Location: Jerusalem
Time: Circa 4 B.C.
Primary Scriptures: Matthew 2 — The visit of the Magi and Herod’s response to the news of Jesus’ birth.
Herod, seated on an ornate throne in his palace in Jerusalem, looks weary yet calculating. His words carry the weight of a ruler who is both cunning and deeply insecure, haunted by the whispers of prophecy and the shadows of his own legacy.
Herod:
You call me Herod the Great, and with good reason. I have ruled this land with strength and cunning, holding together a fragile peace between Rome and these restless people who dream of ancient glories. My name is etched into the stones of Caesarea, the walls of the Temple, and the towers of my palaces. Yet, for all my accomplishments, I find myself troubled, disturbed by whispers of a child — a king, they say.
It began with the Magi, scholars from the East, arriving in my court. They were men of wisdom and wealth, their presence commanding respect. But their words? Their words were a dagger to my heart. “Where is the one who has been born king of the Jews?” they asked. “We saw His star when it rose and have come to worship Him” (Matthew 2:2).
Born king of the Jews? I am the king of the Jews! Rome itself gave me that title. What is this they speak of, this usurper born in secret? My mind raced as they spoke, and behind my mask of calm, a storm raged. Could this be the fulfillment of those old prophecies, the ones these people cling to with such fervor? A ruler from Bethlehem, a shepherd for Israel?
I dismissed the Magi and summoned the chief priests and teachers of the law. “Where is the Messiah to be born?” I demanded. They did not hesitate. “In Bethlehem in Judea,” they said, citing the words of the prophet: ‘But you, Bethlehem, in the land of Judah, are by no means least among the rulers of Judah; for out of you will come a ruler who will shepherd my people Israel’ (Matthew 2:6).
Bethlehem. A quiet village, barely worth mentioning. Yet, if the prophets were right, it could be the cradle of rebellion, the birthplace of my undoing. I called the Magi back, feigning interest and piety. “Go and search carefully for the child,” I told them. “As soon as you find Him, report to me, so that I too may go and worship Him” (Matthew 2:8). Worship? No. My intentions were far from holy.
I watched as they left, their camels disappearing into the horizon. I waited for their return, my patience thinning with every passing day. When I learned they had deceived me, leaving by another route, my fury burned like the sun over the Judean hills. I am Herod! I do not tolerate defiance!
If this child was indeed the one they sought, then he posed a threat to everything I have built. My crown, my legacy, my power — all of it could crumble because of a peasant boy in Bethlehem. I had to act. Brutality has always been my weapon, and I wielded it without hesitation.
I ordered the deaths of every male child in Bethlehem and its vicinity, two years old and under. Let the historians call it cruel; I call it necessary. Better to snuff out the spark before it ignites a fire. Yet, even as my soldiers carried out my orders, I could not shake a sense of foreboding. What if this child escaped? What if the whispers of prophecy cannot be silenced by swords?
My advisors speak of stars and signs, of a God who moves through the heavens. They speak of hope for a people long oppressed, of a king who will reign with justice and peace. I laugh at their tales, but in the quiet of the night, I cannot dismiss them entirely. What if this child is not just a rival but something more? What if he is the fulfillment of promises made long before Rome claimed this land?
I am Herod the Great, a builder of cities, a ruler of men. Yet, I am haunted by the thought of a child in Bethlehem, a child whose name I do not know but whose destiny, it seems, is written in the stars.
Closing Thought:
Even the greatest earthly powers cannot thwart the plans of God. Herod’s fear and cruelty only highlight the unstoppable purpose of the Savior’s birth.
— Herod the Great
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