A Family Built on the Whisper:
The Sacred Uprootedness of Nazareth
Mt 2:13-15, 19-23

Jijo Kandamkulathy CMF
Claretian Missionaries

We often paint them in stained-glass serenity. But today’s Gospel shatters that image. It hands us a different icon: footprints in the dust; a tent constantly folded. Here is the Holy Family, our model, etched against a backdrop of relentless migration and later, profound personal loss.

Consider the psychological weight. A frantic night flight to Egypt—refugees in a foreign land. Then, displaced again to obscure Nazareth. This is a family that lost its roots, their identity forged in motion. What does this do to the human heart? To Joseph, his dignity challenged? To Mary, whose heart ached with the fatigue of adaptation?

And this is only the beginning. Their holiness was not a shield from human pain. They lost the adolescent Jesus for three agonizing days, a event that surely sparked tremors of misunderstanding and anxious searching between husband and wife. Mary would later live alone after Joseph’s death, experiencing the hollow silence of an emptied nest. Ultimately, she would witness the brutal murder of her son. This is the “Holy Family”? Precisely. Their holiness was not the absence of tragedy, but the quality of their faith within it.

The poignant truth that sustains them is this: they moved only after listening. Their uprootedness was obedient pilgrimage; their searching after the lost Jesus, a metaphor for their constant inner posture. Between the lines of dreams and directives, we find their discipline: a relentless turning toward God’s voice. When they literally lost the Son of God, they did not dissolve into blame but returned to the place of listening—the Temple—and sought him. Their home was the will of the Father, a sacred interior space more solid than any foundation.

Scripture’s silence on complaints is eloquent. It suggests a climate of trust where anxiety was transformed into shared seeking. Their unity was forged not in comfort, but in the solidarity of shared listening. This holds a piercing mirror to our lives. Many families today feel rootless—emotionally, spiritually. We crave stability but meet constant flux.

The lesson of this scarred, migrant family is that our anchor must be deeper than circumstance. Holiness is forged in the seeking. When trials come—the “Egypts” of crisis, the “Nazareths” of obscurity, the terrible losses that every family endures—the path to holiness is not in avoiding the pain, but in how we search for God within it. Do we listen to the cacophony of fear and blame? Or do we, as a family, cultivate a shared space of prayerful attentiveness?

They listened through dreams, through scripture, through life’s silences and agonies. We listen through the same Word, through sacraments, and crucially, through each other. Spouses listening for God’s voice in and through one another amidst misunderstandings. Families seeking God together even when He seems lost.

The Holy Family, in their sacred rootlessness and sacred sorrow, reveal the truth: a family is made holy not by the absence of suffering, but by the relentless, shared willingness to seek and obey God’s will within it. Our peace is found in walking together, ear attuned to Heaven, making of our journey—with all its desert crossings and painful losses—an act of faithful, seeking love. For a family that listens together, every road, even the Way of the Cross, becomes a path to holiness.

© Claretian Publications, Macau
Cum Approbatione Ecclesiastica