The Other Christmas Story: Jesus the Refugee King
In many of our homes, Christmas decorations are already packed away. But at First Baptist Moncton, the Christmas story isn’t quite finished yet.
It’s a story that begins, not with comfort and calm, but with danger, displacement, and fear.
A Familiar Story… and a Forgotten One
Luke’s Gospel gives us the Christmas story we know well — Mary and Joseph traveling to Bethlehem, a baby laid in a manger, no room in the inn. It’s tender, intimate, and beautiful.
But Matthew’s Gospel continues the story in a very different direction.
After the visit of the Magi, an angel warns Joseph in a dream:
“Get up, take the child and his mother and escape to Egypt. Stay there until I tell you, for Herod is going to search for the child to kill him.” (Matthew 2:13)
That warning changes everything.
The holy family flees in the night. They leave their home, their community, their safety — because staying means death.
This is where we encounter the other Christmas story.
Jesus Was Born Into Vulnerability, Not Privilege
From the very beginning, Jesus was not born into stability, wealth, or protection. He was born into a poor family living under an occupying empire, in a region marked by violence and unrest.
Before Jesus could walk or speak…
Before He could teach or heal…
Before a single miracle…
His life was threatened by state-sponsored violence.
Jesus was forced to flee.
Not symbolically.
Not metaphorically.
But literally.
By definition, Jesus was a refugee — a child forced to flee his homeland because staying meant death.
A Fulfilled Prophecy, Not an Accident
Matthew tells us that this flight to Egypt was not random or unexpected. It fulfilled what God had spoken through the prophet:
“Out of Egypt I called my son.” (Matthew 2:15)
From infancy, Jesus identified not with the powerful, but with the threatened.
Not with rulers, but with the ruled.
Not with those who issue decrees, but with those who must run from them.
God’s plan was unfolding — not through strength and dominance, but through vulnerability and trust.
Why Earthly Powers Fear the Kingdom of God
Why did Herod feel threatened by a baby?
Because the kingdom of God has always been a threat to earthly power.
Herod had authority.
He had soldiers.
He had a throne.
Yet he responded with violence, ordering the massacre of innocent children in Bethlehem.
Scripture describes it as a moment of unimaginable grief — “weeping and great mourning.”
Herod understood something that tyrants throughout history have always known:
If Jesus is king, every other throne is temporary.
Jesus Knows the Refugee Experience
Jesus didn’t just speak about caring for strangers — He lived it.
He knew what it was to be unsafe.
To be unwanted.
To depend on the kindness of others.
To live in a land that was not home.
That’s why, later in Matthew’s Gospel, Jesus can say:
“I was hungry and you gave me something to eat… I was a stranger and you invited me in.” (Matthew 25)
Jesus doesn’t say, “I sympathize with refugees.”
He says, “I was one.”
What This Means for the Church
This message is not about political parties or policy debates.
Scripture does not give us a simple blueprint for immigration systems — but it gives us something far deeper: the heart of God.
Again and again, God’s people are commanded to care for the foreigner, the stranger, the sojourner.
Why?
Because God’s people were once strangers themselves.
And because God chose to enter the world as one.
When the church remembers that Jesus was a refugee, it reshapes how we see those on the margins — not as problems to be solved, but as people to be loved.
The Refugee King Is Also the Reigning King
The story does not end in Egypt.
One day, the angel returns and tells Joseph:
“Get up, take the child and his mother and go to the land of Israel, for those who were trying to take the child’s life are dead.”
Every throne is temporary — except God’s.
The refugee child grows.
The kingdom comes.
The baby who fled violence will one day confront it.
The child who escaped death will one day defeat it.
Jesus rules — not through force, but through the cross.