Matthew 2:13-23
Christmas 1
December 28, 2025
William G. Carter
Now
after they had left, an angel of the Lord appeared to Joseph in a dream and
said, “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.” Then Joseph got up, took the child and his mother by night, and
went to Egypt and remained there until the death of Herod. This was to
fulfill what had been spoken by the Lord through the prophet, “Out of Egypt I
have called my son.”
When
Herod saw that he had been tricked by the magi, he was infuriated, and he
sent and killed all the children in and around Bethlehem who were two years old
or under, according to the time that he had learned from the magi. Then
what had been spoken through the prophet Jeremiah was fulfilled: “A voice was
heard in Ramah, wailing and loud lamentation, Rachel weeping for her children; she
refused to be consoled, because they are no more.”
When
Herod died, an angel of the Lord suddenly appeared in a dream to Joseph in
Egypt and said, “Get up, take the child and his mother, and go to the land
of Israel, for those who were seeking the child’s life are dead.” Then
Joseph got up, took the child and his mother, and went to the land of
Israel. But when he heard that Archelaus was ruling
Judea in place of his father Herod, he was afraid to go there. And after being
warned in a dream, he went away to the district of Galilee. There he made
his home in a town called Nazareth, so that what had been spoken through the
prophets might be fulfilled, “He will be called a Nazarene.”
On this Sunday
after Christmas, I am blessed to have the help of three friends. You have heard
from one already. He is our liturgist. Back in college, he was an English major
with a fondness for good words. Another is a retired pastor, also an English
major once upon a time. He’s a fan of good words, too. A third is a friend who
now lives in my hometown. Like the first he has been a radio host. Like the
second, he’s a retired pastor. Another aficionado of words.
It’s that third friend, Jeff Kellam, who prompted the idea for today’s sermon, a sermon full of poetry. He sent me a poem three weeks ago. “There’s not a lot of material on Joseph,” he noted, “so I thought I’d write a poem.” He calls it “Novice Father Joseph.” Here it is:
Joseph, with calloused hands and
quaking voice,
pushes a curious critter aside
to gaze at the manger with
a father's pride;
his heart full, he must rejoice.
The mystery once far
beyond reason
is now so clear in this stable scene:
cave, crib, straw, stark and mean,
and the infant, bundled, bound, his
son.
The carpenter knows wood, tools, and
measure;
but holding one so vulnerable, so
fragile...
could his arms embrace a child so
gentle?
Of course, yes! Joe's wide grin
showed his pleasure.
In days and years to come, Joseph
would learn
to listen for more angels through the
noise
of hammers and saws, for a guiding
voice,
with both warnings and deliverance to
discern.
But for now on this silent night,
he cradles the infant, both teary,
while Mary rests, delivery-weary,
and overhead stars promise new Light.[1]
How do you learn to listen for an angel? According to the Gospel of Matthew, you could begin to pay attention to your dreams. That’s how Joseph decided to take Mary as his wife. He was a “righteous man,” a “zaddik,” a person who welcomed the guidance of God’s Torah for living his life. When he learned Mary was pregnant, and he knew it happened apart from him, he was well aware of what the old Bible teaching said: get rid of her.
But he took the letter of the Law with a measure of holy mercy. He decided to dismiss her “quietly.” Then he went to sleep. An angel spoke to him in a dream, somewhere between unconsciousness and waking. “Joseph,” said the angel, calling him by name, “don’t be afraid of how this child is coming into the world.” The dream – and the angel – shook him up. He decided to accept the marriage, to accept Mary’s child as his own.
He “went the extra mile,” something Mary’s child would grow up to teach the multitudes. Joseph did it first because of the angel, because of the dream. The child Jesus was as good as his. So, why not have a Sunday to dream about Joseph?
I asked my friend Jim, “Got any good material on Joseph?” He said, “Not yet. Then he sat down a wrote a poem of his own. We need to hear him read it:
Living the Dreams
“How’s it going?” I asked.
“Living the dream,” he replied,
“but I’m not sure whose!”
No doubt Joseph knew whose dream
he found himself living
again and again and again and again.
Like the dreamer of old
with whom he shared a name
Joseph’s dreams foreshadowed lifesaving.
Pondering what to do about a fiancé
pregnant without his pleasurable
contribution
he made a decision and slept on it.
Then came the first dream
directing the living of his days
and those of his wife and her Spirited
child.
This righteous man, obedience personified
followed the plan the Creator
sketched on his carpenter’s bench.
A second dream brought a call to action—
the child’s life was threatened by a
fragile king
desperate to snuff out a rival.
The dreamer packed up wife and child
crossed a border seeking sanctuary
in a land where ancestors once flourished,
then suffered.
Twice more dreams in the night
instructed his heart and directed his
steps
leading to a place to settle down and set
up shop.
Entrusted with God’s Son
to train up in the way he should go
we trust the dreamer lived faithfully ever after.[2]
As we heard in today’s Gospel story, Joseph’s second dream saved Jesus’ life. After the wise men were warned in a dream to avoid King Herod, Joseph has a warning of his own. “Take the child and hide out in Egypt. Avoid his enemy by hiding among Israel’s ancient enemies.”
This prompts another verse, a hymn within our hymnal which we will hear the words without the distraction of a melody we’ve never sung. It’s titled “In Bethlehem a newborn boy.” Listen:
In Bethlehem a newborn
boy was hailed with songs of praise and joy.
Then warning came of danger near: King Herod’s
troops would soon appear.
The soldiers sought the child in vain: not yet
was he to share our pain;
but down the ages rings the cry of those who saw
their children die.
Still rage the fires of hate today, and
innocents the price must pay,
while aching hearts in every land cry out, “We
cannot understand!”
Lord Jesus, through our night of loss shines out
the wonder of your cross,
the love that cannot cease to bear our human
anguish everywhere.
May that great love our lives control and
conquer hate in every soul,
till, pledged to build and not destroy, we share
your pain and find your joy.[3]
This world has never been kind to all of its children. Matthew’s gospel story is teaching us about right and wrong, about good and evil. It draws a moral line, declaring in story form that Herod is preoccupied with his own superficial throne. He wants no threat to his power. He will go to any length possible. He forgets that his abusive life has an expiration date. God will outlive him.
Jim got in touch
the other day. “I found another poem that you can use,” he said. It’s in the December
issue of The Christian Century, a periodical we both receive. Of course, I
couldn’t find my copy, so he sent it to me – and I’d like him to read it. It’s
called “Carpenter’s Lullabye,” written by a pastor in Hawaii. He prefaces it by
a quote from Pope Francis: “I consider Saint Joseph the special patron of those
forced to leave their native lands because of war, persecution and poverty.” Here
is the poem. Listen:
The world will quickly claim you
Soon you will grow tall
From my workshop I have saved
Adze, auger, awl, and blade
Beneath your pillow and your pall
Herod’s assassins will not find you
I vowed to guard you in this stall
Papa knows your future, but has Mary told me all?
Forget the madness
Chaos, sadness
In the city, in the wild
For this night you are my child
The road goes on from here
I cannot tell you where
Papa must know what’s best
But miles to go before you rest
Baby, close your eyes I pray
Please don’t look on me that way!
Is it you who’ll save the day?
Sleep, child, in this manger small;
The world will quickly claim you.
No assassin, no betrayal
Joseph guards you in this stall[4]
I will call out two lines: “Forget the madness, chaos, sadness…” And then, “Baby…is it you who’ll save the day?” That’s the truth of Christmas, Epiphany, Lent, Easter, and Ascension. The baby Jesus grows up. God kept sending dreams to guard his life. Herod could not eliminate him.
And years later, when another brutal empire tried again – and succeeded – God did two further miracles. God grabbed all the hatred that put Jesus on the cross and took it away. The world did its absolute worst to God’s own Son, and God canceled that sin once and for all. Then God raised up Jesus, wounds and all – raised him back to life, raised him to his rightful position as King of Kings and Lord of Lords. We live in the light of those two miracles. And we are awakened into the dream that God has for all people, in every time and place.
Who sees this dream? The saints and poets,
maybe. They do some. And few have been as eloquent as Langstone Hughes, the poet
of the Harlem Renaissance. He could dream a world where every child is safe,
where all people live in peace and all are welcome. I’m going to ask Chris to
read this. We will pause to let the words sink in, and then we will move along.
“I Dream a World” by Langston Hughes
I dream a world where man
No other man will scorn,
Where love will bless the earth
And peace its paths adorn
I dream a world where all
Will know sweet freedom's way,
Where greed no longer saps the soul
Nor avarice blights our day.
A world I dream where black or white,
Whatever race you be,
Will share the bounties of the earth
And every man is free,
Where wretchedness will hang its head
And joy, like a pearl,
Attends the needs of all mankind -
Of such I dream, my world!
[1] “Novice Father Joseph,” Jeffrey S.
Kellam, 2021.
[2] “Living the Dreams,” James E.
Thyren, December 2025.
[3] “In Bethlehem a newborn boy,” Rosamund
E. Herklots, in Glory to God (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press,
2016) 155. By permission of OneLicense.net.
[4] “Carpenter’s Lullabye,” Gary Percesepe. The Christian Century, December 2025, 53.
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