sixth Christmas
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On the Sixth Day of Christmas

On the sixth day of Christmas my true love gave to me, six geese a’laying

The number six is meant to represent the six days of Creation.

Today, we turn our prayerful attention to the Holy Family. It would be easy to dismiss the Holy Family as some sort of fairty-tale creation, a house where no one ever gets angry or raises a voice, where chores are always cheerfully done and there is no such thing as illness or suffering.

That would be wrong.

True, the Holy Family consisted of the Second Person of the Holy Trinity, a woman who never sinned and a husband and father who we know to be good and just. But this family knew tremendous hardship. Their son was born in a stable – not exactly what first-time parents would consider a great birth experience. They had to leave all they had behind as they made their way to Egypt in order to keep their Son safe. Imagine, if you will, having to leave NOW with your family and only the clothes on your back for safety. You end up in a foreign land, new parents with no support system. You have no idea how long you’ll have to stay. At some point, the Holy Family lost the man who anchored them in place, regardless of where they were; Joseph died. He was not there to support his foster Son and his wife during the most gut-wrenching time in their lives.

The Holy Family had to make a living, prepare food, clean, get water. They got sick. They prayed together. Deacon Michael Bickerstaff:

The Holy Family is a family that knew hardship yet remained steadfast in God. It is for our families to imitate their model if we are to know joy and peace in the midst of this life; if we are to attain holiness and salvation for ourselves and for our children…

For thirty of His thirty-three years, Jesus lived a humble and obedient life within His family before embarking on His public ministry. In this way, He allowed Himself to be taught experientially by His mother and foster-father, in their words and deeds, in acts both extraordinary and ordinary.

They taught Him the traditional prayers and piety, passed on the cherished customs of His people, showed him the greatest example of love and affection within the family, gave to Him a skill and trade to help support the family.

In His public ministry, Jesus taught with words and examples taken from his early and hidden family life. In the lessons He taught, we discover the great love and courage that St. Joseph must have exhibited for Jesus and His Blessed Mother; the tender love and care that must have been shared between mother and son.

Do not think of the Holy Family as the Never Had Any Problems Family. That family doesn’t exist. The Holy Family, in “acts both extraordinary and ordinary,” are tremendous examples of how a family should be: loving, supportive, prayerful. All families should strive for this holy life. Holy Mary, prayer for us. Good St. Joseph, pray for us. Jesus, Son of God and Son of Man, have mercy on us. 

[From the United States Conference of Catholic Bishops: “The liturgical season of Christmas begins with the vigil Masses on Christmas Eve and concludes on the Feast of the Baptism of the Lord. During this season, we celebrate the birth of Christ into our world and into our hearts, and reflect on the gift of salvation that is born with him…including the fact that he was born to die for us.” There are, however, the traditional “12 Days of Christmas,” captured in the song of the same title. Some claim the song was meant as catechism of a sort, written and sung for nearly 300 years of British persecution of Catholics. We will be using both the song and the Church’s liturgical calendar to celebrate the Christmas season. We hope you enjoy.]

st. joseph
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Advent: Kissing St. Joseph

TODAY’S ADVENT REFLECTION FOR THE 3RD WEDNESDAY OF ADVENT, 2016

When my mother’s cousin, Mary, was twelve, she and her friend went to church every day after school during Lent to pray for the souls in Purgatory in front of the statue of St. Joseph. One day, in an excess of zeal, Mary decided that a kiss would encourage the saint to intercede more effectively. She had to stand on tiptoe to reach his lips, but she kissed him. As she let go, however, St. Joseph began to lean precipitously toward her. She called to her friend, but the church was empty. In a panic, she gently lowered the statue to the ground, and running to the rectory next door, rang for the housekeeper. “St. Joseph is on the ground,” she reported earnestly, ”and he needs help.”

Nearly every Catholic church in the world has an image of Joseph, son of Heli, somewhere near the altar. The beloved saint, a sincere and prudent man, who was the protector of Christ and Mary, belongs there because he was chosen by God to be the foster-father of Jesus, and because he is a model of genuine authority.

We know that Joseph exerted familial influence in ways that discharged legal, personal, and religious responsibility: he accompanied Mary to Bethlehem to register for the census as required by law (Matt. 2:4); he oversaw Christ’s birth (Luke 2:7), named him (Matt. 1:25), took Mary and the child to Egypt (Matt. 2:14), and brought them back to Israel (Matt. 2:21); he presented the child to be circumsized (Luke 2:22), and, when Jesus was twelve, brought his family on pilgrimage to Jerusalem for the religious feast of Passover (Luke 2:42). His fatherly care was shared by Mary, who said, “Your father and I have been looking for you,” and recognized by Jesus, who “lived under their authority” (Luke 2: 48-51). And it is certain, we are reminded by Pope John Paul II in Redemptoris Custos, that his professional direction as a master carpenter was honored in the house at Nazareth.

Joseph’s authority finds its prototype in the Trinity. God the Father holds authority for the three persons. We know this because Jesus refers to the Father on several occasions where we see him submitting his will: discovered in the temple, he says, “Did you not know that I must be in my Father’s house?” (Luke 2:49); in the garden of Gethsemane, he prays, “‘My Father, if it is possible, let this cup pass me by. Nevertheless, let it be as you, not I, would have it’” (Matt. 26:39); and appearing to the disciples in Galilee, he explains, “All authority in heaven and on the earth has been given to me” (Matt. 28:18). The authority that the Father shared with the Son is mirrored in the Holy Family and in the Church.

Like Joseph, head of the family, Peter was the head of the Church, an analogic reality recognized by Dante in Paradiso XXXII, when he placed al maggior padre di famiglia (136), “the greatest father of a family,” contr’ a Pietro (133), “opposite Peter.” Neither Joseph nor Peter ever affected grinding dominance, because authentic authority is not oppressive: it is open, loving, creative, and sacrificial, and like cousin Mary, knows that it “needs help.”

[Throughout the 2016 Advent season, we will be bringing you posts from a variety of writers. Our hope is that each of these will be a meaningful way for you to slow down, pray well, and prepare for the coming of our Lord. Today’s blogger is Sister Lucia Treanor, FSE, a Franciscan Sister of the Eucharist. She teaches writing at Grand Valley State University. She is the author of Symmetrical Patterning in Franciscan Writing of the Late Middle Ages (Mellen Press, 2011) and the editor of Broken Mary: A Journey of Hope (Beacon Press, 2016).]

silent
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Silent Saints: Knowing God Within

Some saints are prolific writers, and we treasure their works. Some, like Thomas Aquinas, help us understand the mystery of God better. Other saints, like Maximilian Kolbe, find ways to use media in a new way in order to spread the Gospel. Or think of Mother Angelica, who founded a Catholic television station and hosted a show.

And then, there are the silent saints.

The Gospels do not record one single word spoken by St. Joseph, the foster father of Jesus. We know him only by his actions. The Gospel of Matthew tells us he is a “righteous man,” and his tender care of Mary and the newborn Jesus bear that out. Most of this man’s life is hidden from us, including his thoughts and words. Yet he was chosen by God to raise the Son of God. This silent saint, who listened to God in the silence of his heart, tells us much about how to live our faith under trying circumstances.

Another silent saint is Mary.

Mary’s words are recorded in four passages in the Bible. Three of the four passages are from the Gospel of Luke: the Annunciation, when she speaks with the angel (Luke 1:34 and 38); her visit to Elizabeth, when Mary sings the psalm of praise known as the Magnificat (Luke 1:46-55); and the time that Jesus is lost in the Temple and Mary admonishes him (Luke 2:48).

We also find Mary speaking in the Gospel of John, during the story of the Wedding at Cana. She tells Jesus that there is no more wine (John 2:3) and then tells the servers, “Do whatever he tells you” (John 2:5) — which, as someone once told me, is perhaps the best bit of advice in the entire Bible.

Of course, the gospels also tell us that Mary kept many things in her heart to ponder. In the Holy Family, the quiet must have led them to great contemplation of God and His will for their lives. One wonders if this habit of silence was one of the reasons Jesus often left everything behind to go and pray by Himself.

St. John the Silent (his name tells you something, huh?) was born in 5th century Armenia. At the young age of 28, he was sought out by the archbishop to become a bishop, an assignment John did not want. However, he served for nine years, and then joined a monastery, seeking seclusion for prayer. It is recorded that, during his life, he spent 76 years in solitude.

Of course, Catholics have the great history of the monastic tradition: Trappists, Carmelites, Benedictines and other orders of men and women whose main focus is prayer and work, done mostly in silence. Why the silence? One monastic priest says:

In my daily work the habit of silence (I’ve been here 35 years) helps me to focus, even to put aside pre-occupying worries while I concentrate on a particular responsibility. That can be preparing the community’s meal, typing the entries for our website, hearing confessions, preparing a class for the novitiate, chanting the psalms at community prayers when I have a cold, whatever. But I have learned that I started out with certain powers of concentration, so I may not be too accurate here; I grew up in NYC and it’s second nature to me to block out background noise. But I can say that the habit of silence keeps me from seeking additional noise. I’m not uneasy when it’s very quiet or when I’m totally alone. But I don’t find silence making tasks easier to complete.

The silence does make me aware of my inner workings, however, what we call in the monastery, “self-knowledge.” I can’t pretend that I’m always a nice guy, always patient, always calm and receptive. I have to admit that I can be abrupt, cold to offenders, or would often prefer efficiency to the messiness of other people’s moods. Silence seems to keep me from idealizing myself.

St. Mary Clare, a Carmelite nun, acknowledges that the silence can be hard. Our world is so full of noise that silence can seem empty. We want to fill it with something. For monastics, however, the silence is quite different:

Through silence we become more deeply aware of the beauty, unity, goodness and truth all around us and within us. Through faith our whole outlook on life is changed. What used to appear as ordinary, temporal events, become reflections of these four attributes of God. These happenings become messages through which He speaks intimately to our hearts; moments of sublime personal contact with Infinite Love Itself.

Listening to the word in silence, faith and love, we hear the secret to our happiness and authentic personal fulfillment. Only in this do we truly begin to fill that deep void and satisfy the longing that consumes us as human persons.

Now it is true that most of us are not called to the monastic life. But we all need silence. Silence is the only way God can truly speak to us, just us, with our own unique message. Yes, we hear God in prayer and song and Scripture and in other’s voices, but … silence. Silence is where God dwells. If we want to know God, we must turn to silence.

But the word of the Lord came to him: Why are you here, Elijah? He answered: “I have been most zealous for the Lord, the God of hosts, but the Israelites have forsaken your covenant. They have destroyed your altars and murdered your prophets by the sword. I alone remain, and they seek to take my life.” Then the Lord said: Go out and stand on the mountain before the Lord will pass by.

There was a strong and violent wind rending the mountains and crushing rocks before the Lord was not in the wind; after the wind, an earthquake—but the Lord was not in the earthquake; was not in the fire; after the fire, a light silent sound. (1 Kings 19:9-12)