Refugee Jesus
Christmas 1 + Matthew 2:13–23
December 28, 2025, at First Presbyterian Church, Downtown Memphis
13 Now after they [the magi] had left, an angel of the Lord appeared to Joseph in a dream and said, “Get up, take the child and his mother, and flee to Egypt, and remain there until I tell you, for Herod is about to search for the child, to destroy him.” 14 Then Joseph[h] got up, took the child and his mother by night, and went to Egypt 15 and remained there until the death of Herod. This was to fulfill what had been spoken by the Lord through the prophet, “Out of Egypt I have called my son.”
16 When Herod saw that he had been tricked by the magi,[i] he was infuriated, and he sent and killed all the children in and around Bethlehem who were two years old or under, according to the time that he had learned from the magi.[j] 17 Then what had been spoken through the prophet Jeremiah was fulfilled:
18 “A voice was heard in Ramah,
wailing and loud lamentation,
Rachel weeping for her children;
she refused to be consoled, because they are no more.”
19 When Herod died, an angel of the Lord suddenly appeared in a dream to Joseph in Egypt and said, 20 “Get up, take the child and his mother, and go to the land of Israel, for those who were seeking the child’s life are dead.” 21 Then Joseph[k] got up, took the child and his mother, and went to the land of Israel. 22 But when he heard that Archelaus was ruling Judea in place of his father Herod, he was afraid to go there. And after being warned in a dream, he went away to the district of Galilee. 23 There he made his home in a town called Nazareth, so that what had been spoken through the prophets might be fulfilled, “He will be called a Nazarene.”[l]
Christmas as We Know It
Here we are, still in Christmas. It’s the fourth day of Christmas, in fact.
Calling birds, anyone? No? Three French hens? Two Turtle doves? Oh wait! I know. Altogether now, “and a partridge in a pear tree!” That’s the ticket!
The songs are still familiar, the season still has a certain warmth, and many of us hold close the images that have shaped this story for us over the years.
Ever wonder why we observe the season the way we do, carried as it is by the traditions of family with all their weighty expectations, to say nothing of those of the Church? Without question, they shape what we do and how we do it this time of year, even if we’re not entirely sure why.
And like anything else, the meaning we make is shaped by our experiences, our context, and our biases, both those we’re aware of, and those we can’t see but are no less present.
Yet, while we come to the gospels looking for comfort and clarity, and rightly so, because they can surely be found there, the gospels also ask of us something more. They ask us to hold space for a truth that is at once beautiful and unsettling.
Emmanuel and the Unsettling Nearness of God
This season. God with us, Emmanuel, is a confession that names God’s loving, redemptive, steadfast presence in the world. And because that is true, the world as it is does not remain undisturbed. The presence of God exposes the imbalances of power we have learned to live with and normalize, and the inequities that push some to the margins while protecting others at the center.
This is especially true in the birth narratives.
The coming of the Prince of Peace is hardly an endorsement of the status quo. His presence convicts it. Always has. Always will. Not because God seeks conflict, but because when God’s love draws near it inevitably reveals what is broken, who wants it to remain broken, and who is excluded because it’s broken.
Luke’s Beloved Story and Matthew’s Disruptive Telling
When you think about it, how we understand Christmas tends to lean more toward one gospel account than the other. Can you imagine why?
Of the birth narratives we have, it’s Luke we’re more likely to know by heart. It’s the version Linus recites at the end of A Charlie Brown Christmas, to help Charlie Brown discover what Christmas is all about.
Luke gives us a fully formed story, rich with drama and pathos (pay-thos).
Angels appear.
Shepherds tremble and rejoice.
Mary sings and treasures.
The scenes unfold with emotion, drawing us in and carrying us along.
Luke gives us a Christmas we love, and there is nothing wrong with that.
The other birth narrative in the Gospels is from Matthew, and he tells the story differently.
Matthew’s account is sparse, almost restrained, less a scene unfolding than a report of something that happened.
No songs.
No shepherds.
No lingering at the manger.
The story moves quickly, and it turns again and again on one question: will Joseph pay attention?
Matthew’s focus is not on spectacle, but on discernment. It’s about Joseph’s willingness to listen to his dreams, to act when the way forward is unclear, and to protect what is vulnerable because danger is afoot.
While Luke’s version carries the day in our imaginations and maybe our preferences, it comes with a few of the not-so-dangerous parts of Matthew’s account sprinkled in.
Luke invites us into the wonder of the moment.
Matthew presses us to reckon with its consequences.
Scripture’s Lenses and Matthew’s Agenda
These distinct stories do two things at once.
They reveal something true about the nature of God.
And they expose something true about us, about what we are drawn to and what we resist.
Luke tells us who Jesus is for: the least, last, and the lost, always drawing the circle ever wider.
For Matthew? Jesus's presence disrupts what needs to be disrupted.
Luke sings.
Matthew warns.
And Matthew will not let us pretend otherwise.
I mean, Jesus is barely born before his life is threatened. That is not an unfortunate turn in the story. It is the story Matthew wants us to hear; the birth of Jesus is not a neutral event in the world. Emmanuel, God with us, does not leave things as they are. What once felt stable begins to shift, and those who profit most from the status quo feel that shift first and react accordingly.
And that’s where Herod enters the story.
Herod and the Violence of False Peace
Herod hears that a child has been born who is called king, and he understands the implication immediately.
This child represents a future he cannot control.
Herod is not a cartoon villain. He is a skilled ruler, backed by Rome, admired for what he builds.
Any number of his construction projects still stand today.
He rebuilds the Temple.
He constructs cities and fortresses.
He leaves his mark and his name everywhere.
I tell ya, there’s surely something about the type of leader who thinks they have to have their name on everything. Seen clearly, it is a need to be remembered, masking the fear of being replaced.
A need to be remembered, masking the fear of being replaced that trumps all other considerations of what it means to be human.
When Herod discovers that he has been duped by the magi, when they do not return to report the child’s whereabouts, he is overtaken by rage. The word the gospel writer uses is θύμος (THOO-moss).
It is anger that erupts. It’s dysregulated emotion that boils over. Rage that overrides restraint. A loss of self-control driven by fear and wounded pride leading inevitably to violence.
Innocents are slaughtered simply because they exist.
Mothers grieve. It is at this point that the story reaches back into Israel’s memory and gives us Rachel as witness.
She weeps, refusing to be comforted.
The gospel does not rush us past this.
Neither should we.
Refugee Jesus and Quiet Faithfulness
And it is into that world, into fear, violence, and grief, that God entrusts the life of this child to quiet faithfulness.
Joseph is warned in a dream.
Get up.
Take the child and his mother.
Leave now.
So he does.
Mary gathers what she can carry.
Joseph takes what he can hold.
And they flee.
They flee not because they are criminals, but because their very existence has been deemed a threat by one in power. They cross borders because staying has become too dangerous.
The word describing Jesus here is not generic for child, but one that emphasizes his smallness, vulnerability, and utter dependence on the good intentions of others if he’s to remain safe.
And this is what the story wants us to know about Jesus:
Before he teaches.
Before he heals.
Before he ever learns to speak a word:
Jesus is a refugee.
And, there’s this. God does not remain at a safe distance from danger. God goes with them, into exile, into uncertainty, into dependence on genuine hospitality.
Joseph listens.
He acts.
He protects what is vulnerable.
This is not heroic in the dramatic sense. Joseph is someone who pays attention. Someone who does not confuse recklessness with courage. He is one who sees things around him as they are, and he responds without hesitation.
False Peace, Then and Now
Sadly, we know this does not belong only to the past. There are families in Memphis today who understand this in ways most of us never will. This is not theoretical. It is lived. Right here. Right now.
There are black and brown families here in the 901 for whom vigilance is learned early and practiced daily with every trip to work, school, the store… church. Many fled danger seeking safety and belonging, only to discover that even here, safety can remain fragile, shaped by fear, suspicion, and policies that treat some lives as conditional.
And Matthew is not surprised by any of this, because in the time this account was written, that kind of false peace had a name. Pax Romana, the peace of Rome. A peace that promised order and stability, but only so long as nothing disturbed the arrangement. It was a peace maintained by threat, enforced by violence, and paid for by those on the margins. Every empire has its own version of Pax Romana, a promise of peace that depends on exclusion, and a definition of safety that only applies to some.
And it makes me wonder: what does false peace look like now? Where do we mistake calm for justice, or stability for faithfulness, because it allows certain of us to feel secure? To feel set apart as more important.
Do you see what I see?
Discipleship in a World of Risk
Again and again in this gospel, as Jesus' ministry unfolds and danger escalates, Jesus withdraws not out of fear but out of discernment. Faithfulness sometimes looks like staying. And sometimes it looks like leaving in order to preserve what is vulnerable.
When the danger finally passes, the family does not return to Bethlehem. They settle in Nazareth of Galilee, an unremarkable, overlooked place. God does not bring Jesus back into the spotlight, but plants him in obscurity, at least for now.
Most of God’s work happens quietly.
In ordinary places.
Among people whose faithfulness is never recorded.
The Work of the Church and Grown-Up Faith
So what does it mean to follow Emmanuel in a climate of fear and separation?
We’re not given a list.
But in this account, we are given Joseph.
Who stays faithful and present.
This is the shape of discipleship this story offers us.
The work of the church in such a moment is not to mirror fear.
It is to refuse abandonment.
To remain present with those who flee.
To stand where God has already chosen to stand.
To embody Emmanuel in costly, ordinary ways.
This is incarnation continued.
And while presence is not always safe, it is always faithful.
Rachel refuses to be comforted, nor should she be,
because premature comfort can become a form of erasure. She stands as a witness against false peace, the kind that wants grief to move along before truth has been told. And in a moment like this, the church may be called to stand with Rachel, refusing to rush past the pain that still cries out.
Do you hear what I hear?
This is a Christmas story for grown-up faith.
Faith that can hold joy and grief, wonder and danger, tenderness and terror, all at the same time.
It does not promise safety.
It promises presence.
This is Emmanuel.
God with us.
God with those who flee.
Part of what it means to confess the incarnation is to say that Jesus knows what it is to be a refugee, not in theory, but in his own flesh.
We needn’t wonder whether the powers of this world will resist such a God. They always have.
This kind of faith pays attention to danger, to vulnerability, and to where God is already at work.
The deeper question I leave you with today is whether we will recognize God’s presence where it has already taken up residence, and what faithfulness will require of us when we meet those with whom God is standing when we get there.
Amen.
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