Pastoring in the Time of King Herod

Editor’s note: This story is told with permission.

We stood in front of security at Dulles Airport, holding hands, bowing our heads, surrounded by bags and some of us wearing way too many clothes because they wouldn’t otherwise fit in a suitcase. We prayed for peace, in our hearts and in our world, for courage to begin yet again, for protection until they got off of US American soil and away from the threat of ICE, and for listening hearts to understand both the guidance of the Spirit and difficult British accents. This was not something I learned in seminary; the prayer I offered was not one I had found in a book of blessings; nor was this outcome one I had hoped for. And yet, there I was, holding hands with members of my church,  about to send off a much-beloved family of Ukrainian refugees to seek refuge in another country, the United Kingdom, because of the USA’s current anti-immigrant terrorism. 

Jesus was born in the time of King Herod, the Gospel of Matthew tells us. And quickly we learn that Herod was a man of fear, cunning, and violence. He lashed out against children, ripping them away from their families all to shore up his own power. His was a reign of terror, which sent the Christ child and his parents to Egypt seeking refuge. 

We don’t normally tell that part of the story on Christmas Eve, but my church, Trinity United Methodist in Frederick, MD, alluded to it accidentally when, at Christmas last year, a Ukrainian refugee who had made her home in our community played the part of Mary of Nazareth in our nativity. We had a church member start a feeding ministry with refugees in our county, and she would invite people from this ministry to church. One family became very involved and even joined. The mother of that family was Mary that Christmas Eve. 

Ten months later,  I held her, Mary’s, hand in Dulles Airport as she fled to the United Kingdom so her family would not be destroyed. At that moment, the ancient story of flight and fear was no longer a distant Christmas story. It was standing right in front of me.

As a pastor, I have helped with Green Card paperwork and even written letters (usually unsuccessful ones) to help people get temporary visas. But never have I worried about whether ICE would abduct my church kids in school, and never have I spent one whole day of work emailing every person I know internationally who might sponsor a refugee in another country. Though I have advocated for immigrants, never have I experienced so many of my members reaching out to Congress and immigration lawyers they knew on behalf of these siblings in Christ. And never have I felt so completely helpless- because even though we were doing the work, we ultimately have no control over immigration policy.

I reached out to Young Clergy Women International, to see if there were things I wasn’t thinking of that we could be doing to protect our church family. Yes, they don’t teach about refugee visa programs or the finer details of immigration law in seminary, but I know that other churches have been doing the work to protect their immigrant neighbors for years. But as one other young clergywoman said: “This is a new world.” Racism and xenophobia have always plagued this country and the Church, indeed the Church has aided Herod as much as it has sheltered the Holy Family, but the current political situation has made a mess of everything, and there is so much we don’t know when we do want to provide shelter. 

Here’s the thing, though: we are not asked to fix this broken immigration system as a single church congregation. But we are also not permitted to sit in our helplessness twiddling our thumbs until we can vote for people who would change the system. We are asked to be present and to do what good we can NOW. So we blessed this family, and tried to set them up as well as we could for them to start over again. 

And now, I offer his blessing for churches working in another time of King Herod: 

May we be those magi, keeping silent about the whereabouts of  those whom the king seeks.
May we be the angels, making a way for those who need to flee in safety. 
May we be the Egyptians, who offered refuge to a family in need. 
And may we know through it all, Emmanuel, God-with-us, is here even now.