There were signs telling them change was coming.
First was a large, brilliant star, almost as bright as the sun as it streaked south across the night sky.
Next came the birds, thousands of them, big and black, of a kind never before seen in the village, filling the sky for an entire day, following the path of the star.
Then came the shaman’s daughter’s dream. A man with a moustache, clearly a god, appeared and told her that it was time for them to leave, to go to Thailand. He promised he would keep them safe.
Now the entire village had come together to discuss the signs and what they should do. For generations they had lived in the remote mountains of Laos, isolated from most of the world, living much the same way as their ancestors had for centuries.
But war had come to Laos, even to the remote mountain villages of the tribal Mien people. Some of the tribes had helped American soldiers in the war. Now with the Americans gone, the Communist leaders’ retribution was brutal. Rumors had reached them of other villages where everyone had been slaughtered by Lao soldiers.
For days they had wondered what they should do. If they stayed would their village be next? If they left could they make it to safety?
When Fou Tong, the shaman, told his friends about his daughter’s dream, the answer became clear. They must leave, must travel south to Thailand, where they hoped they could resume their way of life in that country’s mountains.
So Fou Tong, his wife and 10 children, and the rest of the villagers fled in the middle of the night. For two weeks they walked through the treacherous mountain jungle. At times they could hear soldiers nearby. They gave the youngest children opium to help them sleep so that their cries wouldn’t be heard. One baby never woke up.
They made it safely to Thailand. But after crossing the Mekong River to the new country they were met by soldiers, who took them to a refugee camp. There would be no setting up a new village in Thailand’s mountains.
I met Fou Tong and his family when I worked in a Thai refugee camp. They were among the lucky ones accepted to come to America, to start a new life in a strange and foreign land where not one thing would be familiar.
* * *
More than 2,000 years ago another dream sent a family fleeing in the night in fear for their lives.
In that dream an angel appears to Joseph with an urgent message. “Get up, take the child and his mother, and flee to Egypt, and remain there until I tell you; for Herod is about to search for the child, to destroy him.”
Joseph does as he is told, waking Mary, grabbing their few possessions, heading out in the night with their newborn child into a strange and foreign land.
All the commentaries on this story talk about how it fulfills Biblical prophecy about the messiah, that it strengthens the parallels between Jesus and Moses, who led his people out of slavery in Egypt.
But what this story says to me is that Jesus, the incarnation of God, God in flesh and blood, begins his life as a refugee.
And I wonder. How did Mary and Joseph keep the baby from crying, giving their presence away as they fled in the night?
Who helped this young family along the way? Did those strange gifts of gold, frankincense and myrrh help buy food and shelter?
How were they received in Egypt? Were they reviled as outsiders and aliens, and told to go back where they belong?
How did this experience shape Jesus’ life? Did Mary tell him stories of how they fled in the night?
Did he worry about the innocent victims of Herod’s rage and wonder why he was saved when others weren’t?
Did Mary teach her son that he should always be kind and generous to those who were different, because he, too, had been an alien in a strange and foreign land?
* * *
The story of families fleeing in the night continues today. In May 2024, the most recent figures that I could find, 120 million people throughout the world were displaced from their homes. That means they were forced to flee in fear of war, or persecution, or famine.
Behind these stark numbers are countless human tragedies, and unfathomable suffering.
Every day the flight to Egypt is being lived out thousands of times.
As a congregation we are preparing to meet one of those families. We think they will arrive sometime this month, but we don’t know exactly when. We don’t know their names, how many are in the family, where they are from, or why they had to flee.
We are eager to know all of those things, of course, but in one sense those details don’t matter. What does matter is that they need our help, and we are prepared to give it.
There is a storage room filled with furniture, waiting to be taken to the family’s apartment. In the parish hall are tables filled with the necessities of daily life here, all gifts from you. A group of parishioners is ready to set up the apartment, meet the family at the airport, and help them adjust to their new life in this strange land.
This is what we are called to do as Christians, to offer comfort and hope to those who flee in the middle of the night.
Soon we will have a president who was elected in part because of inflammatory and lie-filled rhetoric designed to stoke fear and hatred of immigrants and refugees, rhetoric that is profoundly unchristian.
The photo on the cover of today’s bulletin is an icon by Kelly Latimore called “Refugees La Sagrada Familia” or “Refugees, the Sacred Family.”
You see the Hispanic family, the mother and father in scruffy clothes, wearing shoes not meant to withstand a long journey on foot, carrying all their belongings in a backpack and flimsy bag. The baby is wrapped in a sling around his mother’s shoulder.
It is night, the moon is full, and you can see the fear and worry on the parents’ faces, alert to any danger that may be awaiting them.
What this painting says so profoundly is that all families fleeing danger, seeking safety for their children, are sacred. The families on our border hoping to seek asylum here are sacred. The families who have been ripped apart by our government are sacred. The families who are now being threatened by the man who soon will be president are sacred.
All our leaders’ talk of walls, all attempts to dehumanize these families, to use them as political pawns, puts us not only on the wrong side of history, but on the wrong side of our faith.
Because scripture tells us that if we want to find Jesus that is where he will be.
Jesus’ own words in the Gospel of Matthew tell us that, when he tells the disciples that when we care for the least among us, we are caring for him.
“I was hungry, and you gave me food,” he said.
“I was thirsty and you gave me drink.
“I was a stranger and you welcomed me.”
Amen.