pictures. What is not interesting, however, is the artwork itself.
The display represents both the bankruptcy of modern culture and its inability to offer anything even approximating a positive vision for humanity. For generations now the artistic establishment has been in thrall to the notion of transgression. But transgression is only significant if there is something—some rule, some custom, something sacred—to transgress. Without such, transgression itself rapidly degenerates into a series of empty gestures that tend to become both more extreme and more vacuous at the same time. Art then ceases to be about embodying and transmitting cultural value and is instead a momentary iconoclastic performance that parasitically and paradoxically depends upon resurrecting icons that have long since fallen. Only because there is a folk memory of religion does the general public have some notion that these banal photographs are meant to be shocking. And only to the increasingly marginal numbers of actual Christians are they truly so.
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