A doll representing the baby Jesus was placed in a manger wrapped in a silver emergency blanket with his wrists zip-tied. Mary stood nearby outside Lake Street Church in Evanston, Illinois, wearing a plastic gas mask and flanked by Roman soldiers in tactical vests labeled “ICE.” In another Chicago suburb, not far from an Immigration and Customs Enforcement facility that has been the focus of protests, a sign at the manger outside Urban Village Church read, “Due to ICE activity in our community the Holy Family is in hiding.” More than a thousand miles away in Dedham, Massachusetts, the infant figure was missing from a Nativity at St. Susanna Parish and replaced by a hand-painted sign: “ICE was here.”
Those and other stark reworkings of the Christmas tableau have drawn both praise and outrage as churches use Nativity displays to comment on federal immigration enforcement under the Trump administration. Creators say they are framing the ancient story in a modern context, portraying the Holy Family as refugees to highlight fears of separation and deportation affecting many families, including parishioners.
Supporters argue the Bible supports the message; critics call the scenes sacrilegious and politically divisive, accusing churches of misusing sacred imagery and suggesting penalties such as revoking tax-exempt status. In Massachusetts, the archdiocese ordered the manger at St. Susanna restored “to its proper sacred purpose.” Boston Archbishop Richard Henning ordered this year’s display removed; as of Thursday, Father Steve Josoma was seeking a meeting and had not complied.
The debate comes as immigration enforcement has intensified in states and cities whose leaders oppose the crackdown. Federal figures show that in September alone at least 2,000 people were arrested in Illinois and Massachusetts.
“For churches, Christmas is a time when we have public art out on the lawn and we get an opportunity to say something,” said Rev. Michael Woolf, senior minister at Lake Street. Lake Street has a history of using outdoor displays to comment on current events; one past Nativity showed Jesus amid rubble as a plea for peace in Gaza.
St. Susanna parishioners have staged provocative displays before: in 2018 they locked baby Jesus in a cage to protest family separations at the border, and on another occasion placed the infant in water filled with plastic to call attention to climate change. Phil Mandeville, who sits on St. Susanna’s Parish Council and coordinates a multi-church refugee support committee, said the parish works regularly with refugee families on housing, school enrollment, English lessons and employment. “Just to emphasize the reason for all of this — it’s not a stunt,” he said. “We work on a daily basis with refugees. But people get upset about a bit of plaster. I care more about individuals than I do a manger scene.”
A diocesan spokesperson said parishioners have a right to expect opportunities for prayer and Catholic worship, “not divisive political messaging.” Some Catholic activists want the priest punished. “This is really a grave scandal for Catholics,” said C.J. Doyle, director of the Catholic Action League of Massachusetts, adding that the archbishop could remove or suspend the pastor or even close the parish.
Father Josoma said the display aims to move beyond static figures to evoke emotion and dialogue in response to parishioners’ fears as federal agents arrest not only undocumented immigrants but sometimes longtime legal residents, spreading anxiety. In Illinois, the detention campaign has reportedly left bystanders choking on chemical sprays and traumatized children after seeing neighbors and teachers taken away, prompting state and local investigations. “We wanted to reflect sort of the reality that our community is experiencing,” said Jillian Westerfield, associate minister at the United Methodist church in Evanston. After the Joseph figure blew down and was damaged, leaving Mary alone with the baby, the church posted a sign: “Joseph didn’t make it. We hold this space to honor and remember all the victims of immigration enforcement terror.”
Critics, Westerfield said, often react to the art itself rather than engaging with its message. Phil Mandeville invoked scripture in defense, saying followers of Jesus should act with compassion: “Look at the Gospel just before Christ was executed — that was political. We were always taught: when you’re unsure how to act, ask, ‘What would Christ do?’ Now we’re doing that, and it doesn’t seem to jibe.”
The controversy has drawn attention from the wider community. At Lake Street, volunteers from a nearby synagogue stood outside during services to help worshippers feel safe. At St. Susanna, reactions ranged from selfies and criticism to direct confrontation. Walter Niland, a Catholic from a neighboring town, said he disagreed with the display and that churches should speak to spiritual matters, not political division. One man livestreamed an attempt to pull on locked church doors in protest. Others came in support: Steve Grieger, a former Catholic schoolteacher, drove an hour to back the parish, saying, “If we’re following the scriptures of Jesus, then we have to recognize that these ICE raids, and all of these terrible things going on, are totally against that.”
The exchanges reflect a broader tension over how religious institutions engage with political and social issues, and whether sacred symbols can be repurposed to confront contemporary fears and injustices.