Permit me an Advent/Christmas pastoral reflection.

Yes, they were “refugees”: coerced, by a hostile government, to leave their home in Nazareth, a genuine hardship for a pregnant woman and her husband, to undertake an arduous, long journey to register in a backwater village, a “little town” named Bethlehem.

That describes the Christmas story: Mary, Joseph, with Jesus, in Mary’s womb, to be born in a stable in the company of cattle, sheep, and chickens!

The Holy Family of Jesus, Mary, and Joseph were refugees, seeking security, a safe place to stay to give birth to their firstborn. And, shortly after, eager to start a new life and just get settled, they again were uprooted as Joseph received the message of the death threats against their newborn.

Faithful Jews that they were, as they fled to Egypt for their lives, they must have recalled with both awe and trepidation the journey, the “Exodus,” of their ancestors from slavery in Egypt to freedom in a new home called Israel.

No wonder we followers of that baby born in Bethlehem have always been committed to welcoming immigrants and refugees. When Jesus grew up and preached, He always showed a tenderness to those without a home, those asylum seekers. So strongly did He advocate for them that He would tell us that, when we stand before Him on Judgment Day, He would decide our eternal fate by the answer we would give to His question, “When I was a stranger, did you welcome me?”

No wonder we have beautiful Christmas customs such as a candle in the window to let folks passing know they’re welcome, or setting an extra place at the table for the Yule dinner in case someone shows up hungry with no place to go.

Thank God, this ancient Jewish-Christian posture of solicitude for the immigrant and refugee historically flourished in “America the beautiful,” where all of us, except Native Americans, cherish grandparents and ancestors who came here from afar looking for sanctuary and opportunity.

As Mayor Ed Koch remarked to me when I arrived here as archbishop almost 15 years ago, “Two great women were here in New York to welcome the immigrant: Lady Liberty, and Mother Church!”

This is why I worry as a pastor when I hear of animosity and suspicion against our newcomers. Unfortunately, it’s far too rampant today, I fear. It’s a cloud dulling the Christmas star.

And I don’t mind admitting it gets my Irish up when such raw feelings come from our own Catholics. When one of our parishes tells me they don’t want their empty school to be used for classes needed by little refugee children eager to learn English, or a Catholic school protests an immigrant shelter next door, I’m tempted to reply — maybe a bit too harshly — “Well, quit calling yourselves Catholic! Actually, stop claiming to be Americans as well!”

Do our immigration laws need serious revision? Yes! Do we need a secure border? You bet! Does the flow of immigrants need monitoring and control? Sure! But, a border humanely secured, and an orderly, supervised entrance of refugees is not in opposition to a generous welcome to immigrants. We are a nation that has a proud legacy of dealing with this complexity well. Now when the worldwide crisis of refugees is overwhelming our borders and our cities we are being tested to do so again. 

But, when politicians threaten and sue Catholic Charities for feeding and sheltering those who come here hungry and alone, well …  I guess they’d arrest the innkeeper at Bethlehem who at least found room for Jesus, Mary, and Joseph in his stable.

The “Silent Night” of Christmas 2023 calls for us to speak up for the new “holy families” who are heirs of the first Holy Family of Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, and re-claim our Jewish-Christian-American virtue of welcome!

We approach the immigrant crisis not as politicians or policy advocates, but as followers of Jesus. The United States, and New York in particular, has been among the most welcoming for immigrants. Our Catholic Church- parishes, schools, hospitals, and charities – has been on the front lines of embracing them, and keeping moms, dads, and kids together. Our holy ancestors — St. Elizabeth Ann Seton, Mother Cabrini, Pierre Toussaint, Archbishop John Hughes, Dorothy Day — have worked with them, seeing in them Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.

As Archbishop of New York, I have been blessed to pastor one of the most diverse communities in the nation. The magnificent gifts and talents I have seen here bolster my hope this Advent. And yet the serious concerns I have raised, compel me to end with a prayer and plea:  Let us come together with our differences to address this crisis – compassionately and fairly. We need to do so for the sake of those who have made this nation home for many years, and for those recently arrived who seek to make this nation and New York their new home. 

This Christmas, I pray we each make our own contribution to reflect further into our world the light of Bethlehem’s star. This is our sacred duty! We will not be intimidated.