The
scripture reading this morning is a continuation of the Christmas story, not
the suggested reading that tells the story of Jesus’ baptism. You may wonder
why I’m preaching on Christmas yet again, when Epiphany was celebrated last
Sunday and Christmas was over two weeks ago. At this point, Christmas is old
news. And Lent is coming at us like a freight train! (Ash Wednesday is the 10th
of February.) Between now and then, Jesus has to not only get out of the
manger, but also grow up, call disciples, and begin his ministry. According to
the lectionary, the cycle of suggested scripture readings for each year, I need
to leave Christmas behind and get on with it! But I have always felt that preaching
about Christmas gets the short straw. For the four weeks before Christmas, Advent focuses on how much we need a savior; and then, after only one Sunday,
Epiphany rolls around and we’re proclaiming that savior to the nations. It
seems to me that Christmas deserves more than one Sunday, especially when we
consider Matthew’s story of what happened after
Christmas. So listen to this morning’s scripture reading. The story picks up
after the Wise Men have left Bethlehem by a road that avoids Herod and his
desire to find the child who has been born “King of the Jews.” (Scripture: Matthew
2:13-23.)
It sounds
like a report that might appear on any edition of our evening news: families
who have been forced out of their home by the bloodthirsty actions of a tyrant.
And that is exactly how we remember Herod: as the king who should have been
protecting the children in his kingdom, but who murdered them in cold blood
instead. Nothing much has changed, has it? We hear this kind of story all the
time; only the names and locations change from year to year. We heard it in the
late 1970s when Pot Pol and his Khmer Rouge exterminated millions of Cambodians
through forced relocation, forced labor, and mass executions. We heard it in
the 1980s when Saddam Hussein tried to wipe out the Kurds living in northern
Iraq. His army invaded their homes, put the men in front of firing squads, and
then bombed their villages into oblivion. And we heard it again, not quite
three years ago, when President Assad of Syria ordered poison gas attacks on over
500 defenseless men, women, and children. The flood of refugees who are
streaming out of Syria seeking asylum are only the most recent victims of
tyrants who care more about their own power than they do about the people they
should protect.
Yes, we
think “tyrant” when we hear Herod’s name. But we seldom think “refugee” when we
hear the name “Jesus.” But that’s exactly how Jesus spent some of his
childhood: as a refugee. Joseph and his family fled to Egypt after an angel
warned him in a dream about Herod’s intentions. What happened to them there?
Matthew doesn’t tell us; and neither do any of the other gospel writers. We can
only imagine. Was Joseph able to pursue his trade as a carpenter, or was he
forced to beg in order to feed his family? How long did it take for them to
find a home; if, indeed, they found one at all? Was the holy family accepted by
the Egyptians; or were they mistrusted and called “those people”? We can only
imagine the answers.
I wonder, too,
whether Jesus’ experience as a refugee made a permanent impression on him. Did
he remember that he was forced out of the home where he was born? As Jesus was
growing up, did he hear stories of the cozy little house in Bethlehem with the
fig tree right outside the kitchen window? Did he long to return to his
childhood home, and to his bedroom with his posters on the wall and the
nightlight that looked like a lamb? Jesus never did go back to that little
house in Bethlehem because after Herod died, his son was a threat to them, too,
and Joseph moved to Galilee when their family returned to Israel. Did Jesus
reassure the poor and oppressed that God loved them because he had been poor
and oppressed himself? When we hear him say, “Blessed are the poor in spirit,
for theirs is the kingdom of heaven,” I can’t help but wonder if he knows all
too well what it means to be poor in spirit – to live at the whim of someone
who only concern is his own power.
We live in a
world where the atrocities committed by tyrants are old news. When we read a
newspaper headline that announces “Europe Confronts Refugees,” we hardly give
it a second glance. If that newspaper headline read, “Christ Born in
Bethlehem,” we wouldn’t give that a second glance, either. It’s all old news.
But maybe we shouldn’t ignore that old news; because the old news of Christmas
makes a difference in our lives today, especially when we’re reading about refugees
who have been affected by the actions of modern-day Herods.
Now, if
you’re holding your breath waiting for me to offer a political solution to the
question of how to deal with refugees around the world, you can exhale. I have
my own opinion on that subject, but I can’t give you a solution from the pulpit.
No one person has the answer to that dreadful situation. We all need to arrive
at a solution together through reasoned conversations that consider both
national security and human compassion. But I will tell you this. The baby who was born on Christmas, who became
a refugee while he was still a child, and who grew up to give his life for us
hanging on a Roman cross had a few things to say about the way that people in
power should treat other people who have no power.
One of the
things that he said was this: "When the Son of Man finally arrives,
blazing in beauty and all his angels with him, he will take his place on his
glorious throne. Then all the nations will be arranged before him and he will
sort the people out, much as a shepherd sorts out sheep and goats, putting
sheep to his right and goats to his left. Then he will say to those on his
right, 'Enter, you who are blessed by my Father! Take what's coming to you in
this kingdom. It's been ready for you since the world's foundation. And here's
why: I was hungry and you fed me, I was thirsty and you gave me a drink, I was
homeless and you gave me a room, I was shivering and you gave me clothes, I was
sick and you stopped to visit, I was in prison and you came to me.' Then those
'sheep' are going to say, 'Master, what are you talking about? When did we ever
see you hungry and feed you, thirsty and give you a drink? When did we see you
homeless and give you a room, or shivering and give you clothes? And when did
we ever see you sick or in prison and come to you?' Then the King will say,
'Here’s the solemn truth: Whenever you did one of these things to someone who
was overlooked or ignored, that was me – you did it to me.'’
Maybe those
of us who are not refugees should take more thought to those who are refugees; and pay attention to the
words of the One who began his life as a refugee.
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