Matthew 2:17

Berean Standard Bible

Then what was spoken through the prophet Jeremiah was fulfilled:

King James Bible

Then was fulfilled that which was spoken by Jeremy the prophet, saying,

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Matthew 2:17 reads: *“Then was fulfilled that which was spoken by Jeremiah the prophet, saying,”*—a transitional statement that introduces a citation from the Old Testament in the following verse, Matthew 2:18. Though brief, this verse plays a crucial theological role in Matthew’s Gospel. It signals a moment of prophetic fulfillment and offers interpretive insight into the tragic events just recorded, namely, the massacre of the innocent children in Bethlehem at the command of King Herod.

The verse serves as a literary hinge, linking the horror of Herod’s violence to the larger narrative of divine providence and prophetic expectation. Matthew does not present the slaughter of the children as a random or meaningless act of evil. Instead, he frames it within the context of Scripture, suggesting that even in tragedy, God's redemptive plan remains intact. By invoking the words of Jeremiah, Matthew draws his readers into the deep waters of Israel's history, calling attention to previous sorrows and judgments, and showing that these events, too, now find a new resonance and ultimate fulfillment in the person and mission of Jesus.

Matthew’s use of Old Testament fulfillment formulas is a distinctive feature of his Gospel. He often employs the phrase, *“that it might be fulfilled which was spoken by the prophet,”* to demonstrate that Jesus' life is not merely the unfolding of historical events but the very realization of God’s long-promised work through Israel's Scriptures. These fulfillments are not always straightforward predictions; rather, they often involve typology, patterns, and the reapplication of ancient texts to new moments in salvation history. In this particular case, Matthew is about to quote Jeremiah 31:15—a verse that originally referred to the grief experienced during the Babylonian exile. By invoking this prophetic lament, Matthew identifies the pain of Bethlehem’s mothers with Rachel’s weeping over the loss of her children in exile, thereby connecting past suffering with present sorrow, and ultimately with future hope.

The importance of verse 17 lies in what it implies about God's relationship to human suffering. It does not suggest that God delights in or causes evil, but it does affirm that He is not absent from it. Matthew's statement that Jeremiah's words were "fulfilled" in the massacre of the innocents does not mean that God orchestrated the slaughter for the sole purpose of fulfilling prophecy. Rather, it points to a mysterious divine sovereignty in which even the most senseless human tragedies are not beyond the reach of God's redemptive purpose. Matthew affirms that Scripture speaks into every human experience, including loss and grief, and that the story of Jesus not only fulfills but redeems Israel's past.

Furthermore, the structure of Matthew’s argument assumes a deep continuity between the story of Israel and the story of Jesus. The exile to Babylon, with all its tears and dislocation, becomes a type—a foreshadowing—of the suffering that surrounds the coming of the Messiah. Just as the exile was a period of grief that gave way to restoration, so too the suffering that attends Jesus’ arrival foreshadows the ultimate restoration He will bring. Matthew sees the Gospel not as a break from Israel’s story, but as its culmination. Jesus enters into the deepest pains of His people—He does not stand apart from their wounds, but bears them. Even from infancy, His life intersects with mourning, exile, and death, anticipating His own suffering on behalf of all.

This verse also invites reflection on the prophetic role of Scripture. Matthew does not simply quote the prophets to prove a point; he uses their words to shape the emotional and theological texture of his Gospel. The citation of Jeremiah does more than fulfill a prediction—it draws the reader into the soul of Israel’s history, where memory and mourning are central to understanding hope. By turning to Jeremiah, Matthew reminds us that God has always spoken into the pain of His people. The prophets were not only foretellers of the future, but also interpreters of the present and rememberers of the past. In quoting Jeremiah, Matthew is doing the same: interpreting a moment of deep sorrow in light of a larger divine narrative, and calling his readers to remember that God is never indifferent to their cries.

In sum, Matthew 2:17 is a theological signpost. It invites readers to see the massacre in Bethlehem not as an isolated atrocity, but as a moment enfolded into the long arc of Israel’s suffering and God’s redemptive plan. The verse prepares the way for the citation in verse 18, but it also teaches us how to read the Bible—as a living word that speaks into our wounds, a book that binds past to present, and a revelation of a God who, though often hidden, is always at work to bring healing out of heartbreak. This single verse, simple on its surface, carries within it the weight of sorrow, the resonance of memory, and the quiet assurance that the cries of the afflicted are not forgotten in the story of redemption.

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To all the saints in Christ Jesus, scattered throughout every city and nation, who call upon the name of the Lord with sincere hearts, grace and peace be multiplied to you through the knowledge of God our Father and of Jesus Christ our Lord, who was born not in splendor, but in lowliness; not welcomed by princes, but pursued by tyrants; not heralded with worldly acclaim, but with the cries of the innocent and the songs of angels.

I write to you today concerning that most solemn and sorrowful moment in the holy Gospel according to Matthew, wherein it is written, *“Then was fulfilled that which was spoken by Jeremiah the prophet, saying…”* Though these words may at first seem but a simple transition, they are heavy with divine intent and rich in redemptive meaning. They do not merely prepare us for a prophetic quotation; they call us into contemplation. For in these few words we see a great mystery revealed: that even in the hour of deepest human suffering, God’s Word is not silent, and His promises are not idle.

Beloved, do you not see how our God speaks into sorrow? The massacre in Bethlehem—so brutal, so undeserved, so grievous—did not fall outside the gaze of heaven. It was not overlooked in the divine record. It did not escape the memory of the Almighty. Rather, it was held within the sacred narrative of salvation, not to justify the evil committed, but to declare that even in the face of humanity’s darkest acts, the sovereign hand of God is neither absent nor defeated.

When Matthew tells us that the words of Jeremiah were fulfilled, he does not mean that God delights in sorrow, nor that He wills the bloodshed of innocents to satisfy a prophetic timetable. No, what he teaches us is far deeper: that Scripture is alive and active, a mirror for our mourning and a voice for our weeping. The word of the prophet reaches across the centuries to gather up the cries of Bethlehem’s mothers, to declare that their pain is not forgotten, and that their loss is known by heaven.

How precious is it, brothers and sisters, that the Holy Spirit has preserved in Scripture even the agony of grief? For the fulfillment Matthew points to is not of a triumphant miracle but of lament. He draws from Jeremiah, a prophet of tears, who once wrote of Rachel weeping for her children, refusing to be comforted. In the prophet’s day, those tears flowed during the exile to Babylon. In Matthew’s day, they flow again as Herod's rage consumes the innocent. And in our day, do we not still hear Rachel’s voice echoing through the corridors of time, lamenting every injustice, every tragedy, every child lost in war, in poverty, in violence, or in silence?

But do not misunderstand me, beloved. This fulfillment does not teach us to accept evil as fate. It calls us to see that our Redeemer is not aloof from our affliction. The Messiah did not enter a world of peace and ease. He came into a world already steeped in blood and longing for healing. He was not spared the hatred of men or the violence of empires. From the very beginning, His life was intertwined with sorrow. And in this He sanctified even the darkest moments of our existence. The Word became flesh not merely to dwell among us, but to suffer with us, to carry our griefs and bear our sorrows.

O how tender is our God, that He would not erase lament from the sacred record, but would instead include it in the story of salvation! This teaches us how to endure suffering—not with hardened hearts, nor with shallow cheerfulness, but with faith that dares to weep in the presence of God. For when we mourn, we echo the prophets. When we cry out for justice, we are not forgotten. And when our hearts break under the weight of a fallen world, we have a Savior who knew sorrow from His cradle and was acquainted with grief from the womb.

Therefore, I exhort you, dear brothers and sisters: do not suppress your lament, but bring it before the Lord. Let your prayers be honest. Let your cries be bold. Let your tears be your worship. For God is not deaf to your distress, and He has already written your sorrow into His redemptive plan. He who called Jeremiah to speak in a season of judgment, and who preserved His Son through the fury of Herod, is the same God who now calls you to trust in His promises, even when the night is long.

Let us also be vigilant in our own generation. Herod’s spirit is not dead. In every age, there arise rulers and systems that oppose Christ, that fear the loss of power, that lash out against the innocent to preserve their own kingdom. We must not be complicit in their silence, nor passive in our comfort. The Church must be a voice for the voiceless, a refuge for the vulnerable, and a prophetic witness in a world still prone to sacrificing truth for convenience and the weak for the benefit of the strong.

And yet, even as we grieve the darkness, we cling to hope. For the Messiah was preserved—not for safety’s sake, but for salvation’s purpose. He who escaped Herod would one day face Pilate. He who fled as a child would one day lay down His life as a man. And His blood would speak a better word than the blood of all the innocents, crying not for vengeance, but for mercy. In Him, every tear will be answered. In Him, every injustice will be judged. In Him, every loss will be turned to gain, and every grave will give up its dead.

So stand firm, beloved. We live in a world where sorrow still speaks, but we follow a Savior who has swallowed up sorrow in victory. Let us live as those who listen to lament, but do not despair. Let us labor as those who know that evil will not have the final word. And let us worship as those who have seen the dawn rising even while the night is dark.

To Him who was spoken of by the prophets, who fulfills all things in Himself, and who will come again to wipe away every tear—be glory and dominion forever and ever. Amen.

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O Most Holy and Eternal Father, fountain of all wisdom and comfort, Lord of time and history, God of Israel and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, we come before You with trembling reverence and earnest hope, as those who live under Your mighty hand and tender mercy. You are the One who speaks through prophets, who writes truth upon the scrolls of time, who ordains all things with justice and grace. You are never silent, even in sorrow. You are never absent, even in grief. And in Your holy Gospel, You have taught us, through the words of Your servant Matthew, that even in the shedding of innocent blood, Your Word was being fulfilled, as it had been spoken long ago by the prophet Jeremiah.

O Lord our God, how weighty are Your words, how deep are Your purposes, how mysterious Your providence. You do not deal with us according to our understanding, nor do You measure time by our clocks or sorrow by our sight. You declared beforehand what was to come, and when the sword fell upon the children of Bethlehem, You did not flinch nor forget. You drew forth from the prophet’s lament the shape of divine fulfillment. You named the weeping, recorded the anguish, preserved the cries of Rachel in Your Word—not to magnify sorrow, but to assure us that no grief is beyond Your reach and no tear is lost in Your kingdom.

O Righteous Father, how terrifying is the hatred of men, how cruel are the hands that resist Your Son, how violent the kingdoms of this world when they rise up against the King of glory. Yet You are not overcome. When the enemies of Christ plot in vain, You bring their schemes to nothing. Herod raged, but You preserved the Child. The innocents perished, but You remembered them in Your book. Their lives were not forgotten, and their deaths were not meaningless. You, who hold all things in Your hand, bore witness through Jeremiah to a grief that would one day be swallowed up by joy, through Him who would conquer death by dying.

Lord Jesus Christ, we worship You, the true and faithful Son, born under threat, yet preserved by the hand of the Father. You came not into a world that welcomed You, but into one that sought to kill You from the cradle. Yet You did not turn away. Even as an infant, Your presence provoked the powers of darkness, for You are the Light that pierces the night. You escaped the sword so that You might bear the cross. You were hidden in Egypt so that You might be revealed as the Savior of the nations. And even as the children died in Your place, You would one day die in the place of the world, and rise that all who believe might live.

Spirit of the Living God, fall afresh upon us, and teach us to pray with hearts that feel what heaven feels. Teach us to grieve rightly, not as those without hope, but as those who see even in lament the footprints of redemption. Let us hear the voice of Rachel still weeping—not to despair, but to remember that God hears. Let us not turn our faces from sorrow, nor shut our ears to the cries of the afflicted. Rather, let our prayers be bold, our intercession fierce, and our compassion tender, as we lift up the broken-hearted and cry out for justice on behalf of the innocent still suffering in this fallen world.

Forgive us, O Lord, for our forgetfulness. Forgive us when we rush past the pain of others, when we are numb to evil, when we read of massacres and move on unchanged. Forgive us when we do not tremble at fulfilled prophecy, when we do not bow in awe before the God who weaves lament into His salvation song. Awaken us, O Lord, to the weight of Your Word, to the sorrow You have dignified by making it part of the story of our Savior. Give us the grace to be people who remember, who lament, who hope, and who proclaim the Gospel with tears in our eyes and fire in our bones.

And now, O God of all comfort, we pray for all who grieve today. For every mother weeping for her child, for every family shattered by violence, for every innocent one taken too soon. May they find shelter in the God who wept, in the Christ who was pursued, in the Spirit who groans with us. May they know that You are the God who does not waste suffering, who turns mourning into dancing, who brings life out of death, and joy from ashes.

We await the day when the weeping of Rachel shall be no more, when the children shall laugh again in the streets of the New Jerusalem, and the Lamb shall lead them, and the wolf shall lie down with the lamb, and no sword shall rise again. Until that day, keep us faithful, keep us awake, and keep us yearning for the fullness of Your kingdom.

To You, O Father, through the Son, in the unity of the Holy Spirit, be all glory, dominion, and praise, now and forevermore.

Amen.