When King Herod went on a rampage
of killing Hebrew babies two and under
in the hope of destroying the prophesied
King of Kings, Mary and Joseph fled with
baby Jesus out of harms way to Egypt.
They stayed until it was safe to head
home. Mary, Joseph and baby Jesus
fled terror. Baby Jesus was a refugee.
Baby Jesus was a helpless immigrant
in Egypt. Baby Jesus emigrated to Egypt.
The King of Kings was a refugee; the
King of Kings was an immigrant; Jesus
is a refugee; Jesus is an immigrant.
Where is Jesus? Jesus, King of Kings,
is there with the babies who have been
torn from their mothers’ breasts; Jesus,
King of Kings, is there with the babies
torn from their fathers’ arms. Where is
Jesus? Jesus sits in the sweltering heat
with the babies. Jesus loves the little
babies, all the babies of the world; red,
black, brown, yellow and white, they are
precious in refugee, immigrant Jesus’
sight. Immigrant Jesus loves the little
babies of the world. There is Jesus.
If we are Jesus’ body, how will the
babies know Jesus is there?
Where are we?
*idea from a meditation by Frederick Buechner
and a blog post by the Rev. Dr. Barbara Edema