The Destruction of the Al-Askari Shrine in Samarra

A shrine in Iraq was reduced to rubble, its distinctive golden dome now a sulphurous shell.

Aside from the importance on the suffering this has caused afresh in Iraq to the people there, there is a rather strange and, I believe, important story attached to this bombing. It is a story that reaches across history, prophecies in two faiths, and geography: from Iraq to Portugal to Israel, from Rome to the plain of Armageddon.

We will start with the birth of a little girl in Anno Domini 606 or 614, depending on the tradition you consult. She was to become the favorite of Mohammed, whom the Muslims name “Prophet”. Perhaps she was pretty, but it seems on all accounts that she was very virtuous and sensitive, a lady whose tears over her husbands’ taking of another wife are venerated, whose silver, symbolic burned and suffering hand is worn reverently around the necks of millions of Muslims. Her suffering and patient forbearance are celebrated; her sadness and depression at the end of her life, due to the evils she saw around her seem to resonate with us Catholics: she is called ‘second to Mary, Mother of Jesus’ in Muslim tradition. Her name was Fatima.

Fatima’s sons were the catalyst for the eventual split between Sunni and Shi’ite Muslims; for the children of Fatima are considered by the Shi’ite Muslims as the true successors to Mohammed, the Kaliphs. The ensuing history of Fatima’s progeny bear out the legacy she left of suffering and tears. Her husband and sons, down to the 12^th Iman, were fighting and losing their battle to retain their heritage as Kaliphs, or successors to Mohammed. I refer here to some better-explained history:

The line of Mohammed through Ali and Hussein became extinct in 873CE when the last Shia Imam, Al-Askari, who had no brothers disappeared within days of inheriting the title at the age of four. The Shias refused, however, to accept that he had died, preferring to believe that he was merely "hidden" and would return. When after several centuries this failed to happen, spiritual power passed to the ulema, a council of twelve scholars who elected a supreme Imam. The best known modern example of the Shia supreme Imam is the late Ayyatollah Khomeni, whose portrait hangs in many Shia homes. The Shia Imam has come to be imbued with Pope-like infallibility and the Shia religious hierarchy is not dissimilar in structure and religious power to that of the Catholic Church within Christianity. Sunni Islam, in contrast, more closely resembles the myriad independent churches of American Protestantism. Sunnis do not have a formal clergy, just scholars and jurists, who may offer non-binding opinions. Shias believe that their supreme Imam is a fully spiritual guide, inheriting some of Muhammad's inspiration ("light") . Their imams are believed to be inerrant interpreters of law and tradition. Shia theology is distinguished by its glorification of Ali. In Shia Islam there is a strong theme of martyrdom and suffering, focusing on deaths of Ali and, particularly, Hussein plus other important figures in the Shia succession. Shi`ism attracted other dissenting groups, especially representatives of older non-Arab (Mawali) civilizations (Persian, Indian, etc.) that felt they had not been treated fairly by the Arab Muslims.

Sunnis and Shias agree on the core fundamentals of Islam - the Five Pillars - and recognize each other as Muslims…. However, there remain significant differences between the two forms of Islam and these are what tend to be emphasized. Many Sunnis would contend that Shias seem to take the fundamentals of Islam very much for granted, shunting them into the background and dwelling on the martyrdoms of Ali and Hussein. (From “The Origins of the Sunni/Shia split in Islam” by Hussein Abdulwaheed Amin, Editor of IslamForToday.com)

Fatima’s legacy is like a live wire in Muslim history. Her last son, or descendant, was the 12^th Iman, Al-Mahdi. He was a four-year-old when his father died and he was taken secretly to a cave, to be hidden from those who wanted to take his life and end the succession. He disappeared only a few metres from the place where his father and grandfather were buried. The Shi’ites wait for him to return. The place of the sirdab(cave) of disappearance and the burial of the last of Fatima’s children is the Al-Askari shrine in Samarra, which was destroyed a few days ago.

The level of anger of the Shi’ites is commensurate to what they have lost: the dignity of the shrine of the 12^th Imam, who is for them, the savior to come, who will lead the Muslims to victory against the Christians and the Jews. There are many prophecies associated with this 12^th Imam and his return; that in between the two times that the Jews master the world”, a great leader:

The term "MAHDI" is a title meaning "The Guided one". Mahdi is a normal man who is going to follow the true Islam. His name will be Muhammad and his father name will be 'Abdullah. He is a descendant from Ali and Fatima (daughter of the prophet Muhammad) so he will be descendant from al-Hasan or al-Husain. Mahdi will be very just and his capital will be Damascus. Allah told us that Jews will master the world two times (we live now 1998 during the first one) and Mahdi will appear between those two periods and will rule through the last one. Mahdi is NOT a prophet but he is the final Rightly Guided Khalifa. Mahdi will lead Muslims to a great victory against the Christian Romans (i.e. All the white Europeans including the Americans). This great war is called al-Malhamah al-Kubrah or Armageddon. It will end up with a great victory to Muslims against Romans after six years. Muslims will take over their capital Rome (this can be any city). In the seventh year, the Antichrist will appear and a greater war will start between Jews and Muslims for 40 days (longer that usual days) and will end when Jesus (pbuh) will come and Muslims will kill all Jews. All people will convert into Islam. Peace will pervade the whole world. (From “Who is Imam Al-Mahdi?” onwww.islamicweb.com/history/mahdi.htm).

Thus the Shi’ites, arguably the more apocalyptic of the Muslims, are reeling in shock and anger at the destruction of what is probably their most holy site, next to the holy sites of Mecca and Medina. The references to Armaggedon are interesting; for Armageddon is actually a plain outside of Jerusalem, which is named as the site of the last battle, the battle fought before the Prince of this world is destroyed en fin.

What surprised me to find in my research is the apocalyptic references to a Muslim occupation of Rome- meaning, symbolically, the Muslim victory over the Catholic Church, specifically; yet Jesus is spoken of as returning and establishing peace. It seems incongruous, yet this makes sense, because as the great historian Hillaire Belloc stated, Islam is really a Catho-Judaic heresy, an ‘unbalancing’; therefore, mixed theology and irrational mixtures are to be expected.

From the Muslim perspective, namely the Shi’ite, the Last Days are to be ushered in with the re-appearance of the 12^th Iman and the victory granted to Muslims all over the world. If one has been following the news at all, it will become obvious that the Muslim world is in turmoil from many causes: war in Iraq, terrorism, a clash with Western secular culture (think ‘cartoon’), the proposed strangulation of democratically elected Hamas in Palestine, and strife mounting between the two strains of Islam.

From the perspective of the Faith, we may be witnessing the labor pains increasing, to speak apocalyptically. At the least, we must increase our prayers and sacrifices for the conversion of the Muslim- which Hillaire Belloc states is practically and humanly impossible. It must be a work of the Lord, in His mercy.

We travel now from Jerusalem and Armageddon, from Rome, to a small village in Portugal, which I believe, holds the hope for the Muslim and the Catholic alike. We go to a village named Fatima: legend states that the village was named for a young Muslim girl who converted to Catholicism; she, in turn, must have been named for the Lady Fatima, Mohammed’s daughter.

Here, in this little farm village called Fatima, Our Lady, the Mother of God, appeared. She was sad, saddened by sin and evil, as it was recorded that Mohammed’s daughter was. But Mary, unlike Fatima, is our Mother, and called the most blessed of women- by the Muslim as well as the Catholic. She called for repentance, for suffering to appease God and to convert sinners. All of us are sinners, but I place emphasis on the word ‘convert’ because that seems to call to those outside of the Faith.

Eight years ago, when I was converting to the Faith established by Our Lord, I was standing in the vestibule of St. Mary’s Church in Annapolis, Maryland. There was a woman there with me, head covered in the Muslim way; and she was crying. I asked her why: she said she was Muslim but wanted to convert to the Faith. Surprised, I asked her what had brought her here to this church, so out of the blue. She replied, “It was Our Lady Mary- she brought me here.” I smiled, and told her that I, too, was coming into the Faith. So Protestant and Muslim met in the vestibule of St. Mary’s. I often think of her, and wonder: was she one of the small, first drops of rain- the first of millions of Muslims to come into the Faith?

Archbishop Sheen was a prophetic voice: anyone who has listened to his tapes, especially on abortion, will recognize this gift in him. He spoke once, about Fatima. With passion, he shone light on the fact that Our Lady came to Fatima, a name so symbolic to Muslims, most especially the Shi’ite (who are most probably the most anti-Western, and conflate Western culture with Catholicism). He believed that Our Lady of Fatima would be instrumental, perhaps essential, in the conversion of the Muslim.

This scenario reminds me of the situation in Mexico when Our Lady of Guadalupe appeared. She came to the hill of Tepayac, the hill reserved for the “Snake-Goddess”- here we have a similar pattern to Fatima, in that Our Lady came to a place that the Indians would recognize as significant, a feminine presence, and yet Our Lady, with the power of her Son, converted them; by the millions in a space of a few years. Also interesting is that “Guadalupe” is an Islamic word, from a river so named in Spain during the time of the Moors.

So in these days of turmoil, let us gird ourselves in the Faith, keep our lamps lit and pray- especially now for the conversion of the Muslims. With God, nothing is impossible.

Ring of Flowers, Ring of Thorns: A Reprint

The white ring of flowers is placed over her new black veil, and there is the heavily warm silence of rejoicing; a moment of true quiet, like the oddly hot and silky Santa Ana winds in a Santa Barbara night.

She then appears in the hall under the church, resplendent in her grey and black habit, her face joyful but shy, but her expression a bit flat- as though all the clapping and attention were too much for her. The slightly far away look is of one who is used to the safety of the habit and the convent, a translucent pansy, a greenhouse creature, a woman of prayer, a Spouse of Christ.

The rest of us, with heart-skins roughened by jobs, parenting and trying to be good spouses, have witnessed her marriage to Christ. A friend turns to me and muses, “Wouldn’t it be nice to be married to Christ?” I smile, thinking it a nice observation, considering the event. She goes on. “No, really. Really. To be able to have a spouse that you could really give your whole being- no reservations, no doubts, no anger at another imperfect human being.” Was it jealousy of another’s choice? “ No, not jealousy. I mean, I know we are all meant to be all for God, but I just think it would be easier to go to Him as a spouse, instead of always feeling torn-torn, between your duties and feelings about your own spouse, and your desire to give yourself to God entirely. It’s confusing, to say the least.”

Out of all the images, sounds and ideas of that day, that Profession of Vows, it was the strange dichotomy between the ring of white flowers on a new black veil, and the scratched gold ring on the worn hand of that woman which stayed with me. The question kept coming back to me, “How do you get to Christ as a spouse while married?”

In John Paul II’s play, The Jeweler’s Shop, there is a very powerful moment: a woman is wandering the streets at night, dazed and in emotional pain. Her marriage is a wrecked house, her faith its cracked foundation. She has decided to complete the ruination by finding a lover in the worst way possible: like a prostitute. A car pulls up. She looks at the man, his face disfigured by the rivulets of rain falling down the window. She reaches out for the door handle, and he opens the door. Jarringly she realizes that, although he looked totally foreign before, he suddenly has the face of her estranged husband. She backs away and stumbles down the street. Her clumsy flight is stopped by a priest sees her and who providentially, knows her from years past, when she was a young bride. My memory of the play is that she confesses her intentions and the vision of her husband’s face, in the place of a man she was hoping would somehow 'save' her from her misery; she tells him of her feeling that God has abandoned her. The priest replies, “Daughter, the face of the Lord will, in this life, have the face of your husband- and none other.”

It is a profound statement, at many levels, and more profound than I can hope to illuminate. The depth is such that it must be lived in order to understand it. The vitriolic reaction would be one, most likely of dismay; a disillusionment of romantic visions about Our Lord. And perhaps this is exactly what is good. The Lord was “A man of Sorrows, afflicted, not of comely feature..” Most of us may not have recognized the Lord in His earthly life, because He chose to be so ordinary- as familiar as the face of the spouse. The Jews, especially the ones more deeply steeped in the laws and religious practices at the time, missed Him, because He was the “son of a carpenter”. He must have been tanned, shouldering rather simple clothes, fitting in with the semi-poor of the time. It must have been impossible to recognize the Word, except perhaps if you observed Him more closely, and listened more closely. Perhaps if you watched the children with Him, or looked deeply into His eyes and saw the stars, or, as songwriter Bruce Cockburn says, “saw the way the dust swirled around His feet.”

It is this way with love. In his seminal work, I and Thou, the Jewish phenomenologist Martin Buber describes from many viewpoints the phenomena of two persons, two Others in a face to face relationship. It is the deepest relationship but in human terms, fraught with the most danger of becoming too narrow, into becoming narcissistic or other-worship. The great Catholic philosopher, Dietrich Von Hildebrand, in his book Man and Woman, baptizes Buber’s insights on the I and Thou relationship as only a great Catholic philosopher can achieve. It is not the “we”, the “side by side” relationship of friendship, wherein we look out at something together and share it. The I and Thou relationship is essentially different from this. It is a “face to face” relationship. Two persons are engaged with eachother, a holy relationship to the exclusion of the outside world. It is such a profound relationship because it , as Buber elucidates, produces fecundity- in other more pedestrian terms, this relationship is the catalyst for fertility, physical fertility in the begetting of children, and as Hildebrand develops, spiritual fertility: begetting love and true sight; begetting grace and changing each other into a unity, a new creature. So we would have had to look at the Lord this way in His earthly life, in order to recognize Him, and we must look at Him this way now, in the humble appearance of the Eucharist. Our souls, whether we are male or female humans, are female in the I and Thou relationship with God.

Our grand and glorious destiny is to become a new creature in Christ, in this I and Thou relationship. The story of Israel in the Old Testament is a forerunning image of this relationship God wants with each of us personally. One only has to read the passages in the Old Testament wherein God seeks after the straying Israel as a husband seeking his wife. By far the most distilled essence of this I and Thou relationship of God to Israel, God to Our Blessed Mother, and God to each one of us, is contained in the Canticle of Canticles. The I and Thou relationship is a running theme throughout God’s relationship to man, from the Old Testament to the Apocalypse.

Marriage is simply the incarnational, natural counterpart to this God-to-man relationship. It is one of the down-to-earth, natural ways which Our Lord uses to develop the understanding of the relationship He wishes to have with each of us. In a marriage, the I and Thou relationship still retains its ability to produce fecundity on both the physical and metaphysical levels. We beget children, and we become one flesh with another, we can fecundate the spouse’s spiritual growth. Dietrich Von Hildebrand says that rather than love being blind, it rather sees more clearly who the other is, sees things that no one else can see. In other words, in the I and Thou relationship, we see the truth about the other; and it is beautiful, tragic, glorious and frustrating all at the same time. Only in the I and Thou relationship with God are we compelled to fall to our knees in utter adoration at what and Who we see; with another human being, we are compelled mostly to nurture and to pity: and ultimately, by sowing unselfish, sacrificial love, to help in the salvation of the spouse. In phenomenological terms, as married persons, we are to cultivate the I-Thou relationship with the spouse in order to learn how to love God, and to help the other by forgiving, affirming and healing. Then, the marriage should develop again, back into a “We” relationship: but now the “We” is looking together at God, encouraging in the spouse the I-Thou relationship with Christ. In short, we are to aid the spouse to become a Spouse of Christ, by being the incarnational healing and love for that person.

The purpose of human marriage is multiple. We are angel-beasts, we have instincts and were told to be fruitful. The Church has always taught that the primary purpose of marriage is to co-create with Him new life. This is profound enough all by itself, but there are other purposes: companionship, an economic partnership, the making of a home, and a domestic church. What about the spiritual aspect of marriage? This is something that has been somewhat neglected, except perhaps by John Paul II; indeed, his writings on human marriage and the body are perhaps his greatest legacy to us. Somehow, mysteriously, the I and Thou relationship in a human marriage is the doorway for most people into that archetypical I and Thou relationship with God for which every person is created, the Beatific Vision. How is this? Here, I am venturing into my own musings: In a marriage, we see the truth of another person, and in their eyes, we see the truth about ourselves. In many, if not most cases, this is a painful progession from illusions to reality. What we do when we reach the reality, in all its failures and ugliness, is what we do with Our Lord on His cross, and the crosses in our hum drum daily life. When we reach the bottom of another’s personhood, when we see the truth, the beauty and potential alongside the selfishness and boorishness, we must make a choice. Many marriages end here, and the progression is away from an I and Thou relationship to a narcissistic existence, or to an abyss, which must be filled at all costs; or to repentance amidst the ruins. This journey into the depths of another is parallel to the journey of God with Israel. They saw Him first from afar, a cloud of fire. Then they heard His voice, and they knew He fought for them and punished them. Their knowledge of Him was from afar, but He was looking at them in particular. And they began, in their prophets, to look at Him. They made vows to forsake all others for Him, and He dwelt with them in the Holy of Holies. And then He came as a Man and He came as a humble Man, and He loved, and He became as a malefactor for love, He became the lamb of slaughter, He was lifted up like the snake in the desert, and they knew him not.

In a marriage, what happens when we look at the other, and we realize that we know him not? It is because love, in all its forms, eros, agape, storge, but mostly caritas, leads us to this place and then gives us a choice to go on, or to turn away. Our eros and agape and storge are all burned in this purgatory of the I and Thou relationship, and we are left with caritas. It is caritas which takes us beyond the bottom, and then we begin to discover the baptized forms of eros, storge and agape. And then, then, will we be ready to venture past the I and Thou relationship with a human spouse, and together with that spouse, become a “We” relationship again: but on a profound level, whereby we see God together. Our hearts will have been burned in the fire of a marriage, and then the gold of choosing to love in the face of suffering and disillusionment will shine out to God. C.S. Lewis wrote a book which he said was his personal favorite. It is called Till We Have Faces, and is the story of a soul’s journey from spiritual blindness to being able to see the truth about herself and the one she loved, and then finally to seeing God. The climactic line in the book, I think, sums up the spiritual purpose of marriage: “ How are we to meet God face to face until we have faces?” The I and Thou relationship of marriage is meant to give us faces, give us the truth about ourselves, to rip away all the roles and facades we are taught to assume- and then the relationship asks us to love from within that place of truth. Only from there can we truly see God.

Note: This article is an excerpt from a book on which I am currently at work (TRWK)

A Grain of Wheat Falling

Shadow is often used to portray death- for death is always obscure to us, and dark, and we also keep it obscure in this modern world, even when it breaks down our doors. Like the shadows that seem to prey on us from the far end of the room at midnight, death waits in the recesses of our minds, minds cluttered during the day by deeds and words: but it waits.

St. Alphonsus Liguori exhorts us all, in Preparation for Death, to look carefully at that shadow, to bring it to the light, to examine it and to think about it: daily. Morbid? Depressing? Impossible? Perhaps, alone. For that seems to be the hardest thing about death: we travel through that darkness alone- no friends and family, no wealth or even the recommendations and testimonies of those we count on- we go alone, clothed only in what love we have seeded and watered. Even so, even in fear and trembling, St. Alphonsus asks us to deal with our own death. Why?

It is the same reason that “the best examination of conscience is to look at a Crucifix”. Death is a result of sin, the sin we all share as mankind, as well as our own sins. Only Our Lord came to take the punishment of eternal damnation from us who have accepted Him as Savior; yet we still pay the penalty of physical death, we still face our particular judgment. It is far better that we begin to face that judgment now, daily, to ask God to know ourselves and thus change with His grace and help, before it is too late. I am thinking especially of the words of Our Lord: “Do not let a man who has something against you take you to the court: negotiate with him on the way, so that you are not thrown into prison.”

Daily facing death is intimately connected with dying to oneself, if our dealing with death is not morbid or self-pitying, self –centered. For in this facing of death, we see ourselves more honestly. When we picture ourselves before the King of the Universe, a King-Judge, what do we see? We must ask for the grace to see ourselves as God sees us and for the grace to not remain standing, but to fall on our knees and clamor with joy because Our Lord is willing to save us- save me! Let this preparation for death make us honest, humble, and only too willing to “decrease so that He may increase”: to accept and rejoice in suffering because, as St. Gianna Molla told her husband after she had been revived (before her final death a few days later): “We are not fit to appear before the Lord without suffering.”

But how? How do we deal with death each day, in a holy manner, with peace and joy? St. Gianna was not speaking out of servile fear, but rather inspired and holy love of God. She understood clearly that we must undergo suffering for love, and to die to ourselves so that we may live for God unselfishly. I do not think the selfish see God- they are not able, they have not been willing or accepted the grace to be able to see beyond themselves. And I say this with trembling, for I am a cesspool of self-pity and selfishness.

So how? How do we accomplish this- this walking in the shadow, this dying to self?

Let us look to Our Lord, for He is our primary example. His life is an instruction in a holy abasement, a holy death. I construct my thoughts here from Fr. Doze’s book: In His twelfth year, Our Lord went to the Temple in Jerusalem. The mighty Temple! The golden House of God, filled with prayers symbolized and actualized with sacrifice and incense. His House! Here, here was His Father’s business; and He stayed, and stayed, teaching and loving His priests and the people coming to obey His commands- commands of liturgy, of religion. He knew their hearts. But still He stayed.

His mother comes, she comes on the third day, a day forever appointed as a day of metamorphosis. She comes, with St. Joseph the Shadow, and she says: “My Son, why have you done this to us? Your father(my emphasis) and I have been looking for you for three days.”

Our Lady uses the term for father, earthly father, for the shadow-father, for St. Joseph. An oversight? No. And Our Lord’s immediate response, “Didn’t you know where I was? I must be about My Father’s( my emphasis) business” is followed by an action that doesn’t seem to correspond to His words: And He went down with them to Nazareth and was obedient unto them, and He grew in grace and wisdom. Surely both actions: staying in the Temple and going down to Nazareth, subject to His earthly mother and foster father- surely both are the will of God; for He obeyed His Father “in all things”.

In His going down to Nazareth, down into obscurity and obedience, He showed what it meant to die to self. In His submission to His own creatures, He showed what it meant to die- but a death with an end, a purpose, and a death that brings forth life, like the grain of wheat falling to the ground. It was a foreshadowing of the Cross, and this going down to Nazareth was an example He left us of a carrying of that Cross in daily life.

In going down to Nazarethin submission, He also left us a profound example of humility; that this fruit, this virtue, is a hallmark of God’s presence in a life. A ‘daily dying’ is intimately connected to humility and is a real connection to God: “If you wish to be My disciples, then take up your cross and follow Me.” The hallmarks of a saint, a person living in love with God, are humility and love.

In taking Our Lord down to Nazareth, St. Joseph comes into stark relief as the carpenter of daily death, alongside his well-known role as the Patron of a Happy Death. He is the protective shadow, who leans over us as a loving presence and teaches us with gentle, hard-worn hands, how to die well; how to die as he did: with his hand in Our Lady's and his heart given to Our Lord.

St. Joseph is teaching me how to stay in the day, to die to my vain imaginings and desires for others or for my past or future. Everything is to be left to God, everything I do from the washing of the dishes to the writing I am doing now, is to be done for God!

Sitting in church, at Holy Mass, I was at the point where I wished to be received into the Holy Family: to be within the bosom of that holy and joyful, comtemplative and humble trio. I wished to go down to Nazareth. It was no accident that it was the feast of the Holy Family, although I had not anticipated this. I was simply ready, had read and prayed, and knew; and there I was, sinner and insect, hoping for entrance; and there was St. Joseph, his hands bringing me in.

Like Our Lady, St. Joseph remains silent and obscure, because he points to God so effectively.

O Glorious St. Joseph, silent and humble, Shadow of the Father, pray for us.

Elements of Shadow

I love the title of Fr. Doze’s book: St. Joseph: Shadow of the Father. For what is a shadow? It can be a poor image of a reality, like we creatures when compared to the Holy Trinity. It can also be thought of having some essential attachment to that reality, like an element that places the reality in a context for us: as artists know, shadowing brings texture, shows from which direction the light comes, and also shapes the face, provides some indications to the special character of the face and body, the clothing.

A shadow also hides, obscures, provides proof of shelter from storm or strong sun. A shadow also helps us to hide ourselves, to die. Within a shadow, we can no longer see ourselves, but can more easily focus on reality; our eyes are able more clearly to see what is in the light.

St. Joseph is all these elements of a shadow. But he was no ordinary shadow: he was, for Our Lady and for Christ, the Shadow of the Father. Poor creature though he was, like St. Bernadette, he was chosen for the greatest task next to that of Our Lady. He was the physical image of the Father for the child Jesus, he was the human face of fatherhood, he held Our Lord as a baby, received His tiny hands into his rough carpenter’s hands, helped him to walk and talk, and taught him his trade; he took him to the synagogue and prayed with Him, to Him. When one lets this sink in, St. Joseph suddenly becomes a very important shadow; he was the vessel the Father chose to help the Son learn about fatherhood and the human language in which to describe it. I speak no heresy when I talk about the Son learning: for the Church has taught that the Son did indeed learn, in His human nature. So He learned. He learned to plane a board and make a ladder. He learned how to pray the traditional prayers, he learned as a son learns from his father. And the face on that fatherhood, the human face, was that of St. Joseph.

For Jesus, St. Joseph was also the shadow that obscures, hides, protects. He did this as fathers do, in watching at the entrances and providing food and shelter; he also did this in an extraordinary way by the journeys to Bethlehem and the flight to Egypt; but in a deeper way, he did this by being ordinary. In providing a father’s face for the world, he protected both Mary and Jesus from attention at a time when the Holy Family was meant to be just that, and only that: a family. He was the shadow that provided the space for the family to be sanctified by the Child-God. We will talk further about the depth and beauty of the Holy Family; but to understand the great role of St. Joseph in being ordinary and humble is to begin unlocking the secrets of this great and silent saint.