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Good morning. Wander into one of the great art galleries of Europe and North America and amongst the many paintings depicting Christ’s life and death, you will probably find at least one picture with the caption ‘The Flight to Egypt’. In fact it is only Matthew’s Gospel which tells of the flight of the Holy Family from the persecution of Herod – and even there we hear simply that Joseph took Mary and Jesus and departed by night to Egypt. Religious authorities were inclined to disapprove of this as a theme for paintings – since painters tended to make up for the paucity of the Biblical account by relying on popular tales, legends and myths. But official disapproval notwithstanding, the scene retained its popularity. The great Caravaggio – not a man who ever took much notice of official disapproval – painted one of the most striking versions, now in Rome. He pictured these refugees at rest in a rather idyllic rural scene, as did other painters – in his version an angel charmingly plays a violin, while Joseph holds the music, and the baby falls gently to sleep in Mary’s arms. The contrast with the terrible scenes in the Mediterranean this week, and throughout the year, could hardly be more extreme. On Wednesday a boat carrying around 600 migrants sank near the coast of Libya. 400 or so were saved. No one is sure how many drowned. ‘It was’ said one eyewitness, ‘an horrific sight, people desperately clinging to lifebelts, boats and anything they could to fight for their lives.’ There was nothing picturesque or charming in the flight of these refugees. It would be wrong, however, to jump to the conclusion that the pictures I have mentioned were some sort of escapist fantasy. The people for whom these pictures were painted were probably closer than we are to the realities and the hardships of migrants – after all, we can turn away from such realities by turning the pages of the newspaper or by switching channels, but in sixteenth and early seventeenth century Europe, refugees from persecution, poverty and disease were probably familiar figures in every major town and city. So why were these pictures painted and popular? For people who knew the tragic realities facing refugees, the vision of the Holy Family safe in the providential care of angels was a way of imagining the world as it ought to be. In these pictures, those fleeing hardship and distress are protected, amidst myriad dangers, and brought to safety – and thus something better than the usual plight of refugees is envisaged, and held up as a vision to challenge and expand our imaginations. Of course, there are many things which could and should be done to address at source the conflict, persecution and hardship which drive people to undertake perilous journeys to and on the Mediterranean – but while such political measures are being devised and implemented, we should surely allow ourselves to be inspired by a utopian vision which would bid to see an end to these terrible experiences on Europe’s doorstep.