Jesus as Refugee: A Sermon on Epiphany -- By: Thomas H. Conley

Journal: Faith and Mission
Volume: FM 08:2 (Spring 1991)
Article: Jesus as Refugee: A Sermon on Epiphany
Author: Thomas H. Conley


Jesus as Refugee: A Sermon on Epiphany

Isaiah 63:7–9; Hebrews 2:9–18; Matthew 2:13–15, 19–23

Thomas H. Conley

Senior Minister; Northside Drive Baptist Church
Atlanta, Georgia

It’s ironic isn’t it? Two weeks ago we had visions of sugar plums dancing in our heads, angels giving messages to unsuspecting shepherds, angels singing in a way that would make our best efforts sound like an out-of-tune quartet. And now a mere fourteen days later we have the subject of all that wonder and praise high-tailing it out of town, pursued by a demented king whose megalomania is now legend. The boy-wonder, the Advent baby, the manger-child is now the Epiphany child, a full-blown refugee heading back into Egypt from whence came the promises of God’s favor in the first place with that Exodus in far distant times.

Now admittedly most of us don’t know very much about refugees or their families or camps they live in. We catch glimpses in fifteen second bites on the news. We get a helicopter eye-view from two hundred feet up, of the refugee camps where too little food, too late, is pushed past children’s lips now too weak to receive that food. It’s a world where forty thousand children a day die. I don’t think I could handle that kind of helplessness were I exposed to it everyday. But then I am, because it happens in the only world I know. A few hours by jet and I would be set down in the midst of that kind of world.

I suppose the closest we’ve come to that kind of refugee situation is when something like Hugo strikes, or the earthquake in San Francisco, or a night spent in a school gymnasium somewhere because a train going through town ran aground and spilled poisonous chemicals and neighborhoods had to be evacuated.

Most of us like to get away for a vacation and spend time on a cruise or jetting from here to there, but if we knew we couldn’t come back to our home—-well, you can imagine that feeling.

In a world where the “first family” of any nation is coddled, catered to, protected and acclaimed, here the “first family” of the world is treated like they are number one on the FBI’s most wanted list. Where were the singing angels then? Why didn’t God send some commandos instead of those dumb Magi? Thunderbolts, horses, and a cache of weapons would have given more comfort than gold, frankincense, and myrrh. “Say God, if you’re going to go to the trouble to become incarnate, can’t you give them some protection? Why allow your son to get pushed around...

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