The Moving Man: Lessons in Obedience and Divine Protection
Have you ever found yourself in a season of constant movement? Not just physically relocating, but spiritually transitioning from one phase of life to another? There's something profoundly instructive about the early years of Jesus' life that speaks directly to our own journeys of faith and obedience.
When God Says Move
The story picks up just after the wise men—the Magi—have visited the young child Jesus in Bethlehem. Notice the text doesn't specify three wise men; it simply says "the Magi." They brought gifts fit for a king: gold for royalty, and frankincense and myrrh—ointments used in burial preparations. Even at His birth, the shadow of the cross was present.
Joseph had likely begun to settle down. Perhaps he was thinking about establishing his carpenter shop, building a life for his family in Bethlehem. But God had other plans. An angel appeared to Joseph in a dream with urgent instructions: "Get up, take the child and his mother and escape to Egypt. Stay there until I tell you, for Herod is going to search for the child to kill him" (Matthew 2:13).
Here's what's remarkable: Joseph didn't negotiate. He didn't ask for clarification. He didn't say, "Lord, I don't know anyone in Egypt" or "I don't speak the language" or "Let me pray about this for a few weeks." The text tells us Joseph got up that very night and left. When God spoke, Joseph moved.
Delayed obedience is disobedience. Partial obedience is disobedience.
How many times has God whispered to us that it's time to change a situation, and we've responded with "But I'm comfortable here"? How often has the Spirit prompted us to make a move, and we've negotiated, rationalized, or simply waited to see if the feeling would pass?
Joseph understood something crucial: when God speaks, He speaks for a reason, and that reason is always connected to our protection and God's purpose.
The Refugee Savior
Consider this striking detail: Jesus became a political refugee. He was an immigrant, a minority living in Egypt. And here's a thought worth pondering—how could a family hide in Egypt, an African nation, and blend in with the natives? What level of melanin would be required to disappear into the local population? This isn't an incidental detail; it's a profound statement about who Jesus was and who He identified with.
From the very beginning, Jesus understood vulnerability. He wasn't born in a palace but in a feeding trough. He didn't flee to luxury but to refugee status. This means our care for strangers, our advocacy for refugees, our standing with the displaced—these aren't merely acts of political correctness. They're acts of biblical faithfulness. We're following the example of Jesus Himself, who knew what it meant to be a stranger in a strange land.
The Retaliation of Power
While Joseph's family escaped, something horrific unfolded in Bethlehem. When Herod realized the Magi had outwitted him, he ordered the execution of all boys two years old and under in Bethlehem and the surrounding area.
Herod was a dictator consumed by paranoia. He killed his own wife when he suspected her of plotting against him. He murdered three of his own sons. The Roman Emperor Augustus once quipped that it was better to be Herod's pig than Herod's son—since Herod converted to Judaism and wouldn't touch pork, but he'd readily kill his own children.
Interestingly, there's limited historical record of this massacre outside of Scripture. But that shouldn't surprise us. Powerful people commit atrocities and then try to erase them from the record. We've seen this pattern throughout history—the rewriting of textbooks, the banning of books, the changing of narratives, the removal of uncomfortable truths from curricula.
Herod's massacre represents something we still see today: the powerful attempting to protect their position at any cost, even if it means destroying the innocent. Matthew quotes Jeremiah 31:15: "A voice is heard in Ramah, weeping and great mourning, Rachel weeping for her children and refusing to be comforted, because they are no more."
This is the sound of trauma. This is the sound of mothers who have lost their children to violence they didn't create and cannot control. And Jesus hears that sound. Jesus knows that pain. He came into a world where this violence existed, and He didn't ignore it—He came to confront it and ultimately defeat it.
The Return and the System
After Herod died, an angel again appeared to Joseph: "Get up, take the child and his mother and go to the land of Israel, for those who were trying to take the child's life are dead" (Matthew 2:20). Joseph obeyed and returned, but when he heard that Herod's son Archelaus was ruling in Judea, he withdrew to Galilee and settled in Nazareth.
Here's a critical lesson: we can't just focus on the man; we must understand we're dealing with systems. Just because someone we don't like is no longer in charge doesn't mean the system will suddenly work in our favor. The man can go away, but someone else will fill that vacuum, potentially doing just as much harm—maybe even with a smile.
Scripture reminds us: "We wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities" (Ephesians 6:12). Systems outlast individuals.
Fulfilling Prophecy Through Obedience
What's beautiful about Joseph's journey is that he fulfilled multiple prophecies without even trying. Micah prophesied the Messiah would be born in Bethlehem. Hosea declared He would be called out of Egypt. Multiple prophets said He would be called a Nazarene.
Joseph wasn't checking prophetic boxes. He was simply listening to God and obeying. And in that obedience, God's purpose was fulfilled.
That's how God works. When we align ourselves with God's will, when we listen to His voice, when we move when He says move and stay when He says stay, God weaves our obedience into His master plan.
Joseph didn't have a five-year plan or a GPS. What he had was a relationship with God, an ear tuned to God's voice, and a willingness to trust even when he couldn't see the full picture.
God's Compassion for Us
The word "compassion" comes from Latin roots meaning "to suffer with." It means taking someone's pain seriously and doing what you can to alleviate it. We cannot cover our eyes and ears and ignore the violence around us. Jesus grew up seeing vulnerable people, and Scripture tells us He had compassion on them.
The same God who provided for and protected Joseph, Mary, and Jesus is the same God providing for and protecting us today. He's active in our lives. He's securing our future. And He calls us to have that same compassion for vulnerable people in our communities.
Like Joseph, we've had to move when we didn't want to. Like Jesus' family, we've known displacement and unfamiliar territory. Like the mothers of Bethlehem, we've experienced grief and loss. But through it all—through every struggle, every political turmoil, every financial crisis, every relationship challenge—God is with us.
Even when we cannot track Him, we can trust Him. Through it all, we learn to depend on His word. God doesn't wait until we're in crisis mode to show up. He's already there, already working, already making a way.
We just need to learn to listen to His voice and trust His guidance. Because if He protected the Messiah through all of that, how much more will He protect us?
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