About Those Manger Scenes and Ice

This is Father Jared Cramer from St. John’s Episcopal Church in Grand Haven, Michigan, here with today’s edition of Christian Mythbusters, a regular segment I offer to counter some common misconceptions about the Christian faith. This week I want to talk about something that’s been in the news again this Advent season: churches setting up Nativity scenes that depict the Holy Family as refugees, sometimes even showing Mary, Joseph, and the infant Jesus behind bars or with imagery associated with immigration detention and ICE enforcement. As you might expect, these displays have sparked strong reactions. Some people find them deeply faithful. Others say they’re inappropriate, offensive, or “too political.” So let’s bust a myth. The myth is this: using the Nativity to raise questions about immigration, refugees, or state power is a modern political stunt that distorts the Christian story. Here’s the problem with that claim: the Nativity itself is already a story about displacement, state violence, and people on the margins. According to the Gospel of Matthew, Jesus is born under an occupying empire. Shortly after his birth, King Herod—terrified of losing power—orders the massacre of children in Bethlehem. To survive, Mary and Joseph flee with their child to Egypt. That is not metaphorical. It is not symbolic. It is a family crossing borders to escape state-sponsored violence. By any honest definition, Jesus begins his life as a refugee. So when churches depict the Holy Family as people on the run, or even in detention, they are not importing politics into the Gospel. They are allowing the Gospel to speak honestly about the realities it already names. I can already hear the response some people will say: “Jesus didn’t come to make political statements. He came to save souls.” But that too misunderstands both salvation and politics in the ancient world. In the Roman Empire, to say “Jesus is Lord” was already a political claim, because it meant Caesar was not. Jesus consistently confronted systems that crushed the poor, excluded the vulnerable, and justified violence in the name of order. He didn’t align himself with power. He aligned himself with people whose lives were made precarious by power. That doesn’t mean every Christian must agree on immigration policy. Faithful people can disagree about laws, borders, and enforcement. But the Christian faith does not allow us to ignore the humanity of those caught in the system—or to pretend that God is neutral when families are separated, children are traumatized, or fear becomes a governing tool. After all, it is abundantly clear that the biblical tradition insists that how societies treat the vulnerable is a theological question. Nativity scenes like these are not saying, “Here is the one correct policy.” They may be saying that no matter the difference on possible immigration policies, what our country is doing today is clearly and deeply immoral. But even more than that, these nativity scenes are asking a far more biblical question: Where is Christ found today? And the Christian answer has always been unsettling. Christ is found among those without power, without security, without a safe place to lay their heads. And that means that’s where Christians should be as well. If a Nativity scene makes us uncomfortable, that may say less about the scene and more about how thoroughly we’ve domesticated Christmas. We prefer a quiet, sentimental manger that doesn’t challenge us. But the real Nativity disrupts. It confronts fear, injustice, and violence with God’s radical choice to be born into vulnerability. Thanks for being with me. To find out more about my parish, you can go to sjegh.com. Until next time, remember: protest like Jesus, love recklessly, and live your faith out in a community that accepts you but also challenges you to be better tomorrow than you are today.