She Refused to be Comforted

When grief takes more than a minute.

Can Herod’s violence be overstated? Scholars debate just how many infants could have been killed. Whether it was two, ten or one hundred, the intent is brutal. He is threatened by a baby—by the mere idea of a rival king—and so he orders the massacre of every boy under the age of two in and around Bethlehem. The story is disturbing. For most of us reading this in our situational cushioning and privilege, it’s also a bit distant. Even so, we know deep down and not too far away, such violence and revenge is well within human capability.

But today, one line from Matthew’s citation of Jeremiah stood out to me: Rachel weeping for her children, and she refused to be comforted, because they were no more.”

Is Rachel’s refusal to be comforted a sacred act of protest?

There’s something profoundly human—and profoundly biblical—about grief that isn’t ready to be soothed. We often rush to comfort or explain away suffering. But Matthew lets Rachel grieve. So would the psalmist. They don’t say “But everything will be okay,” or “She’ll understand someday, everything for a reason.” No. She is inconsolable.

And God seems to honor that grief by including it in the story of Jesus.

Interestingly, in Jeremiah’s original context, Rachel’s grief is eventually answered with a promise of restoration. But Matthew doesn’t rush us there. He lets Rachel weep. He holds the moment of loss.

It’s easy to think of Christmas as joyful, and rightly so. But Matthew reminds us that the arrival of Jesus brings disruption. His presence is a threat to powers-that-be. His birth, like his cross, stirs up the powers of the world. And while we may rush to the next chapter or the next comfort, there is holy space here to sit with lament—to let Rachel weep.

If you’ve ever refused comfort because the pain was just too raw or the loss too great—know that even that refusal has a place in the gospel. God does not rush past your grief. God holds space for it. Yes, Jesus will grow up and conquer death, but it takes more than a minute.

Matthew 2:16-23

When Herod knew the magi had fooled him, he grew very angry. He sent soldiers to kill all the children in Bethlehem and in all the surrounding territory who were two years old and younger, according to the time that he had learned from the magi. This fulfilled the word spoken through Jeremiah the prophet:

A voice was heard in Ramah, weeping and much grieving. Rachel weeping for her children, and she did not want to be comforted, because they were no more.

After King Herod died, an angel from the Lord appeared in a dream to Joseph in Egypt. “Get up,” the angel said, “and take the child and his mother and go to the land of Israel. Those who were trying to kill the child are dead.” Joseph got up, took the child and his mother, and went to the land of Israel. But when he heard that Archelaus ruled over Judea in place of his father Herod, Joseph was afraid to go there. Having been warned in a dream, he went to the area of Galilee. He settled in a city called Nazareth so that what was spoken through the prophets might be fulfilled: He will be called a Nazarene.

Psalm 137:1-4

Alongside Babylon’s streams, there we sat down, crying because we remembered Zion.
We hung our lyres up in the trees there because that’s where our captors asked us to sing; our tormentors requested songs of joy: “Sing us a song about Zion!” they said. But how could we possibly sing the Lord’s song on foreign soil?

Prayer

God,

I’m not actually sure I’ve experienced real grief. Well, I’m sure that’s not true. I suppose in one way, anyone who has left the womb has experience some level of grief. But Rachel’s grief? Or that of those mothers, fathers, and family in Bethlehem? …or those in Kibbutzim and Moshavim? …those in Gaza and Iran? Honestly…I have no personal clue about it all. Just an understanding that such grief exists.

Lord, it’s really hard to sit with these things these days. So continue to push me to the things I can do, the people I can affect and the changes I can effect. Give me grace for what I have not and grace for what I can do. Give me wisdom to do things well and the get-go to do it at all.

Holy father of all creation, I see your loving justice in Jesus of Nazareth. By your Spirit & in Christ, make me more like him. Amen.