A Stranger Manger ~ Matthew 2:1-12

 

One of the things Matthew does best is keep Christmas strange. We tend to make the birth of Jesus cozy and familiar—soft lighting, silent nights, everyone knowing their lines. But Matthew refuses to let us settle into something comfortable. He tells the story in a way that unsettles us, because God’s work often begins by unsettling us.

Right near the beginning of the story, Matthew introduces us to strangers—foreigners—outsiders—who somehow see what others miss. They come asking a question that drives the whole passage: “Where is the child who has been born king?”

That question—Where?—is not just about geography. It’s about recognition.
Where is God at work?
Where is hope being born?
Where should we be paying attention?

The Magi: Unexpected Guests

Matthew tells us that “Magi from the East” arrive in Jerusalem. We’ve heard this story so many times that we may miss how shocking it is.

This is no easy road nor Middle Eastern vacation.

These are not insiders.
They are not Jews.
They are not part of Israel’s story—or so everyone thinks. [Magi characters making their way toward the manger – every year our Magi make a long perilous journey through our living room; navigating large piles of books, climbing mounds of Christmas decorations, and stealthily trying to avoid large, curious, cats]

 

They come from far away. They speak differently. They practice a different religion. They study the stars. The truth is that much of what they do would have been viewed with deep suspicion by faithful Jews. Spiritually and culturally their practice of astrology was expressly forbidden by the Torah (e.g. Leviticus 19:26, 31; 20:6, 27; Deut. 18:9-13).

And yet—they are the ones who notice that something world-changing is happening. They are the ones who truly recognize God at work - not the religious establishment, not the powerful, not the people who “should have known,” but foreigners – outsiders - strangers.

That should slow us down. Are you willing to slow down?

Because Matthew is already telling us something essential about who this child is for. From the very beginning, Jesus draws in people who are far off—geographically, culturally, socially, spiritually. People who don’t quite fit, don’t measure up, don’t present as faithful.

And these strangers don’t come empty-handed. They come bearing gifts. Gifts that will sustain, honor, and prepare this child for the life ahead. Strangers often do that in Scripture. They are the ones who show up with unexpected gifts.

Fear Inside the Palace

Now contrast the Magi with King Herod.

When Herod hears the same news—a king has been born—his response is not curiosity but fear. Matthew tells us Herod is “disturbed,” and so is all of Jerusalem with him. That’s what fear does. It spreads like a sickness and we will see how far this fear goes – a willingness to murder children.

Herod has power, wealth, status. He knows the Scriptures well enough to ask the right people the right questions. But fear keeps him from rejoicing. Fear keeps him from going to see. Fear turns the news of a newborn child into a threat.

And here’s the uncomfortable truth: fear often shapes how we respond to strangers. We see it happening now. That same disease is plaguing us again.

The Magi come with wonder and openness.
Herod responds with anxiety and control.

In Matthew’s account, Herod’s question is the same—Where is this child?—but the posture could not be more different.

Fear says:
What will this cost me?
What will I lose?
Who’s in charge?

Curiosity says:
What might God be doing?
Who might God be sending?
What gift might foreigners be bringing?

The Scriptures Know the Answer

When Herod asks the religious leaders where the Messiah is to be born, they answer easily: Bethlehem. The Scriptures have been clear all along. But here’s the irony: the people who know the Scriptures best never go to Bethlehem. The foreigners do.

Knowing the right answers is not the same as following the light – the starry twinkle of hope, truth, and love.

And Matthew wants us to notice something else. The Scriptures these leaders quote are not just about where the Messiah will be born, but about what kind of king he will be.

This is a shepherd king.
A king who brings peace.
A king whose reign reaches beyond borders.

A king of kings. (Isaiah 60:3; Psalm 72 which reinforce the idea that Jesus conquers other nations through welcome and NOT military might).

 

In other words, the coming of this child was always meant to widen the circle. Why are we always so eager to close it?

God’s Pattern: Strangers as Blessings

Throughout the Bible, God repeatedly uses outsiders to move the story forward. They become the main actors, the heroes, the ones who provide care, shelter, and protection.

Abraham and Sarah were migrants.
Moses grows up as a refugee.
Ruth is a foreigner who becomes an ancestor of David and even Jesus.
Prophets hear God’s voice in unexpected places.

And here, at the very beginning of Jesus’ life, God invites foreigners to the cradle.

Not as a footnote.
Not as an afterthought.
But as witnesses and protectors of Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. They save them from Herod’s violent wrath.

These Magi are not a problem to be solved. They are a gift to be received.

And that matters for us, because welcoming the stranger is not a side theme in Scripture—it is at the heart of God’s story.

Again and again, God says:
Remember that you were once strangers. Remember that you were once far off. Remember who welcomed you.

What About Us?

So let’s bring this closer to home.

We live in a time when strangers—especially foreigners—are often spoken about with suspicion. We hear stories designed to make us afraid. Afraid of losing control. Afraid of scarcity. Afraid of change. Afraid of what they bring.

But Matthew’s story invites us to ask courageous questions:
What if the stranger carries a gift?
What if God is already at work in the people we are tempted to fear?

What if they aren’t out to get us – but save us? What if we need them?

 

The Magi did not look like heroes.
They did not belong.
They did not check the right boxes.

And yet God trusted them with revelation.

 

Welcoming the stranger does not mean pretending differences don’t exist. It means believing that God is bigger than our boundaries—and that God’s grace often arrives from directions we didn’t expect.

An Invitation

At the end of the story, the Magi kneel. They offer their gifts. And then they go home changed—taking a different road.

That’s what an encounter with Christ does. It sends us home different. More open. More attentive. More willing to follow God’s leading rather than fear’s map.

So here is the invitation of this strange and beautiful story for a new year:

Be curious, not afraid.
Look up for starry twinkles of hope and promise.
Pay attention to who God is sending your way.

Because the love of God revealed in this child is wide enough to welcome strangers. Deep enough to receive their gifts. Strong enough to turn enemies into neighbors.

At this stranger manger, there is room for those who feel far off.
There is room for questions.
There is room for foreigners.
There is room for us.

O come, let us adore him.
Amen.