If speech does not open up the Virgin's conception and the Virgin's childbearing, if sense does not receive it, if the human mind does not grasp it, who shall tell how God as man fled? The angel of the Lord, it says, appeared to Joseph in dreams, saying: Take the child and His mother, and flee into Egypt (Matthew II). If we have said it belongs to mercy that Christ was born, what shall we say of Christ, who is read to have fled? Perhaps, as we said He was born to restore nature, let us say that He fled to call back fugitives. And indeed, if, in order to call back a wandering sheep, He Himself wanders in the mountains, how should He Himself not flee that He might lead back fleeing peoples? Take the child and His mother, and flee into Egypt.
What is it that the heavenly cause is so treated that human sense is confounded, the mind wearied, understanding labours, hearing is dulled, faith wavers, hope totters, credulity itself succumbs? Take the child and His mother, and flee into Egypt. As man persecutes, God flees; as earth rages, heaven trembles; and as the dust flies about, the angels are troubled with dread, and the father's dread is displayed by the fleeing son. Take the child and His mother, and flee into Egypt. When Saul persecuted David, he fled to Judaea, the neighbouring region received him (1 Samuel XXI–XXII); the house of one widow sufficed as a hiding-place for Elijah (1 Kings XVII). But when Christ flees, place is wanting, the province fails, the homeland gives no aid.
While He migrates, neither the neighbouring nations nor the bordering regions suffice: but Egypt, a mournful place, a land barbarous in dress, tongue, and manners, provides an exile for the outcast. Take the child and His mother, and flee into Egypt. If the refuge of things flees, the help of all lies hidden; if the fortitude of all is afraid, if the defence of all does not defend itself, why is human flight censured, why is trepidation accused, why is fear blamed? Why is Peter called into blame, who denies, and John, who is terrified and flees, and all the disciples, because they desert through dread (Matthew XXVI, Mark XIV)?
And these things, brethren, granted that they were done, why are they committed to writing, why are they recounted in books, why are they recited for the ages, why are they made known by daily readings, why are they spread abroad among all nations? Is it that tongue, place, age, time, and all things might come to know the divine fear? For just as, when acts of virtue are read, they lift up souls unto advancement, so they cast down souls when weak things are recited. What then does the Evangelist mean, in that he writes these things for everlasting memory? It belongs to a devoted soldier to keep silent about his king's flight, to recount his constancy, to speak his virtues, to be silent about his fears, to lay open brave deeds, to keep back the weak ones, to blot out adversities, to proclaim victories, whereby he may both break the daring of the enemies and rouse the valour of allies.
The Evangelist therefore, by recounting such things, seems to have stirred up the barkings of the heretics, and to have taken away a defence from the faithful. Take, He says, the child and His mother, and flee into Egypt. Flight is commanded, not a journey; necessity is imposed, not choice: the angel enjoins a hidden pilgrimage, not free passage; that the way, which is of itself troublesome, might be ever more troublesome through fear. For what cause therefore these things are written for us, it is now time that we should inquire. Take the child and His mother, and flee into Egypt. For a warrior to flee in war is a matter of art, not of fear; when God flees from man, it is a matter of mystery, not of dread: when the powerful one withdraws himself from the weak, he does not fear his pursuer, but draws him out into the open;
for he wishes to conquer in the open, who desires to bring back a public victory over the enemy; he does not endure to enter a hidden conflict, who wishes to commit his triumph to the ages. A secret victory and a hidden valour leave no example to posterity. Hence it is that Christ flees, that He might yield to the time, not to Herod: for neither did He flee death, who had come to bring back victory over the enemy; nor did He dread human snares, who had come to lay open all the wiles of diabolical fraud; nor did He then fear, when as an infant He both knew not, according to man, how to fear, and, according to God, was able not to fear. If Christ, brethren, had then been slaughtered among that flock of sucklings, death would have been to Him a chance happening, not a will; it would have been weakness, not power;
it would have been necessity, not power; and it would have been the reward of innocence, but not the glory of majesty. Surely then where would be that which was spoken by God: You shall not cook the lamb in its mother's milk (Exodus XXIII and XXXIV)? It is to come to pass, He says, that Herod will seek the child. Herod was seeking, but the devil was seeking through Herod, who saw that the Magi, whom he held as chiefs in his errors, had fled away from him. If Christ, bound in swaddling-clothes, occupied at His mother's breasts, silent in tongue, hidden in work, without any step, changed the devil's standard-bearers—that is, the Magi—into most faithful leaders, the devil now saw what Christ of perfect age could do:
and therefore it stirred up the Jews, incited Herod, that it might forestall Christ's infancy, suspected by it, that it might anticipate the future ensigns of His power, that the crafty contriver might snatch from Himself, and from us, the most victorious banner of the cross that was deadly to itself. The devil perceived, it perceived, that Christ would soon by His teachings and virtues restore life, and would take possession of the whole world, still wailing as it was—that very world which was the summit of worldly things—according to that word of the prophet: Before the child knows to call father or mother, he shall receive the power of Damascus and the spoils of Samaria (Isaiah VIII). And that, with the Jews themselves proving it, when they say: You see that we prevail nothing; behold, the whole world goes after Him (John XII),
—that Christ would come in the flesh, would ascend through the stages of the ages, would announce the glory of the heavenly kingdom, would preach the doctrine of faith, and by the command of His word alone would put demons to flight, would give sight to the blind, running to the lame, speech to the mute, hearing to the deaf, remission to sinners, life to the dead—all this He had promised through the law and through the prophets. Wherefore Christ, being about to fulfil these things, a man, an infant, deferred death, He did not flee it. Finally, the Evangelist asserts that His flight came not from fear of danger, but from the mystery of prophecy, saying thus: Take the child and His mother, and flee into Egypt. And after: That it might be fulfilled which was spoken by the Lord through the prophet, saying: Out of Egypt have I called My son (Hosea XI).
Christ therefore fled, that the truth of the law, the faith of prophecy, the testimony of the Psalmist might stand fast, the Lord Himself saying: It was necessary that all things be fulfilled which are written in the law of Moses, and in the prophets, and in the psalms concerning Me (Luke XXIV). Christ fled for us, not for Himself; Christ fled, that He might keep the sacraments which were to be dispensed in their times. Christ fled, that He might come to the aid of future acts of virtue, and take away from the faithless the matter for excusing themselves, and bestow upon those who would believe the confidence of faith, since in persecution it is better to flee than to deny. Finally, Peter, because he would not flee, denied (Mark XIV); John, that he might not deny, fled away.