Sermon: FIRST SUNDAY OF CHRISTMAS, Matthew 2:13-23

December 28, 2025 
Faith-La Fe Lutheran Church
Pastora Veronica Alvarez

We like our Christmas story neat and warm.
Angels sing. Shepherds rejoice. The baby is safe in a manger.
The decorations stay up a little longer, and we want the feeling to last.

But Matthew will not let us do that.

Right after the magi leave, danger shows up. An angel wakes Joseph in the middle of the night and says, “Get up. Take the child and his mother and run.” Not tomorrow. Not after careful planning. Now. 

Because Herod is coming to destroy the child.

This is not a gentle ending to Christmas. This is fear, urgency, and displacement. Jesus begins his life not in peace, but on the run. The Son of God becomes a refugee.

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph leave home because staying is no longer safe. They cross borders not because they want it, but because their lives depend on it.

From the very beginning, God chooses to be present with people whose lives are fragile and whose futures are uncertain. This is not just ancient history. Even today, many families in our community face impossible choices, not because they want to, but because they must.

In the middle of the night, they ask themselves: Do we stay or do we go? What do we take, and what must we leave behind? How do we keep our children safe?

Whether it is families fleeing violence far away or parents trying to protect their children closer to home, these decisions are matters of survival. Like the holy family, they move not by choice, but by necessity, and God goes with them.

Herod represents a kind of power that is always afraid of losing control. When power feels threatened, it turns violent. Innocent children die. Families grieve. Mothers weep.

Matthew is not just telling a story about one king long ago. He is exposing what happens when authority is separated from justice and fear replaces trust in God and refuses to spiritualize the suffering.
He names the grief. Rachel weeps for her children. Grief is not edited out of the gospel.
Faith does not mean pretending everything is fine.
Lament is not a failure of belief.
It is what happens when we love deeply in a broken world.

Here is the turn.

God’s response to violence is not withdrawal. God’s response is presence.

God protects not through domination, but through guidance. God works through ordinary people who choose faithfulness over comfort.

And that promise does not stay up in the air. It takes shape.

In baptism, God claims us not for an easy life, but for a faithful one. In those waters, God names us beloved before we can protect ourselves, before we can fix the world, before we can prove anything. Baptism does not remove danger. It anchors us in a promise stronger than fear, stronger than failure, stronger than death. We belong to a God who goes with us, even when the road turns dark.

That is how God works in this story too. God does not strike Herod down. God does not fix the system overnight.

Instead, God saves life quietly.
Through a dream.
Through a man who listens.
Through a family that gets up in the dark and leaves everything behind.

Joseph does not get certainty or guarantees. He gets a command and a promise that God is in it. His faith is not control or confidence. It is movement. It is taking the next step when the whole path is not clear. Sometimes survival itself is an act of faith.

Egypt becomes a place of refuge. Not because it is holy or righteous, but because it is safer than home. And when the family finally returns, it is not to a place of power or prestige, but to Nazareth, an overlooked town with nothing to recommend it.

God’s purposes are often carried out in places the world ignores.

And the same God who claims us in baptism feeds us for the journey.

At the Lord’s table, we are fed by a Savior who knows what hunger and danger feel like. This is not a table for the comfortable or the certain. It is nourishment for people on the move. For people who are tired. For people who are afraid. Christ meets us here with mercy and strength, not to escape the world, but to walk back into it held by grace.

As this year comes to an end, many of us are carrying relief and grief at the same time. Some of us are glad this year is over. Some of us are exhausted by the constant noise. Some of us are anxious about what the next year will bring for our families, our church, our country, and our world.

The Gospel does not promise us safety; it promises us that God is faithful.

Following God does not mean life will be predictable or protected from harm. It means we belong to a God who refuses to abandon the world, even when the world is cruel.

Jesus grows up knowing fear, loss, and displacement. There is no place we can go where God has not already been. No refugee camp. No detention center. No hospital room. No courtroom. No season of grief or uncertainty.

Emmanuel, God with us, does not mean God avoids suffering. It means God enters it and refuses to let it have the last word.

As we step into the new year, we can move forward with hope. Every step is held by God’s presence, guiding us, strengthening our faith, and opening new possibilities. No shadow can dim God’s light; no challenge can separate us from God’s love. God’s promise of life, peace, and joy stands firm, calling us to live with courage, trust, and gratitude every single day.

Amen.