The Flight into Egypt. We know the gospel story: Matthew 2:12-15. It is also told in greater detail in the apocryphal gospels, especially those venerated by Coptic (Egyptian) Christians. And while the story is not found, only alluded to in the Quran, later Muslim writers tell of it.
Herod wants the king-baby gone and so he begins to wreck havoc. Attentive Joseph, guardian and protector, sets out for the safety of Egypt. Here Fritz von Uhde shows the three in their flight. Are they off the muddy road because it's easier to walk on the grass or to avoid leaving foot prints behind? Though we are viewing the family from a bit of a distance, we can see the terror in Mary's face, the tight-clutching of her child. We can feel her haste; just short of running.
God has come into the world of those in flight—those who have been made homeless by the arrogance, greed, paranoia, power-quest of leaders. For days now we have seen the pictures of highways packed with the cars of families fleeing western Ukraine as Russian invades. The road Joseph and Mary hurry along is muddy and rutted. Jesus was born into the world of empire—Rome occupying their homeland. This scene reminds me of a war-rutted road used to move armies of occupation. There is some melting snow, the trees are barren because spring has not yet come. They echo the trees we see, shredded by bombs.
We're taught that God doesn't change. But in the Hebrew scriptures God is a terrifying war-maker and now, in Christ, has stopped making war and come into our world in tenderness, a baby crying and soothed by a young mother. God has turned God's human face to us. God seems to have at least changed tactics. It's as if the old war-method hasn't worked—the people he called his own and for whom he provided through wars and conquests still went their own way. It seems we're incapable of learning. Jesus said, "We played at weddings for you but you wouldn't dance, and we played at funerals and you wouldn't cry!" Matthew 11:17.
Anyway, there's mud and the look of terror in this painting. But there's also lots of spring-green grass and a dawning sky. Maybe the artist is holding out hope for us. Meanwhile, we might do what we can for the world's children—the littlest who suffer the most while the adults make a mess of things. Mary-like, we can do what we can to hold the children close—to calm their fears; to heal their wounds.
Maybe you are familiar with this wise Jewish saying: "Whoever saves a single life is considered by scripture to have saved the whole world."
