The Peace of Advent

Jesus calls us to see families fleeing war and violence not as strangers to hate, but as neighbors to love and care for while we wait for the peace the angels promised.

The Nativity. St. Susanna Catholic Church, Dedham, MA.

On June 1, 1969, during their famous Bed-In for Peace, John Lennon and Yoko Ono inspired generations of anti-war protesters by singing… “Give peace a chance.”
 
Since October 9, 2001—John Lennon’s birthday, no less—I’ve spent an enormous amount of time trying to give peace a chance. This particular date was the day our first child was born.
 
A day that was incredible and amazing. But that first night? Not so much. Like most newborns, Fiona cried through much of it. To be honest, she hasn’t really stopped.

​But that’s how babies enter the world. And their first cries matter. As Science has discovered, this action fill the newborn's lungs with life and it teaches them how to communicate by announcing one’s presence in the world.

​I am totally sure Jesus—the Prince of Peace —cried his first night.  I believe Mary did too. As did Joseph. Although, according to our reading today, he probably has other reasons than joy for his weeping.

. . . . 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 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.” . . . . 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.”
                 ​                 ​                 ​                 ​                 ​    Matthew 2:13-23

​Like his Old Testament namesake, Joseph is a dreamer.

But his dreams are anything but comforting. The first one he has we learn he’s going to be a father to a kid who isn’t his. Now, Matthew gives us three more dreams. They're less visions of hope and more  like nightmares to dread.
 
In the first, he’s told that King Herod wants his child dead. And Joseph knows Herod has the power—and the cruelty—to make it happen. What this dream tells us is that the Christmas story isn’t all shiny and sentimental. It’s political. It’s dangerous. It’s soaked in fear, risk, and courage.
 
Joseph isn’t given visions of sugarplums. He’s given commands and escape routes. “Get up. Take the child and his mother and flee…”

​And that’s exactly what he does. And just like that, the Holy Family becomes a refugee family, fleeing those who want to harm them.
 
Now, put yourself in Joseph’s sandals. You’re young, poor, and responsible for two more lives. You hustle to grab whatever supplies you can get your hands on before anyone discovers what you’re doing.
 
The mother of your newborn is sleep deprived, postpartum, terrified. And your son is restless, defenseless, and vulnerable born into a world where kings harm children just to protect their own power.
 
Frightened, confused, and scared, your body tenses every time a soldier passes by.  You don’t know who you can trust, or who will turn you in. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you wonder: where’s this peace the angels had promised?
 
Scholar Robert Gundry suggests it’s already on its way—because the one who will usher peace into the world has escaped. Peace is coming from the most unlikely place, and the most unlikely king but we will have to wait.
 
Now, put yourself in Mary’s shoes. You’re a young girl who doesn’t have her family around to teach you how to be a mother but instinctively you know you will do anything to protect your child.

Imagine waiting for peace to come, while having to hide in a foreign land, where you don’t know anyone and you don’t speak the language. Yet Mary trusts God—just as she did the night she learned she was pregnant. In that trust, she will find hope, love, joy—and peace.
 
When Mary says yes, she might not know where the road will lead, but she knows who walks with her as she carries God’s incarnate love close to her breast. Somehow, that is enough to steady her heart as they seek refuge in Egypt.
 
Advent is a time we look within our darkest moments for faith that will see us safely through.
 
The faith we see in the Holy Family is the same carried by so many families today who are forced to flee their homeland because staying has become more dangerous than leaving.

​Thankfully for us, Egypt doesn’t turn them away. Their role in Israel’s history is redeemed for a moment, fulfilling what the prophet Hosea had said, “Out of Egypt I have called my son.”
 
Advent reminds us that God doesn’t abandon people in their fear, but God meets us there with an open heart and hands. Jesus calls us to do the same for each other. To see families fleeing violence and war not as strangers to hate, but as neighbors to love and care for while we wait for the peace the angels promised.
 
Jesus knows what it is like to be displaced. To be hunted. To be unwelcome. He knows the cruelty humans are capable of inflicting on one another.

And yet, through it all, he embodies God’s peace—not by taking up the sword, but by choosing love and mercy; by practicing compassion and kindness; by welcoming the poor, the oppressed, and the aliens residing in the land.
 
Fr. Greg Boyle, founder of Homeboy Industries, says, “There is no force in the world better able to alter anything from its course than love.”  Fear won’t do it. Neither will domination, outrage, or violence. Just love.

While king’s like Herod transmitted fear through violence. Jesus transforms it through love. And by his love, God’s shalom—God’s perfect wholeness, healing, restoration—is woven into life, into us.
 
Joseph will go on to have two more dreams—one leading the family back toward Israel. And another that sends them farther north, into Galilee, to a small, overlooked town called Nazareth.

 For nearly thirty years, the world will wait, while God hides the Prince of Peace in obscurity. Scripture is almost silent about those years, but the silence itself tells us something important. God continues to work in places that seem hidden to us.
 
This story tells us, if God can protect this child through danger, displacement, and even obscurity, then God can meet you in whatever mess you’re carrying today.

Peace doesn’t always arrive all at once. Sometimes it grows quietly, beneath the surface, while we wait. But again, this is where we find our faith hiding in the deepest, darkest depths of our soul.
 
We are given candles to lite at Advent, so we can see in the darkness, and find the truth that through the birth of Jesus, peace has come. And through the mystery of his resurrection, peace will come again. But it’s in the space between Christmas and Easter that we find ourselves still longing for what the angels promised.
 
Joseph reminds us that faith doesn’t always come with clarity. He receives dreams, not a map or plan. And like Mary, he trusts God enough to act before everything makes sense.

Joseph never speaks a recorded word in Scripture, yet he keeps responding. He listens. He trusts. And he moves. He just keeps saying yes. And somehow, his quiet obedience makes room for peace to enter the world.
 
Joseph isn’t asked to save the world. He’s just called to protect the One who will; the one God has placed in his care. By his faithfulness, peace is preserved. And God’s Shalom keeps moving forward—shaping the world into God’s kingdom.
 
That’s the gift Jesus names when he says, “My peace I give to you. Not as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid” (John 14:27).

The world’s peace is temporary, conditional, transactional. It depends on circumstances lining up just right. Jesus’ peace is relational. Durable. Resurrection-shaped. It doesn’t depend on everything going right. It depends on staying rooted in love, and protecting that love, even when the worldly kings say otherwise. 

So, we ought not look to the world for God’s shalom—the world cannot give us this kind of peace. But Jesus can. And Jesus does.
 
And here’s the thing to remember: Jesus shows us this peace not by escaping the world, but by loving it fiercely, generously, inclusively, without conditions.

Jesus calls us to be people who choose love when fear is easier. And to welcome others and make room for them as neighbors and family no matter who they are or where they’re from.
 
As we face the chaos in our world, our communities and homes, let us remember it was Jesus who said, “Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God” (Matthew 5:9).

If we want God’s peace in our lives, let us faithfully follow the One who blesses it.
 
By saying yes, our response allows us to become the light of God’s glory. And to shine brightly, even into the darkness spaces, so others can find hope, experience love, express joy, and be filled with peace that surpasses all understanding.
 
As you head back, out into the noise and the rush and the unfinished list of things to get done, may these words from Paul steady your steps: “Rejoice. Be made complete. Be comforted. Live in peace; and the God of love and peace will be with you” (c.f. 2 Cor. 13:11).