The Christmas story is not a story of peace and quiet but a tale of tumult and danger.
It is the story of the Son sent of the Father into a harsh world, of a difficult journey from Nazareth to Bethlehem, of the magi travelling far from the East. It is a story of angelic visits; mass migration; murder; deceit; and finally, Joseph, Mary, and Jesus fleeing for Egypt to save their lives. It is a story that barely lets us catch our breath.
And it is within this peril that we find God working a surprising reversal that will be for the salvation of those “who were far away” as much as “those who were near” (Eph. 2:17)—the salvation of one of Israel’s oldest enemies alongside the holy family. God moves to Egypt to “say to those called ‘Not my people,’ ‘You are my people.’” And just as he promised, they come to respond, “You are my God” (Hos. 2:23; Rom. 9:23–25).
The story of Joseph, Mary, and Jesus running from the tyranny of King Herod appears in no one’s Nativity play. We leave it out of the front-lawn creche. It is found only in Matthew’s telling of Jesus’ birth (2:13–23), where it concludes an account of great violence: After learning of the impending birth of a new king in Bethlehem, Herod the Great flies into a fit of rage, ordering all the male infants in the area to be murdered (2:16–18). Wailing mothers add their voices to the songs of the angels, and the young family, having been warned by an angel of this impending disaster, flees south. They remain in Egypt until after Herod dies (2:13–15, 19–20).
This is a curious story, for consider where Jesus and his family go: They escape the massacre by returning not to their hometown but to Egypt, where Israel’s national history began. It was in Egypt that the people of God were told the name of God (Ex. 3:14), that Moses came to them, that events began which culminated in God’s giving of the Law.
Egypt was not, in the Old Testament, a place of respite, even if its leeks and onions were delightful and its food delicious (Num. 11:5). And yet, the one who fulfilled the Law leaves the land of promise and is carried into Egypt. It is a surprising turn of events that the land which oppressed Israel now becomes a haven for Israel’s Messiah.
To be sure, Egypt was the place of refuge for Jacob’s family before it was the place of their enslavement. And it was often Egypt with whom early Israel traded and made alliances (1 Kings 3:1). But Egypt in the Old Testament was also symbolic of the empires of the world. It was a people destined for destruction, the nation that attacked Israel in the days of Rehoboam (2 Chron. 12:2). Both Isaiah (20:3–4) and Ezekiel (29:12) warn against trusting Egypt.
The holy family’s flight to Egypt inaugurated a change in Egypt’s relationship to God and his people. In the first few centuries after Christ, Egypt became one of the most important centers of early Christianity.
Legend has it that Saint Mark came to Alexandria, Egypt, as early as AD 41, inaugurating the church there. In the decades that followed, Alexandria was the center of debate over Christ’s divinity, a conversation that led to the first great churchwide council in Nicaea in AD 325. Egypt was also the epicenter of early Christian desert monasticism. The early diocese of Egypt helped support Christianity across North Africa, and it was the home of Athanasius, Origen, Anthony, and Cyril—titans of early Christianity. Today, Egypt remains home to one of the oldest Christian traditions, the Coptic church.
The moment when the holy family flees as refugees into Egypt turns a page in God’s story. No longer is Egypt only the land where Israel was enslaved and false gods trounced. It is now the land that has sheltered the infant Christ, honored as the first among the Gentiles to welcome the Messiah.
This part of the Christmas story gives us a new perspective on how God works: across millennia, not minutes or days or even years. For the arc of history is long and bends toward the redemption not only of Israel but also of Egypt and of all who call upon the name of the Lord (Rom. 10:13). God is not slow in keeping his promises as some count slowness (2 Pet. 3:9). In Christmas, we see the promises of history coming to pass, including the promise that Israel would be a blessing to all the nations (Gen. 12:4).
That the villain of the Old Testament would become a hero in the New Testament is emblematic of the Christian hope. We hope for just this kind of surprise, that stories moving in one direction might yet have a different, better ending. We hope without ceasing that God’s great patience will provide time for the Holy Spirit to bring forth the church in all places. We hope that broken relationships will not always be broken, that by God’s mercy our political despair might contain the seeds of renewal. We hope for Esau to reconcile with Jacob, for the Prodigal Son to return home, for the cedars of Lebanon and the Temple Mount to be at peace again.
Christian hope does not mean setting aside good judgment or being dishonest about the past but trusting that our enemies too will enjoy being part of God’s good story. It does not mean setting aside reckoning of wrongs or forgetting the Exodus. It means telling a fuller and better story in which Egypt is also the cradle of Christian monasticism, hermeneutics, and preaching. It means telling the full truth of our enemies: that they too are beloved of God, that God has plans for them of which we do not know, that he is moving among them in ways which we cannot always see in full.
As we approach Christmas, let this kind of biblical hope work itself into our imagination. Let us remember that Egypt rescues the Lord, that Assyria repents at Jonah’s preaching, that the Gentiles lay down their idols and come to the church. There will be many opportunities in the New Year to tell a partial truth about our enemies. But the good news we see in Matthew 2 is that the ones who enslaved Israel have become the first among the Gentiles to welcome the incarnate Son.
Myles Werntz is author of From Isolation to Community: A Renewed Vision for Christian Life Together. He writes at Christian Ethics in the Wild and teaches at Abilene Christian University.