"While he was still a long way off, his Father caught sight of him and was filled with compassion."
--Luke 15:20b

SOLEMNITY OF ST. JOSEPH


Today the Church honors St. Joseph, husband of Mary and foster father to Jesus.  In the gospels Joseph does not speak, but we get a sense of his person from scenes that depict his righteousness and kindness,  When his betrothed Mary is found to be with child, Joseph intends to divorce her quietly in order to protect her from any repercussions.  In a dream the angel sets him straight about Mary's pregnancy.

In an instant, Joseph's life changes dramatically.  The quiet, ordinary life he was expecting to live will not in fact be his future.  How often in life our best plans do not go as expected and we are faced with a Plan B.  "Life is what happens to you," the saying goes, "when you are planning something else."   Soon Joseph will realize that the life God has in mind for Joseph will be rich with unexpected blessings.

Consider, too, all the gifts that Joseph must have shared with Jesus.  At Nazareth, Jesus grew in "wisdom, age, and grace," and undoubtedly learned a lot about kindness and righteousness from his foster father, not to mention skills in carpentry.  Though silent in the gospels, Joseph made his mark by influencing the young Jesus in many ways.

Joseph is patron saint of the universal Church, of fathers, of the poor, and of a happy death.  (This last category because tradition holds that Joseph died a happy death surrounded by Jesus and Mary."  Perhaps it's also fair to say that Joseph should be patron of those whose lives do not pan out as expected but trust in God's providential care anyway.


Petitions
For fathers, the poor, and the dying; for those whose lives take unexpected turns; for the Sisters of St. Joseph, and other religious groups that look to Joseph as their patron; for our students who will be receiving the Sacrament of Reconciliation today.


Poem Reflection
"Those Winter Sundays"   by Robert Hayden

Sundays too my father got up early
And put his clothes on in the blueback cold,
then with cracked hands that ached
from labor in the weekday weather made
banked fires blaze.  No one ever thanked him.

I'd wake and hear the cold splintering, breaking.
When the rooms were warm, he'd call,
and slowly I would rise and dress,
fearing the chronic angers of that house,

Speaking indifferently to him,
who had driven out the cold
and polished my good shoes as well.
What did I know, what did I know
of love's austere and lonely offices?