A Thought for the Feast of St. Joseph

Salt + Light Media

Tuesday, March 18, 2014

Saint Joseph crop
St. Joseph
 
The ancient greyness shifted
Suddenly and thinned
Like mist upon the moors
Before a wind.
An old, old, prophet lifted
A shining face and said:
“He will be coming soon.
The Son of God is dead;
He died this afternoon.”
 
A murmurous excitement stirred
All souls.
They wondered if they dreamed—
Save one old man who seemed
Not even to have heard.
 
And Moses stood.
Hushed them all to ask
If any had a welcome song prepared.
If not, would David take the task?
And if they cared
Could not the three young children sing
The Benedicite, the canticle of praise
They made when God kept them from perishing
In the fiery blaze?
 
A breath of spring surprised the group,
Stilling Moses’ words
No one could speak, remembering
The first fresh flowers
The little singing birds
Still others thought of fields new ploughed
Or apple trees
All blossom-bowed
Or some, the way a dried bed fills
With water
Laughing down green hills.
 
The fisherfolk dreamed of the foam
On bright blue seas.
One old man who had not stirred
Remembered home.
 
 
And there He was.
Splendid as the morning sun and fair
As only God is fair.
And they, confused with joy.
Knelt to adore
Seeing that He wore
Five crimson stars
He never had before.
 
No canticle at all was sung.
No one toned a psalm, or raised a greeting song.
A silent man alone
Of all that throng
Found tongue –
Not any other.
Close to His heart
When the embrace was done,
Old Joseph said,
“How is your Mother,
How is your Mother, Son?”
 ---
CNS Photo/Courtesy Croziers
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