Hidden Christmas | King Herod
It was the summer of 2015, and we were preparing to launch our church. There was just one problem—we didn’t yet have a place to meet. So I began visiting schools and gyms around Keller, looking for a location where we could gather.
One day, I brought along a mentor and founding elder, Dr. Daniel Prescott. I was dressed like myself—shorts and a t-shirt. Dr. Prescott, as always, wore a suit and tie. When we arrived at the middle school, the principal greeted us, walked right past my outstretched hand, and shook Dr. Prescott’s instead.
“You must be the pastor,” he said.
Dr. Prescott laughed. “No, I’m not.”
The principal looked me up and down, then back at Dr. Prescott, and asked, “Well then… where’s the pastor?”
Everything in me wanted to react. I was offended. How dare he assume the person with the suit was the one in charge?
That moment—small as it seems—helps us feel something that shows up in Scripture in a much bigger, much darker way.
“Where Is the King?”
In Matthew 2, we find King Herod sitting securely on his throne. He is powerful, wealthy, and politically connected. By all appearances, he is the king.
Then the wise men arrive.
They walk into Herod’s palace, see him seated on his throne, look him in the eye, and ask a shocking question:
“Where is the king of the Jews?”
That’s not a question you ask a king while he’s sitting on his throne.
Matthew tells us that when Herod heard this, he was “deeply disturbed.” That may be the understatement of the century. Herod was furious—offended, threatened, enraged.
Why?
Because Herod’s entire life was built around protecting his kingdom.
A Kingdom Built on Fear
Historically, Herod was known as Herod the Great—not because of his character, but because of his power. He was unimaginably wealthy, possibly wealthier than Solomon. He built massive palaces, fortresses, and architectural marvels that still stand today. Stones so large modern cranes couldn’t move them.
Why did he build all of this?
To protect his power.
To protect his throne.
To protect his kingdom.
But beneath the wealth and the power was something else: fear.
Herod was deeply paranoid. He believed someone was always trying to take what was his. And when the wise men spoke of a new king—one born, not crowned—fear turned into rage.
Herod pretended he wanted to worship Jesus. In reality, he wanted to eliminate the threat.
And when his plan failed, his fear exploded into violence. He ordered the massacre of every boy in and around Bethlehem under the age of two.
This is part of the Christmas story we don’t put on greeting cards.
A Traumatic Birth Story
We often tell the story of Jesus’ birth as soft and sentimental—peaceful carols, glowing stables, silent nights.
But Scripture tells a different story.
Mary faced shame, isolation, and fear. She carried the stress of a dangerous pregnancy under social rejection. She labored without safety or dignity. Jesus was born in a place meant for animals. And shortly after His birth, His family fled in the middle of the night as refugees, escaping a murderous king.
The birth of Jesus wasn’t tidy or comfortable.
It was traumatic.
And it happened because earthly power felt threatened by the presence of the true King.
The Hidden Christmas Truth
Here’s the uncomfortable truth at the heart of this story:
If we’re honest, we are more like King Herod than we’d like to admit.
In our weakest moments, we want the world to revolve around us. We want our will to be done. We want control. We want to sit on the throne of our own lives.
We want God’s blessings—but not God’s authority.
We want God to serve us—but not to rule us.
And when things don’t go our way—when our plans fail, when prayers aren’t answered how we hoped, when something threatens our sense of control—our Herodian instincts rise up.
Even God can start to feel like a threat when He challenges our throne.
The Question Still Echoes
The wise men’s question still echoes today:
“Where is the king?”
And maybe the more honest version is:
Who’s actually sitting on the throne of my life?
Jesus Himself wrestled with this in the garden of Gethsemane. He prayed honestly—“Take this cup from me.” But then He surrendered completely:
“Not my will, but your will be done.”
That is the invitation of Christmas.
Not just to admire the baby in the manger—but to surrender to the King on the throne.
Getting Off the Throne
What would it look like for you to get off the throne?
In your family
In your finances
In your work
In your future
What would it mean to pray—not as a formality, but as a surrender—“Not my will, but yours be done”?
Christmas reveals a King who didn’t seize power, but laid it down. A King who didn’t protect Himself, but gave Himself. A King who reigns not through fear, but through love.
The hidden message of Christmas is not just that a King has come.
It’s that we are invited to step aside—and let Him reign.
