Lectionary Readings: Year A, Second Sunday after Christmas
As I looked at the Gospel reading for today, I was torn with all the directions that a sermon could go. The Gospel is about Joseph, Mary, and Jesus escaping the violence of Herod’s jealousy, as he seeks to kill the child Jesus. They escaped through a dream that Joseph had, and which protected him and his family. And then, the gospel concludes with another dream in which Joseph is told that it is now safe, and that he can bring his family back to Israel. And then again, yet another dream warns him not to go back to Bethlehem, but instead sends him off to a town called Nazareth.
One of the commentaries suggested that this story speaks to “God’s protective care and power in uncertain times.”1 And I thought that maybe I could dig into the uncertainty in our lives. But then I realized that most of us have fairly ordered lives, and that perhaps the only thing that might seem uncertain is how many more days the Good Lord has for us on this earth before we make our way home.
Another of the commentaries suggested that this story is more about God’s directing and ordering all of our lives, and all events in our lives. It is about God ordering and directing our lives, since every action in this Gospel, from Herod’s actions, to Joseph’s response, to the angels appearing in dreams – all of it was God directing our paths. And I thought that I could maybe dig into how God directs our steps, even though we make the plans.2 But then I realized that most of us believe ourselves to be in charge and in control of our lives – that we have the final say, and the final decisions in all that we do, and that it would be a challenge to get anyone to believe that maybe God has a bit more say in how our lives transpire than most of us are willing to admit.
Yet another commentary suggested that in this Christmas story in the Gospel of Matthew the violence that Herod wanted to inflict on this baby Jesus just foreshadows Jesus’ death on the cross. The world wanted Jesus dead before he could even walk or talk. Simply because his mere existence was a threat to those who worshiped power and control; a threat to those who fear submission to anyone but themselves. Moreover, the commentator suggested that this Gospel story in Matthew is set in the “turbulence and terror of a violent history. Tyrants kill children, and families flee in the middle of the night.”3 And I thought I could dig into the reality that Jesus, Mary, and Joseph were refugees, fleeing violence in their own country, and making their lives as immigrants in a strange country that nevertheless welcomed them as their own. But then I realized that for those of us who grew up in a land flowing with milk and honey, the concept of facing violence at the hands of our own government, and fearing for our lives for merely existing would be a concept that would be a bit – well – too foreign for most of us.
The final commentary suggested that this is a story about exile – an exile of the soul, or of the spirit. That God will often move us out of our comfort zones, and into areas where we may struggle with something new. Just as Joseph, Mary, and Jesus left for Egypt for a time because they were facing persecution, they eventually returned to their homeland. It is a story of an imposed exile, with a blessing on the tail end. But even then, the blessing was not a restoration to the same place that they had left, but to a new place. Where the Holy Family ended up was back in their own country, but not back where they exactly came from. Instead, they were blessed with a new life, among their own people. And I thought that I could dig into the concept of exile. But then I realized that in a land where we have freedom of speech, freedom of religion, and the ability to discuss dissenting opinions without the fear of political persecution, that this would be a difficult task of trying to pretend that our own minor suffering somehow compares to a family that had been exiled from their country at the fear of death.
And so, because I was stuck, I put on my overly dramatic “Woe is me” hat, and I sulked in the corner for a while, worried about my sermon. Somehow, I believed that I was embodying every single one of these possible interpretations of the scripture. I mean, if God directs my path, then God has directed me into spiritual exile, right? Since I can’t seem to come up with anything to say. And maybe this is just a story about how God is capable of providing in uncertain times, because I imagined that if I failed to provide a sermon for all of you, that the persecution would be real. Torches and pitchforks, nasty epithets hurled about, people giving me the evil eye, and threatening to have me jailed, or, worse, wanting my head on a spike, just like Herod wanted to kill that baby Jesus.
I did say “Overly Dramatic,” right?
I admit. It may have stepped into ludicrous territory – trying to shoehorn my oh-so-minor stress into fitting into a story about the Holy Family fleeing death at the hands of an angry and narcissistic tyrant. It is a distinct possibility that I may have been tired. A good night’s sleep was probably in order.
When I looked at this scripture again, I asked myself one of the questions that we use in our Sunday morning Scripture Forum: “What is the Gospel saying to me, personally?” Not just what other people have written in commentaries. Not just what the best minds can tell me about the facts of the story. But what is it that I feel that God is trying to get through to me – a person thick of skull?
Some of you may remember the gospel from the fourth Sunday of Advent, in which Joseph had been ready to divorce Mary because she was pregnant. He had made up his mind to do it quietly, so that Mary would not suffer the public shame of divorce. But then, Joseph was warned in a dream, of all things, to keep Mary as his wife, because the child she was carrying was the Messiah, the child who would save his people from their sins. A dream. Joseph had a dream, and it felt so real to him that he acted on this dream. God spoke to Joseph in a dream, and because Joseph listened, the savior of the world was born.
And here in this Gospel, God again speaks to Joseph in a series of dreams. Joseph is warned in a dream that Herod wishes to kill the baby Jesus, and so Joseph takes his family and flees to Egypt, where they lived as refugees. And then, after a few years, Joseph receives another dream that tells him that all is well, and that he can return home. So Joseph packs up his family, and heads back to Israel. And then what happens? In yet another dream, Joseph is warned that the son of Herod – Archelaus – is now king, and that it would still not be safe for Jesus, so they should go somewhere else. And Joseph did exactly that, taking his family to Nazareth.
What jumped out at me is that in every situation involving Joseph, God spoke to him in a dream. For me, and I’m sure for many of you, that if we had a dream that warned us of things happening in a foreign land, that we might be more likely to blame that extra slice of pepperoni pizza too close to bedtime than we would be to think that God was speaking to us.
Several weeks ago, in our Galatians Bible Study, we were talking about how God speaks to people. Some people hear an audible voice, some are overcome with a feeling of peace when their decision seems directed by God, and still others are guided by the counsel of many people. The discussion came up because of the idea of discernment – knowing exactly what it is that God is trying to tell us – especially in uncertain and ambiguous times.
And so the question from our Scripture Forum kept nagging at me: What is Jesus trying to tell me, personally? Especially in light of Joseph hearing from – and acting upon – messages from God in a dream?
And the question that kept following that one, over and over again, was the question: “Am I really listening? Or am I just being selective in my hearing, so that I can say I heard what I would rather want to hear?”
After all, God is obviously speaking to me. God speaks to all of us in scripture. God speaks in the counsel of many friends. God speaks through song, through the prayers of other people, through the rustling of the leaves on a quiet afternoon. And God speaks in the community of believers here at St. Alban’s. And, if God is speaking, then the only question that matters is, “Am I really listening?” Am I taking what I am hearing and acting on it?
Now, you don’t need to know the exact nature of what God might be saying to me, because the important take away from all of this is that each of us has decisions in our lives that are likely a little more important than “What am I making for dinner tonight?” And in each of these situations, we are all probably wondering what God might be saying to us, personally. And the only way that we can say that we are trying to listen is to act upon what we believe God might be saying. Because if we fail to act, then everything is just an academic exercise. Mental gymnastics. We have no skin in the game. God will not be able to strengthen our faith if we fail to act. When we act, we find out if our spiritual ears are listening properly, or not. We begin to determine what is God’s voice and what is just background noise. God will speak. And when we act, we will see if what we thought we heard is accurate. And if it isn’t, it’s back to the drawing board. But failing to act means never learning to discern how God speaks to us, personally.
Joseph certainly didn’t wait to act. He had dreams, and then immediately acted upon what he dreamt. Of course, Joseph is considered a saint. Most of us are probably a few degrees shy of that designation. But we can still take his example to heart.
Let’s act on what we think God is saying, rather than waiting for a bigger, more clear cut sign.
Let’s act – even in uncertain times – and see if what we thought we heard was really the voice of God.
Let’s act. And we may just find that while we are making our plans, God has already directed our steps – into a blessing bigger than we can ask for or imagine.4
[This sermon was delivered at St. Alban’s Episcopal Church in Wickenburg, AZ on January 4, 2026.]