On Christmas Day here in Colorado, my thoughts have drifted back to Cairo.

Not to the traffic or the tuktuk horns or the heat—but to a quiet afternoon in Old Cairo, where Dalia Dod and I descended a set of worn stone steps and found ourselves standing inside a small, dimly lit room that changed me forever.

I had gone to explore the churches of Old Cairo without quite knowing what to expect. Egypt, in my mind, had always been framed as a predominantly Muslim country—and while I understood that Christianity had deep roots there, I hadn’t truly grasped how present, how alive, or how profoundly beautiful that Christian community is.

Then I walked into the Church of St. Sergius and Bacchus Church—known locally as Abu Serga.

And beneath it, I stepped into a small cave-like space where, according to tradition, the Holy Family lived for approximately three months while fleeing persecution.

Standing there, I read the plaque that explained that the Holy Family—Mary, Joseph, and the infant Jesus Christ—took refuge in this very place while escaping the threat of Roman authority.

Now, I don’t pretend to know every historical detail. I know they were hiding from the Roman Empire. I know the journey into Egypt was long and dangerous. And I know that this room—this small, humble space—was once a shelter for a young family simply trying to survive.

What I didn’t expect was the physical reaction.

I walked into the room and realized I was breathing the same air as they once did. I stood where they stood. The walls were close. The ceiling was low. There was nothing grand or ornate about it. And yet the reverence in that space was unmistakable.

I am not a deeply religious person. I don’t attend church every Sunday. I don’t frame my daily life through doctrine or ritual. But there are moments—rare moments—when history, humanity, and something ineffable overlap so completely that belief feels almost beside the point.

This was one of those moments.

What moved me just as deeply was the context. Here I was, experiencing one of the most powerful Christian spaces I’ve ever encountered, in the heart of a Muslim-majority country. Egypt does not erase its Christian history. It honors it. The Coptic Christians are not a footnote here—they are a living, breathing part of Egypt’s cultural and spiritual fabric. I had come to Egypt with the idea to explore the human connections made between the ancient Egyptians and here I was witnessing that exact connection, between Christians, in a Christian church.

That afternoon expanded my understanding of Egypt in ways no textbook ever could.

It reminded me that faith, at its best, is not about division—it’s about refuge. Safety. Humility. The simple human need to protect a child, to find shelter, to survive another day.

On this Christmas Day, thousands of miles away, I can still picture that room. I can still feel the cool stone beneath my feet. And I can still sense the quiet weight of knowing that history is not always something you observe from a distance.

Sometimes, you step into it.

And sometimes, if you’re lucky like me, it stays with you.

Merry Christmas!

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