In this article, we delve into the political upheaval surrounding the birth of Jesus and the challenging circumstances faced by his family, particularly in relation to the Romans.
There’s a pointed observation about how Christians sometimes overlook the complexities of that period:
Being betrothed typically means celibacy, complicating matters when it comes to an unexpected pregnancy. How did Mary explain hers? Claiming, “It’s God’s doing” might not have sufficed as a reasonable explanation.
Growing up, I rarely attended church, except for some visits to a Unitarian congregation during the two years my family lived in Boston. My father, an atheist, never shared his beliefs with us, as revealing such views could jeopardize his career. However, I distinctly recall one sermon from a Presbyterian church where the pastor addressed significant mistranslations in the Bible. One example was Mary’s designation as a virgin, which he suggested could more accurately be interpreted as “maid,” simply meaning a young woman. This doesn’t entirely resolve Mary’s betrothal issues, however.
A bit of trivia: among the gifts presented by the Magi—gold, frankincense, and myrrh—myrrh was then the most precious. Notably, it acted as an antibiotic, and the Magi, who were likely Persian priests, were probably astrologers.
Now, shifting focus, I want to discuss a recent Nicholas Cage film titled The Carpenter’s Son, which presents a contemporary perspective on Jesus’ young years. The film portrays a 21st-century mindset of “might makes right” steeped in a historically blank period of Jesus’ life.
This brings to mind that sermon addressing mistranslations. The pastor explained that the phrase “The meek shall inherit the earth” might be erroneously interpreted, suggesting what we understand as “meek” could be closer to “the powerful” or even “the superhuman.” He wrestled with reconciling this with Christ’s teachings on behalf of the poor and the oppressed, including debtors, as Michael Hudson has discussed. Although my memory of the details is somewhat faded, I think he referenced the phrase “Render unto Caesar what is Caesar’s,” highlighting a world dominated by the fierce survival of the fittest while distinguishing between the material and the spiritual realms.
By Joan Taylor, Professor Emerita of Christian Origins and Second Temple Judaism, King’s College London. Originally published at The Conversation
Each Christmas, millions sing the haunting carol “Silent Night,” with its serene line: “all is calm, all is bright.”
The Christmas narrative typically conveys peace and joy, an ambiance that infuses our celebrations, family gatherings, and gift exchanges. Countless holiday cards depict the Holy Family in a starry, tranquil setting—an idyllic scene in a sleepy village.
Yet, while researching my book, Boy Jesus: Growing up Judaean in Turbulent Times, I realized that this peaceful carol starkly contrasts with the realities facing Jesus’ family at the time of his birth.
The Gospel accounts reveal a narrative filled with turmoil and peril. For instance, a “manger” was not the charming crib we often picture, but a rough, foul-smelling feeding trough for animals. Placing a newborn in such a setting serves as a profound sign for the shepherds watching over their flocks amid the dangers that lurked in the night (Luke 2:12).
When these narratives are explored in depth and contextualized historically, the inherent dangers become ever more pronounced.
Consider King Herod. He emerges in the nativity accounts without any introductory remarks, and readers must instinctively understand he was a nefarious figure. Appointed by the Romans as their loyal client king of Judaea, Herod maintained his position because, in the Roman view, he managed his role adequately.
Jesus’ family, claiming descent from the lineage of Jewish kings through David, carried the weight of expectation to herald a future ruler. The Gospel of Matthew opens with a genealogical account of Jesus, underscoring its significance to his identity.
However, just a few years prior to Jesus’ birth, Herod desecrated and pillaged King David’s tomb. What impact did this have on Jesus’ family and the narratives they would share with him? How did they perceive the Romans?
A Time of Fear and Revolt
Herod’s association with Bethlehem, recognized as David’s birthplace, adds layers of danger and complexity.
Upon his appointment, Herod faced ousting by a rival supported by the Parthians—Rome’s adversary—who had garnered local adoration. Herod endured assaults from the populace near Bethlehem.
In retaliation, he and his forces brutally crushed the uprising. Once the Romans restored him to power, he erected a monument to commemorate his bloody victory at a site he named Herodium, overlooking Bethlehem. What were the local sentiments towards this act?
Rather than being a quiet little village, Bethlehem had enough significance to warrant construction of a major aqueduct to bring water to its center. Feeling threatened by Herod, Jesus’ family fled their home there, yet they were on the wrong side of Roman power from the start.
They were not alone in their fears or sentiments towards their colonizers. Events documented by first-century historian Josephus reveal a nation in open revolt soon after Jesus was born.
Upon Herod’s death, a surge of people seized the Jerusalem temple, calling for liberation. His son Archelaus responded with massacre. Various would-be kings and rulers contested dominion over parts of the region, including Galilee.
During this period, as recounted in the Gospel of Matthew, Joseph returned with his family from refuge in Egypt—to this independent Galilee and a village known as Nazareth.
However, independence in Galilee was short-lived. Roman forces, led by General Varus, marched from Syria, annexing allied forces, pillaging the nearby city of Sepphoris, destroying countless villages, and crucifying many Judaean rebels in a firm effort to suppress uprisings.
Once appointed officially to rule, Archelaus sustained a continual reign of terror.
A Nativity Story for Today
As a historian, I long for a film that authentically portrays Jesus and his family amidst this chaotic, unstable, and traumatic social landscape under Roman dominion.
Instead, viewers are introduced to The Carpenter’s Son, starring Nicholas Cage. This film draws inspiration partly from an apocryphal (non-biblical) text named the Paidika Iesou – the Childhood of Jesus – also known as The Infancy Gospel of Thomas.
One might envision the Paidika as an early counterpart to the popular television show *Smallville*, chronicling the life of young Clark Kent before his transformation into Superman.
However, instead of exploring Jesus’ struggles with his remarkable powers and destiny, the Paidika comprises a disturbing collection of tales pieced together over a hundred years after Jesus’ life.
This apocryphal text depicts the young Jesus as a formidable figure who could exact revenge on anyone, including his playmates and educators. It gained popularity among non-Jewish, previously pagan audiences who straddled an uneasy position within society.
This miracle-working Jesus enacts retribution on his foes—and also on innocents. At one point, a child accidentally collides with Jesus, and Jesus retaliates lethally. Joseph warns Mary, “Do not let him out of the house, lest those who provoke him may die.”
These narratives rest upon a troubling notion that one must never provoke a god’s wrath. This young Jesus exhibits an immediate and deadly anger, lacking a clear moral compass.
Additionally, the text implies that Jesus’ actions against playmates and teachers were justified due to their identity as “the Jews.” Just a few lines in, “A Jew” appears as an accuser, necessitating a content warning for readers.
In *The Carpenter’s Son*, the nativity scene is anything but tranquil. It’s filled with screams and horrific depictions of Roman soldiers throwing infants into flames. Yet, similar to many films, the violence is portrayed as purely evil and arbitrary, devoid of historical context regarding Judaea and Rome.
Ultimately, it’s the richer, more complex story of the nativity and Jesus’ formative years that holds modern relevance amid our current era of division and “othering,” as many feel the weight of unyielding powers.
Some churches across the United States are currently adapting nativity scenes to reflect contemporary issues, such as ICE detentions and the deportation of immigrants and refugees.
In many respects, the true nativity encapsulates not a simple tale of peace and joy, but rather one of conflict—and yet, inexplicable hope.
