King Herod is the face of evil—terrorizing the land, seeking to “destroy” the child Jesus and any other young infant who was born around the same time as the Christ. Saint Joseph, on the other hand, reflects the face of God the Father.
He, strong in his attentive silence, mighty in his attempts to protect and find refuge for Jesus and Mary, presents us with the final response to hatred: that is, love.
“God does not choose the way of open confrontation or aggressive polemics,” continues Merikakis. Instead, “man will be saved,” “little by little, thanks to grace, in the vision of love and justice that God has of things.” The presence and activity of Herod is entirely opposed to the call of the Abba, in pursuit of his beloved children: “Out of Egypt I called my son.”
The Christian’s power is a power of silent, hidden, and efficacious love. This is the life and fire of the saints. For example, in a poem dedicated to Saint Francis of Assisi, the celebrated Franciscan poet Jacapone of Todi, described this power of love present in the person of the little poor saint from Assisi.
“This is the mission of love: to make two one; Through his [Francis’] prayers it [love] transforms Francis into Christ…” Love seeks to unite, to bind, to draw others into communion. Meanwhile, hatred is “satanic,” in so far as it divides, separates, accuses, and devours. Saint Joseph, forced to respond to the presence and the power of hatred that threatens to destroy the holy family, does not response with calculated defense plans or ruthless rebellion. His response is a poor man’s plea: prayer.
Oftentimes, our lives seem caught in a balancing act between work and prayer, between action and contemplation. However, this polarization between our interior life and our exterior life is a trap. We do not pray one way and live in another way. In truth, we pray as we live and we live as we pray. There is a profound unity, a clear transparency, that we are intended to realize in the relationship between our prayer and our work. The goal, as it is held out before us in the Franciscan tradition, is, in a certain sense, “to become prayer.”
In a footnote in our CFR Constitutions, we mention that Francis, “did not merely pray, but himself “became prayer” (cf. 2 Celano, 95:5) and exhorted his friars to “desire above all else to have the Spirit of the Lord and his holy operation and to pray always to him with a pure heart” (Regula bullata, 10:8–9).”
In the drama of this gospel, we find Saint Joseph as a man who has, in a certain sense, “become prayer.” He is living within the live tension between listening and leadership. We find in Joseph a love that listens to God in the silence of prayer. His heart is attending to and attentive too that voice of God, mediated through the message of the angels. Immediately after this message is received, Saint Joseph acts. We then find in Joseph a love that leads the holy family to carry out what was made known to him by the Lord. Here, in the dynamics of this Gospel scene, we witness a profound unity and integrity between one’s life of prayer and one’s exterior life. Simply put: together it is life lived from and within the deepest sources.
How do we cultivate this unity between our interior life with God and our exterior life of work and relationships? The relationship is a mystery. It is paradoxical. In order to work more effectively, one must pray more intensely. In order to pray more fruitfully, one must give oneself in charity, generously to others. This ‘divine paradox’ is described well by Luis Martinez in The Secrets of the Interior Life.
“One ascends by descending,” that is, through humility, we are exalted. This is not the abstract logic of a theologian. It is the enfleshed and precise reality of Jesus’ example and teaching in the Gospel. Victory comes through the failure of the cross. Those who are first will be last and the last shall be first. He who wishes to save his life must lose it. This is the divine paradox of a truly evangelical life.
Let us draw close to the example of Saint Joseph who was not frightened by the incongruity of God’s paradoxical call. Joseph, in order to lead his family into safety had to return to the city which was symbolic of the Israelites historic enslavement. Joseph, in order to follow the light and hope of God’s command through the angel, had to travel in the darkness of night. Joseph could not see or understand more than the command and invitation of the angelic messages.
“The spiritual path that Joseph traces for us is not one that explains, but accepts” (Apostolic Letter, Patris Corde, paragraph 4). He could not perceive what was on the other side of his dream nor could he calculate the cost of such obedience. In faith, he listened to God, he led his family, and he loved in the face of hatred.
Silent and hidden, it is as if we can hear Joseph’s intercessory words of blessing for the Church today: less noise. Less attention to the lesser things. Follow God even in the darkness. Flee from the fires that seek to smother you and let the fire within burn, turn, and deepen itself through a life of true prayer and generous labor… it is the only way forward through the encroaching tide of darkness.