This Christmas, whilst you gather in warmth and light, let us pause the familiar stories and carols to hear a more urgent story—the story of the Bethlehem of today, not the one of silent night and starlight, but one echoing with explosions and grief.

We speak of a Prince of Peace who entered a world under occupation. We celebrate a refugee child, born in poverty, whose family fled the violence of a ruler. This is the Jesus we claim to follow.

But consider what this Jesus—peace be upon him—would not have supported.

He would not have supported the bombing of churches, mosques, schools, and hospitals. He who taught us to love our neighbor and turn the other cheek would weep at the desecration of sanctuaries and the slaughter of the innocent within them.

He would not have supported the ethnic cleansing of villages, the bulldozing of homes, the stealing of land that erases generations of memory and lineage. The child who had no place in the world would be enraged at the creation of thousands more with no place at all.

He would have cried an ocean at the sight of children—targeted, shot, frozen—and babies dying under rubble or tents from the cold. The one who said, “Let the little children come to me,” would be on his knees in anguish.

The Jesus you should remember at Christmas did not remain silent in the face of injustice. He flipped tables in temples of corruption. He stood unequivocally with the oppressed, the poor, the persecuted, and the occupied. His very life was a challenge to the empire of his day.

So this Christmas, a haunting question hangs over your nativity scenes:

How can we speak of church on Sunday, or sing carols in our peaceful villages, while remaining silent about the slaughter and the bombing of churches in Gaza? Churches that have stood since the time of the Apostles, where families have kept the faith for millennia, their very names traceable to the community Jesus knew. To see these ancient Christian communities, these living stones of the faith, facing annihilation & extinction in silence is a profound betrayal.

This is the hypocrisy of our age: attempting to stand with both Jesus and Caesar. To bless the empire’s weapons with one hand while holding a candle for the Prince of Peace with the other. It is an impossible divide. Jesus peace be upon him stood with the oppressed and occupied, not the oppressor and occupier.

This Christmas, the message is clear and stark: If you truly believe in Jesus—peace be upon him—you cannot remain neutral. Your faith must compel you to see, to name, and to resist the crushing of a people. You must stand with Palestinians as their homes are desecrated, their land stolen, and their very existence threatened.

The Christmas story is not a lullaby. It is a revolution of love and justice. It is a call to choose sides.

This year, let your Christmas prayer be one of courageous action. Let us choose to stand where Jesus stood—on the side of the wounded, the grieving, and those crying out for liberation. For only there can we truly find the hope of peace on earth, and goodwill to all.

Stand with the oppressed. Silence is complicity.