The Holy Family, the Thieves, and Us
A homily on the Sunday of the Holy Family 2025
by Subdeacon Joseph Michael
On the Sunday of the Holy Family, the Church places before us a paradox that feels uncannily modern: the Son of God begins his earthly life as a refugee.
The canonical Gospels tell the story simply and powerfully. Warned in a dream, Joseph takes Mary and the child Jesus and flees by night into Egypt, escaping the violence of Herod (Matthew 2:13–15). There is no fanfare—only urgency, fear, trust, and obedience. A family crosses borders because staying would mean death.
But the Christian imagination did not stop there.
Across the centuries, early Christian communities preserved stories—non-canonical yet deeply beloved—that attempted to answer the human question the Gospel leaves open: What was it like for them? These stories do not compete with Scripture; they lean into its silence with reverence.
Signs Along the Road: Egypt as a Place of Mercy
In texts such as the Gospel of Pseudo-Matthew and the Arabic Infancy Gospel, the journey to Egypt becomes a slow revelation of who this child truly is.
We hear of:
• Palm trees bending down to feed the hungry mother and child
• Idols collapsing as Jesus enters Egyptian towns
• Wild beasts becoming gentle in his presence
• Springs bursting forth in barren places
Egypt—the ancient symbol of oppression and exile—becomes, paradoxically, a place of refuge, healing, and hospitality. The land once associated with slavery now shelters the Liberator himself.
There is a quiet theology here: God does not wait for perfect conditions to reveal mercy. Holiness moves through danger, scarcity, and uncertainty. Grace appears on dusty roads.
The Two Thieves: A Choice at the Edge of the Story
One of the most haunting traditions preserved in these infancy narratives concerns two thieves encountered along the road.
According to the Arabic Infancy Gospel, a band of robbers ambushes travelers. One thief argues for violence; the other shows compassion. Moved by Mary and the child, he restrains his companion and allows the Holy Family to pass unharmed.
Mary, the story says, turns to him and offers a quiet prophecy:
“This child will remember you.”
Christian tradition later names these men as the same two criminals crucified alongside Jesus—one who mocks, and one who turns toward mercy in his final hour. The merciful one becomes known as Dismas, the Good Thief.
Whether historical or symbolic, the truth of the story is unmistakable:
Mercy given early becomes mercy received later.
The road to Egypt already contains the shadow of Calvary.
Two Thieves Today: The Choice Still Before Us
This is where the story steps out of antiquity and into our own lives.
We, too, live between Egypt and the Cross.
Every day, we face the same fork in the road represented by those two thieves:
• Will we harden ourselves against suffering, fear, and the stranger?
• Or will we risk compassion, even when the world tells us to protect only what is ours?
Spiritually, the thieves live within us. One voice whispers scarcity, blame, resentment, and self-preservation. The other dares to believe that mercy matters—even if it costs us.
Socially and politically, the image is just as sharp. Families still flee violence. Borders still close. Innocents still suffer under systems driven by fear. And the question remains painfully current:
When the Holy Family passes by today, will we recognize them?
Not in stained glass—but in refugees, migrants, the unhoused, the anxious parent, the child who does not feel safe.
The Holy Family as a School of Courage
The Holy Family is not an unreachable ideal of domestic perfection. They are a school of courageous love.
• Mary teaches us how to trust when explanations are absent.
• Joseph teaches us how to act decisively when fear is loud.
• Jesus teaches us that God enters the world not through dominance, but vulnerability.
They remind us that holiness is not separation from the world’s wounds—but faithfulness within them.
A Final Word: The Child Who Remembers
The tradition says Mary told the merciful thief, “This child will remember you.”
That sentence may be the Gospel in miniature.
Christ remembers every act of mercy that goes unseen.
He remembers the risks we take to protect life.
He remembers when we choose compassion over cruelty.
He remembers when we refuse to become hardened by fear.
On the cross, when the Good Thief turns and says, “Remember me,” Jesus answers not as a stranger—but as one who already knows him.
This Sunday of the Holy Family, we are invited to choose who we will be on the road.
Because the truth is this:
The Holy Family is still passing by.
And the child still remembers.