An AI generated synopsis of Dan Roukema’s January 4 message

Every gospel writer tells the story of Jesus with intention. They are not merely recording events; they are proclaiming meaning. Matthew’s birth narrative is a case in point. It is short, selective, and—if we let it speak on its own terms—deeply provocative.

In what follows, I want to do three things:
first, tell Matthew’s story carefully;
second, briefly address common historical concerns people raise about it;
and finally, reflect on what Matthew is inviting us to see—and to do.

As G.K. Chesterton once wrote, “The open mind is like an open mouth: eventually it is meant to clamp down on something nourishing.” My hope is that we leave this story not merely informed, but fed.

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1. The Story Matthew Tells

Matthew begins like this:

After Jesus was born in Bethlehem in Judea, during the time of King Herod, Magi from the east came to Jerusalem and asked, “Where is the one who has been born king of the Jews? We saw his star when it rose and have come to worship him.” (Matthew 2:1–2)

Before we go any further, we need to pause on that word Magi. Many English translations soften it to “wise men,” but that risks misrepresenting what Matthew is doing.

The Magi were not three gentle, elderly sages wandering in quietly to admire a newborn. They were sorcerers—court scholars and political advisors associated with power, astrology, and imperial influence. The Greek word Matthew uses (magoi) is the same word used in Acts 8 for Simon the Sorcerer. Our words magic and magician come from it.

In other words, Matthew is intentionally unsettling us.

According to Middle Eastern historian Kenneth Bailey, these Magi would likely have been high-ranking officials, traveling with servants, security, and visible wealth. Their arrival in Jerusalem would not have felt quaint or charming. It would have felt threatening.

And that explains the next line:

When King Herod heard this he was disturbed—and all Jerusalem with him.

Of course he was. A foreign political-religious delegation has just entered the capital asking about a rival king. In effect, they are saying to Herod, “We have heard your replacement has been born.”

This is not a sweet nativity scene. It is geopolitical drama.

Herod consults his own religious experts, who point him to the prophet Micah: the Messiah is to be born in Bethlehem. The irony is sharp—foreign sorcerers bring news of God’s work, while Israel’s own leaders merely supply directions.

Herod pretends piety, asking the Magi to report back so that he too can “worship” the child. We know better. His later order to kill all boys two years and under reveals his fear. Power, once threatened, becomes violent.

The Magi, however, follow the star to Bethlehem, enter the house, kneel before the child, and offer gifts. Warned in a dream, they return home by another route.

That is all Matthew gives us. No manger. No shepherds. No angels. No songs.

Why?

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2. Addressing the Historical Concerns

Some people get hung up on the timeline. Could the Magi really have arrived when Matthew suggests? Wouldn’t their journey have taken months? Why does Herod kill children up to two years old?

These concerns usually arise not from Matthew’s text, but from later traditions that try to combine all the Christmas characters into one scene. Matthew never says the Magi arrive on the night Jesus is born.

In fact, it’s likely that Mary and Joseph remain near Bethlehem for at least forty days after the birth, so that Mary can complete the purification rites at the Temple in Jerusalem—a short two hour walk away. It would make little sense for them to return to Nazareth (a week’s walk) immediately, only to travel back again weeks later.

This gives plenty of time for the Magi to arrive.

The more substantial concern is how Matthew’s account fits with Luke’s. Luke narrates Bethlehem → Jerusalem → Nazareth. Matthew narrates Bethlehem → Egypt → Nazareth. Can these be harmonized?

Possibly—but that is a very modern obsession.

Ancient biographies routinely compressed timelines, omitted episodes, and rearranged material to make theological points. The Gospels do this throughout. 

So the better question is not, “How do we force these stories into one timeline?” but rather, “What is Matthew telling us by telling the story this way?”

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3. What Matthew Wants Us to See

Again and again, he shows how Jesus’ story echoes Israel’s Scriptures:

• A star rising, recalling Numbers 24.
• A ruler from Bethlehem, from Micah.
• Foreign nations bringing gold and incense, from Isaiah 60.
• A journey into and out of Egypt, echoing Israel’s own story.

Matthew wants his Jewish readers to see that this is not a detour from God’s plan. This is where the story was always headed.

And here is the startling part: the ones who respond are not the insiders.

The Magi—outsiders, sorcerers, foreigners—see the sign, ask the question, and go to worship. The religious experts know the Scriptures, know the location, and stay put.

That is Matthew’s provocation.

Who actually goes to worship the newborn King?

Those who know where Jesus is do not go. Those who are told where he is—go.

And that leaves us with an uncomfortable question:
Am I willing to go to the place where I already know Jesus can be found?

Jesus himself tells us where he is:
with the hungry,
the thirsty,
the stranger,
the sick,
the imprisoned,
the overlooked.

We do not lack information. We lack will.

Matthew presses us further:
Are we like Herod—protecting our power, threatened by another King?
Or are we willing to leave our palaces and kneel?

The good news is this: whether we worship or not, the King is born. God continues to set the star before us. Awakening is still possible.

If we feel spiritually dull, it may not be because Jesus is absent—but because we are unwilling to go where he has told us he will be.

So do not walk away from faith when that happens. Try something braver.

Follow the star.

Go to the hungry.
Go to the lonely.
Go to the struggling.
Go to the forgotten.

And kneel there.

Watch the full message here.