The Second Sunday after Christmas – January 3, 2026

The Rev. Canon Cathy Dempesy-Sims

In our opening collect today we hear these words: O God, who wonderfully created, and yet more wonderfully restored, the dignity of human nature

I can think of no better time than right now to be reminded of the gift of human nature, and of our baptismal promise to respect the dignity of the human nature of every single human being.

At no time since World War II has the world been subject to so many intolerant, dictatorial so-called leaders as it is today.

Jesus, of course, was born into an intolerant time as well. Indeed, the very act of the Incarnation—God taking on flesh—came at a moment of great fear, violence, and cruelty.

Which brings us to today’s Gospel, where the Holy Family—Joseph, Mary, and Jesus—are, once again, running for their lives.

First, at the command of a brutal, dictatorial king, they’re forced to travel to Bethlehem. While not entirely sure where Mary and Joseph were living at the time of the pregnancy, we know that Joseph and Mary—pregnant and near the point of giving birth—had to travel south, to Bethlehem, to register.

After registering, giving birth, welcoming visitors from far and wide, and finding a moment of rest, the Holy Family prepare to return home. But they cannot.

King Herod, terrified that this infant threatens his power, has already set his plans in motion. And so Joseph does what any parent would do: he gathers his family in the middle of the night and flees.

They race to Egypt—outside the bounds of Herod’s rule, beyond the reach of his hatred. We don’t know how long they stayed there. A year? Five? Ten? Scripture doesn’t tell us. What it does say this: they knew they were in danger, and they fled for their lives.

For their lives.

Now think about your own families. Did your relatives come to this country to escape persecution? Or were they seeking opportunity—a future their homeland could not offer? Perhaps, like some in my own family, they were brought here against their will.

However they came, one thing is true: people came here because they believed there would be safety. We’re they welcomed with open arms? Usually not.

African peoples were brought here as property, literally sold to the highest bidder. The Roman Catholic Irish fled famine—or, as with the Protestant Irish—(including my family), imprisonment—sent to a new world to do dangerous labor and “tame” land already inhabited by others. Many of your families arrived for different reasons: some by choice, some by force. And yet they came, and they made a life.

Joseph, Mary, and Jesus did the same. They fled to Egypt, likely living among other refugees, forming community, working, surviving, and quite possibly, thriving. Eventually, the pull of home called them back—but Judea was still dangerous. So they went north, to Galilee, to the small and unremarkable community of Nazareth.

You all know this story. And, in some ways this might seem like an easy sermon to write considering the times we live in and the Savior we follow.

But the truth it carries is anything but easy.

Welcoming the outcast and respecting human dignity is not optional for us. It’s our birthright—as people of faith and as a nation shaped by those who fled danger and injustice. When we see dignity denied, when we see fear weaponized, when we see the vulnerable cast aside, we are not free to shrug and move on.

We are compelled to act.

This is how our faith was formed.

This is how our country was formed.

And this is who we are called to be. Always. Amen.