Holy Family vs. ICE: Nativity Scene Sparks Outrage Over Border Crisis

Paul Riverbank, 12/16/2025 Nativity scenes now spark national debate, as churches use sacred symbols to comment on immigration and policy. These displays highlight the profound tensions—and hopes—at the crossroads of faith, law, and American identity in a deeply divided nation.

Pastor Andrew Shipley stands on the wet sidewalk, studying the arrangement. He admits, “It’s supposed to be disturbing. The reality for families here these past weeks… it’s disturbing too.” He’s not just talking about art. Since federal immigration officers started ramping up enforcement in Charlotte, apprehensions have surged, sparking both applause and a wave of anxiety among locals. It’s not a benign tableau; the Nativity is a flashpoint, and the reaction has mirrored the country’s mood. A man pulled up, scowled, yelled “This is disgusting,” and toppled the ICE figurines before speeding off. Within the hour, parishioners had quietly set everything back in place, but the episode left its mark.

Nativity displays haven’t stayed simple elsewhere, either. Over in Dedham—the one near Boston—St. Susanna Catholic replaced holy figures with a stark sign: “ICE WAS HERE.” It’s unmissable. Below, smaller print reassures: “the Holy Family is safe inside the sanctuary of our church.” A local number for immigrant support sits at the bottom, almost as an afterthought, but probably isn’t. The Archdiocese wasn’t pleased; calls came down to remove the installation. Father Steve Josoma, though, didn’t budge. In his Sunday sermon, he likened these Christmas scenes to the parables—challenging, intended to unsettle, and to provoke thought.

Viewpoints remain wildly divergent. Todd Lyons, acting ICE Director, has criticized the trend, labeling it “dangerous and extremist.” Lyons and others say those who object are, in their view, defending law and order, not attacking compassion. The conversation bleeds quickly into the national debate. In Illinois, outside Lake Street Church, the statues border on surreal: the baby Jesus in plastic zip-ties, huddled under a crinkled foil blanket, Mary and Joseph both masked, reminiscent of demonstrators outside detention centers. Michael Woolf, the pastor there, is stern: “We’re never going to back down from anything.” After Fox News featured their church, he says the threats started coming. Yet he tells his congregation they must “grieve and build capacity, use our faith and symbols to do the work.”

Of course, while some find these confrontations necessary, others worry about the line being blurred between the sacred and the political. There are, of course, other voices too—those sounding the alarm not over display but over border realities themselves. Tom Homan, previously head of ICE under multiple administrations, has become one of the most vocal supporters of strict enforcement. “We went from millions crossing to almost none in eight months,” Homan asserted recently, standing with Donald Trump. His tone was unyielding; he read off statistics about assaults on women and children, the crisis of fentanyl, warnings about suspected terrorists at the border. “A secure border means strong national security,” he insisted, adding he believed the current approach from D.C. was “inhumane” in the extreme.

All of this makes for a tense holiday season—and perhaps, a revealing one. For churches moved to advocate for migrants, the parallels to scripture feel impossibly clear. Matthew’s Gospel tells of the Holy Family fleeing to Egypt, not so much emigrants but refugees. Andrew McGowan, who lectures at Yale, commented that what’s so powerful is “the specific—not general—idea of the Holy Family as refugees, in flight from violence.” In a season that’s meant to bring a sense of hope, division seems the more resonant atmosphere.

Yet beneath the clash, there are those trying, even awkwardly, to reconcile compassion with the demands of the law. “One foot in the state, one foot in the Kingdom of God,” says the Rev. Dr. Scott Suskovic, serving Charlotte’s other mainline congregation. “God calls us to love and forgive—even and maybe especially—the widow, the orphan, the stranger.” He doesn’t pretend the answers are obvious. He wishes only, as many likely do this time of year, “If we disagree, let’s do so in love.”

As the Advent candles burn down, so too does patience for easy certainties. If nothing else, this year’s Nativity scenes have forced a city—a nation, perhaps—to look again, to reconsider not just whom we honor in art, but how, and why, we respond the way we do. Sometimes, the simple image of a small family under threat is enough to start a thousand necessary conversations.

It’s late December in Charlotte, North Carolina, and the small yard outside a neighborhood church has turned into something of a daring provocation. You probably wouldn’t notice anything out of the ordinary—at least not at first. There’s Mary, Joseph, and the infant Jesus kneeling quietly. But, this time, men in black tactical vests—emblazoned in bold white with “ICE”—hover over the manger. Their faces are hidden behind dark cloth masks, their presence inserting a chilling contrast to a scene most would expect to comfort, not unsettle.Pastor Andrew Shipley stands on the wet sidewalk, studying the arrangement. He admits, “It’s supposed to be disturbing. The reality for families here these past weeks… it’s disturbing too.” He’s not just talking about art. Since federal immigration officers started ramping up enforcement in Charlotte, apprehensions have surged, sparking both applause and a wave of anxiety among locals. It’s not a benign tableau; the Nativity is a flashpoint, and the reaction has mirrored the country’s mood. A man pulled up, scowled, yelled “This is disgusting,” and toppled the ICE figurines before speeding off. Within the hour, parishioners had quietly set everything back in place, but the episode left its mark.Nativity displays haven’t stayed simple elsewhere, either. Over in Dedham—the one near Boston—St. Susanna Catholic replaced holy figures with a stark sign: “ICE WAS HERE.” It’s unmissable. Below, smaller print reassures: “the Holy Family is safe inside the sanctuary of our church.” A local number for immigrant support sits at the bottom, almost as an afterthought, but probably isn’t. The Archdiocese wasn’t pleased; calls came down to remove the installation. Father Steve Josoma, though, didn’t budge. In his Sunday sermon, he likened these Christmas scenes to the parables—challenging, intended to unsettle, and to provoke thought.Viewpoints remain wildly divergent. Todd Lyons, acting ICE Director, has criticized the trend, labeling it “dangerous and extremist.” Lyons and others say those who object are, in their view, defending law and order, not attacking compassion. The conversation bleeds quickly into the national debate. In Illinois, outside Lake Street Church, the statues border on surreal: the baby Jesus in plastic zip-ties, huddled under a crinkled foil blanket, Mary and Joseph both masked, reminiscent of demonstrators outside detention centers. Michael Woolf, the pastor there, is stern: “We’re never going to back down from anything.” After Fox News featured their church, he says the threats started coming. Yet he tells his congregation they must “grieve and build capacity, use our faith and symbols to do the work.”Of course, while some find these confrontations necessary, others worry about the line being blurred between the sacred and the political. There are, of course, other voices too—those sounding the alarm not over display but over border realities themselves. Tom Homan, previously head of ICE under multiple administrations, has become one of the most vocal supporters of strict enforcement. “We went from millions crossing to almost none in eight months,” Homan asserted recently, standing with Donald Trump. His tone was unyielding; he read off statistics about assaults on women and children, the crisis of fentanyl, warnings about suspected terrorists at the border. “A secure border means strong national security,” he insisted, adding he believed the current approach from D.C. was “inhumane” in the extreme.All of this makes for a tense holiday season—and perhaps, a revealing one. For churches moved to advocate for migrants, the parallels to scripture feel impossibly clear. Matthew’s Gospel tells of the Holy Family fleeing to Egypt, not so much emigrants but refugees. Andrew McGowan, who lectures at Yale, commented that what’s so powerful is “the specific—not general—idea of the Holy Family as refugees, in flight from violence.” In a season that’s meant to bring a sense of hope, division seems the more resonant atmosphere.Yet beneath the clash, there are those trying, even awkwardly, to reconcile compassion with the demands of the law. “One foot in the state, one foot in the Kingdom of God,” says the Rev. Dr. Scott Suskovic, serving Charlotte’s other mainline congregation. “God calls us to love and forgive—even and maybe especially—the widow, the orphan, the stranger.” He doesn’t pretend the answers are obvious. He wishes only, as many likely do this time of year, “If we disagree, let’s do so in love.”As the Advent candles burn down, so too does patience for easy certainties. If nothing else, this year’s Nativity scenes have forced a city—a nation, perhaps—to look again, to reconsider not just whom we honor in art, but how, and why, we respond the way we do. Sometimes, the simple image of a small family under threat is enough to start a thousand necessary conversations.