Preached on Sunday, January 4, 2026, the Second Sunday after Christmas, at Trinity Episcopal Cathedral, Little Rock.

Joseph got up…and went to Egypt. (Matthew 2:14)

It’s a good thing that Christmas is not just one day but twelve days, a whole season. It’s a good thing, I think, because the Incarnation doesn’t make sense all at once. It takes time to understand the Incarnation. It takes time for this miracle to sink into our hearts and minds. Christmas takes some time.

It’s like becoming a parent. The longer you live with that firstborn baby, the more that parenthood becomes real—far more than you could have possibly understood on day one.

So it was for Mary and Joseph. I can’t imagine that they grasped on that first night what this Child would mean for them or for the world. But day by day, it became more and more clear.

And that is exactly where we find ourselves today, on this, the eleventh day of Christmas. Like Mary and Joseph holding their baby Boy, we are just beginning to wrap our heads around what all of this really means.

And one of the things that we––like Mary and Joseph––are just beginning to understand is that this Child will require us to change.

Of course, this is true of every child. Every newborn demands that our lives be rearranged. Every new parent knows this well. You can’t live as you did before. You can’t do New Year’s Eve like you used to. You can’t have the same schedule you used to. Your home changes. Your spending changes. Your relationship to work changes. Your habits change. Your priorities change. And if you refuse to change, the child suffers.

So it was for Mary and Joseph—only far more so. For you see, this Child was in danger. Herod, threatened by rumors of a newborn king, responded with violence: he killed countless innocent children across the land hoping he would kill the One Who had been born King of the Jews. Joseph was warned in a dream to act—not later, not when it was convenient, but immediately, by night. And he did what faithful change-making often requires of us: he acted quickly, decisively, and without full understanding. He uprooted his family, abandoned his home, and fled to a foreign land by the cover of night. Their lives were overturned not by their own choosing, but by God’s command, trusting that God’s promise would follow. And it was only through that costly change that the Christ Child survived.

That is exactly where we find ourselves today, too. We are Mary and Joseph. We are the ones cradling this new Incarnate Life in our arms. And we are the ones being asked the question: what must I change so that this Incarnate Life might survive?

The Incarnation is demanding. Ask anyone who has lived the Christian life for any length of time. Faith does not run on autopilot. It doesn’t just happen. A life with God requires care, intention, and yes, costly change. Otherwise, we lose it.

Now, let me be clear. This isn’t to say that the Incarnation can be taken away from us. There is nothing done or left undone that will revoke God’s grace. The Incarnation does not depend on us in that sense. It’s not a reward. It’s not a prize. It’s a gift: freely given, undeserved, irrevocable.

And yet, this gift still asks something of us. If this Incarnate Life is to be sustained, if it is to take root in us, then we must ask ourselves the question alongside Mary and Joseph: what is God calling me to change so that this Incarnate Life might really live?

The start of a new calendar year is a good time for that sort of question. It’s a good time to take stock, to examine our priorities, and to ask ourselves yet again: what change is God asking of me?

It may be small, or it may be large—perhaps not “fleeing to Egypt by night” large, but maybe not far from it.

Maybe it’s coming to Church a bit more often. Maybe it’s trying out Sunday School, or Koinonia, or Book Club for the first time. Maybe it’s joining us for Monday morning Bible study at Community Bakery. Maybe it’s dusting off that Bible at home. Maybe it’s starting a prayer practice at home. Maybe it’s signing up for a new ministry at the Cathedral, or volunteering somewhere in our community. Maybe it’s giving money to a cause that’s near and dear to your heart. Maybe it’s leaving one job for another, one that brings you more joy and purpose. Maybe it’s reconciling a relationship that has long been broken. Maybe it’s putting up boundaries with a relationship that has long been toxic.

I don’t know what your Egypt is. But I do know this: if the Incarnation is real—and I believe it is—then God will call us to go somewhere new so that Christ’s life might be sustained. And when we do that, Christ will grow in us, that newborn Child will increase in us, and our lives will be utterly and beautifully transformed—if we go where God tells us to go.