2 Christmas

January 2, 2011

Matthew 2.13-15,19-23

+ When I was 15 years old, I converted to Roman Catholicism. I don’t tell a whole lot of people about it. It wasn’t one of the most pleasant periods in my life. But at 15, I was a devout Roman Catholic. I mean devout. As in, scarily devout. My poor Lutheran parents had no idea what to do with this frightenly devout Roman Catholic teenager.

As a very devout Roman Catholic teenager, I found little ways to exert my independence and grate on my poor parents’ nerves all at once. And one of one of those things that I did was purchase a wonderful little plastic statue that at Hurley’s one day. It was a little statue with a magnetized bottom on it, that you could attach the dashboard of your car. Now the statue wasn’t the one you would expect. It wasn’t Jesus holding his Sacred Heart. It wasn’t Our Lady crushing the head of a serpent beneath her feet. It wasn’t even St. Christopher.

Rather, it was three-in-one. And no I’m not talking about the Trinity either. It was the Holy Family. It was Joseph and Mary, with a fairly adolescent Jesus in the middle. The thing about this statue was that my poor parents really couldn’t do much about it. It was actually kind of sweet. And I liked to joke it was sort of like the three of us—my mother, my father and myself. And for years, on photos of the three of us, I would jokingly put JMJ on the back.

But there is a certain appeal to the Holy Family that many of us can relate to. They represent us in some many ways. Here they were, a hard-working family, trying to make the best of the situations that came into their lives and to stick together while doing it.

Certainly, their story is a dramatic—more dramatic than anything that could happen to any of us.

“…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…’”

Things like that don’t happen in our lives. But we can almost imagine how strange it must’ve seemed to a simple working-class guy like Joseph. Already he has to deal with his fiancée becoming pregnant, dreams of divine beings who tell him what to do, a child (which is not his) being born under incredible circumstances. And now, this. This threat of violence.

Obviously, the child’s life is in danger. Obviously, Joseph is fearful. Obviously, the future seems bleak. Imagine how difficult it must have been. Imagine how exotic and strange Egypt must’ve seemed to a man like Joseph who lived his entire lives in Palestine.

Of course, there is some reputable evidence that in Egypt there was a vital and vibrant Jewish community that Joseph must’ve been aware of and no doubt this is where Joseph and his family settled. Still, it must’ve been a difficult and devastating move for this young family. What we also see happening as Joseph Mary and Jesus head out for Egypt is a kind of reverse Exodus. The Jews after all had left Egypt in grand and glorious style, led by Moses through the Red Sea and into the Wilderness. Now, we find Jesus, with his family, quietly, clandestinely returning to Egypt, to the place from which the Jewish Nation fled. All of this we might not see so clearly on our first hearing of this Gospel reading. And that’s what I really enjoy about the Flight into Egypt.

It seems like a random religious story on the surface, but once one starts digging into it and meditating upon it, we discover layer upon layer of rich religious ground. But the story means nothing to us if we don’t make it our own, to some extent. And making it our own has nothing to do with the angels, with the reverse Exodus, with the fear of a death-breathing Herod. It becomes real for us when we realize that whatever they did, wherever they were going, they were doing so blindly. They went into their future together uncertain of what was going to happen.

But somehow, in the midst of this blindness, in the midst of this uncertainty, they were being sustained. They knew, somehow, that it would all work out. That is what we can take away with us from this story. Certainly, as we head into the great unknown of this new year of 2011, we find ourselves feeling somewhat like the Holy Family no doubt did as they made their way into Egypt. We know that we go forward, like them, led by God. God is calling us forward, calling us into our future, calling us to venture into the unknown. But we are also being called to do so with absolute trust in God’s mercy.

In this story, we find examples abounding. Joseph is an example to us of that wholehearted trust in God’s mercy. He heeds the voice of the angel and does what is commanded of him, no matter how frightening and uncertain these moves must have been. He does what God leads him to do and by doing so he saves this child—this child he knows isn’t his, this child who has come to him in such mysterious and amazing circumstances.

Mary too is a wonderful example. She seems, at first glance, to be kind of a peripheral character in the story. No more poetry is coming from her mouth as it did when she sang the Magnificat to God when the angel announced to her that she would be bearing this child Jesus. There are no words at all from her in this story. But what we do find is that she is living out, by her very life, the “yes” she made to that angel when it was announced to her that she would bear this Child that she now holds close to her. Mary is an example to us that, occasionally, when forces beyond our understanding begin to work, all we must do at times is simply and quietly heed God’s command. There are times for poetry and there are times when poetry just isn’t needed. When the Child was formed in her womb, how could she not sing out with beautiful poetry? Now, fleeing a despotic, puppet king who cowardly kills masses of children, she goes into her uncertain future doing the only thing she can do in that moment—she goes holding Jesus close to her.

We too should do the same as we enter into this long winter season after Christmas. As we are seeing from our weather recently, it is not going to be a pleasant balmy winter for us. There will be more bitter cold, more snow, more icy streets and roads before us before the thaw comes to us. And even then, the threat rears before us of our now-annual spring floods. In our own lives, in this time in which everything seems to uncertain and up-in-the-air, we can go forward either in fear or in quiet confidence, like Mary. We can do so, holding Jesus close to us, against our beating, anxious hearts. Like her, we have choices. We can go into that future, kicking and screaming, our heels dug in.
Or we can go quietly and with dignity, holding our greatest hope and joy to us as we are led forward in our own personal Egypts.

The future lies ahead of us. We know that is not an easy future. It is not a future without pain and hardships and much more work to do, more miles to cover. There are long days and equally long nights lying before us. But that same future contains, also, joy and fulfillment and loved ones. That future contains laughter and moments of exquisite beauty. That future contains love, in whatever ways it may come to us. That future that contains the rest of this long, cold winter, also contains the spring thaw and a glorious summer.

So, like Joseph, let us heed the calling to rise up and go wherever God leads. Like Mary, let us be led into that future with quiet dignity. And like them, let us go with Jesus. Let us go, with Jesus held close to us. And as long as he is here with us, there is no need for fear, or despair, or anxiety. With Jesus held to us, the future is more glorious than we can, in this cold, snow-filled moment, even begin to understand or appreciate.