The Boys Jesus Never Grew Up With

In Matthew's account of Herod's massacre we see one of the darkest moments in the story of Jesus’ birth. We often pass over it quickly, eager to move on from the manger to the ministry of Jesus. But, I think Matthew records the event for a reason.

"When Herod saw that he was deceived by the wise men, he was exceedingly angry; and he sent forth and put to death all the male children who were in Bethlehem and in all its districts, from two years old and under..." 

(Matthew 2:16)

Think about it for a moment. What that event meant.

If Jesus later returned to Bethlehem as a child, He may have found something hauntingly different from what most children experience. The boys who would likely have been His playmates—the children who might have raced with Him through the streets, climbed the hillsides, or learned trades alongside Him—were gone. Herod's soldiers had taken them.

Now, I can’t say with certainty that every boy Jesus would have known was killed, but it is certainly possible that many, if not most, of the boys close to His age were among Herod's victims. Bethlehem was a small village. Historians estimate its population may have been only a few hundred people, meaning the number of young boys was likely small, but the tragedy devastated an entire community.

Imagine growing up in a town where nearly every family had an empty place at the table.

Imagine mothers who could never hear a child's laughter without remembering the one they had lost.

Imagine fathers whose dreams for their sons had vanished in a single terrible morning.

Jesus was spared because God warned Joseph in a dream, and the family fled to Egypt before Herod's soldiers arrived (Matthew 2:13–15). God's plan of redemption depended on the Messiah living to fulfill His mission. Jesus was preserved because He had come to become the sacrifice that would one day conquer death itself.

Those little boys died because another king feared losing his throne.

Jesus would later die because He willingly gave up His throne's privileges to save the world.

Suffering Was Not Foreign to Jesus

There is another lesson here that is easy to miss. From His earliest days, Jesus lived in a world marked by violence, injustice, and grief. We sometimes picture His childhood as peaceful and untouched by sorrow. But even before He could speak, hatred pursued Him. Before He ever preached about suffering, suffering had already touched His family.

Mary and Joseph became refugees in Egypt. Families in Bethlehem buried their sons. Rachel, as Jeremiah had foretold, was pictured as "weeping for her children" (Matthew 2:18; Jeremiah 31:15).

The shadow of the cross stretches all the way back to the cradle.

There is one more thought worth considering.

Those children remind us that following God's plan does not always shield innocent people from pain. We live in a broken world where evil rulers make evil choices, and innocent people often suffer the consequences. The massacre at Bethlehem is not evidence that God was absent. It is evidence that humanity desperately needed the Savior who had come.

Ironically, Herod accomplished the opposite of what he intended. He sought to stop God's plan by killing children. Instead, his cruelty became another witness to the truth of Scripture and another reminder that no earthly king can overturn God's purposes.

The little boys of Bethlehem are never named. History has forgotten them.

But God has not.

Their story quietly reminds us that Jesus did not come into a perfect world. He came into our world—a world filled with sorrow, injustice, fear, and death. And He came precisely because that is the kind of world that needed saving.

The children Jesus never grew up with point us to the Man who would one day grow up to lay down His own life so that death would not have the final word.

When Desire Meets Discipleship

I think one of the more confusing ideas in our culture today is the belief that if someone is “born” with a certain desire or inclination, then that desire should automatically be accepted and embraced without question.

The reasoning usually goes something like this:  “If this is natural for me… then it must be right for me.”

And if anyone suggests restraint, self-control, or moral boundaries, that person is often viewed as hateful or uncaring.

But when you really stop and think about it, that idea falls apart pretty quickly.

The truth is, every one of us is born with tendencies we are not supposed to simply give ourselves over to. We all have weaknesses. We all have desires that pull us in wrong directions. That is part of being human in a fallen world.

One person may naturally struggle with anger. Another with pride. Another with selfishness. Someone else may battle greed, jealousy, lust, dishonesty, or addiction.

The Bible never teaches that every natural desire is good simply because it feels natural.

Not All Bubbles Rise the Same: Strength That Helps Others Grow

The next time you are near an aquarium, don’t watch the fish, pay attention to the bubbles. I’m convinced you will notice something simple and surprisingly meaningful, but something you’ve never taken the time to think about. All the bubbles rise—but not all in the same way. 

Some bubbles are large and move quickly, almost effortlessly. Others are small and drift around on their way upward at a little slower rate. Some rise in a straight line, while others slide along the glass. And every now and then, a bubble gets caught on a plant or decoration, pausing for a time before finally continuing upward.

When you think about it, that’s a lot like the Christian life.

All believers are moving toward Christ, but not at the same pace or in the same way. Some Christians appear strong, steady, and confident. Others struggle. Some hesitate. A few get “stuck” along the way. And that raises an important question:  What should strong Christians do with the weaknesses of others?

The Bible’s answer is both clear and challenging:  help them rise.

When Our Past Gains Weight

I recently learned that German culture has an interesting word that sounds funny to Americans—Kummerspeck. It comes from Germany, and it literally means “grief bacon.” 

The word describes the weight someone might gain during a season of sorrow. Often, when grief settles into our hearts, it shows up in our habits, energy levels, and even on our bathroom scales.

That word reminds us of an important truth:  what we carry inside eventually shows up somewhere.

The same thing can happen to us spiritually.

What Does a Bread Machine Teach Us About Worship?

I enjoy using my bread machine. There’s something quietly satisfying about pouring in the ingredients, closing the lid, and letting it do its work. A little flour, some water, sugar, a packet of yeast—and before long, the whole loaf begins to change. That small amount of yeast works its way through everything. You don’t see it happening, but there is no way you can miss the results.

That experience has helped me think more carefully about a conversation I had with a friend who said it didn’t really matter whether the bread used in Communion was leavened or not. On one level, I understand the sentiment. God cares about the heart, not the recipe. But Scripture also shows us that God teaches through symbols—and when it comes to leaven, the Bible is remarkably consistent. And—if you’ve ever watched yeast do its work in making bread, that consistency starts to make a lot of sense.