The Holy Family of Jesus, Mary, and Joseph
Modern American culture does a great job—
maybe
even too good a job—
of
documenting childhood these days.
When
I was young,
at
most you had a nice little baby album
with
a few cute photos and maybe a lock of hair.
Today,
nearly everything an infant or toddler does
is
broadcast far and wide—and instantly—on Facebook:
first
word, first tooth, first solid food, first step, first day at school.
Parents
seem prone to overshare when it comes to their kids.
I
think most of us of a certain age
have an embarrassing baby picture in the bathtub
have an embarrassing baby picture in the bathtub
lurking
somewhere in our past;
it
was a whole lot easier to keep those out of sight
when
they were just printed on paper,
rather
than floating around forever in cyberspace.
Now
compare that
to
what we know about Jesus’ earliest years.
This
Sunday’s brief gospel passage is about all we’ve got
before
he hits young adulthood—
except,
of course, for an infamous twelve-year-old trip to Jerusalem.
Quite
naturally, we’re curious about those hidden years,
which
actually make up the bulk of Jesus’ time spent here on earth.
It’s
an incredible temptation to try and fill in the gaps
with
likely but imagined details.
The
silence of the Scriptures—like silence in general—
can
make us pretty uncomfortable.
Silence.
While
I was home Friday,
my
brother-in-law was asking me
and he’s often got questions for me
about
the Church or the priesthood.)
For
more than a decade now,
I’ve
annually gone to a monastery or hermitage
to
spend a week on silent retreat.
What most fascinated—and perplexed—Shane
Standing there in the middle of his house
while
the TV was blaring, the dogs were whining,
my
niece and nephew
were buzzing about with new toys,
and
the microwave was humming
in the next room,
Shane
just shook his head and said,
“I couldn’t do it.”
(Which
is how most folks react.)
I
stood there thinking, “I couldn’t do without it!”
Silence
is an increasingly rare commodity in the world today.
In
addition to the chatter and music which are always around us,
there’s
the constant noise of our many machines:
the
rumble of traffic on the street;
the
ding of an incoming text on our cell phone;
the
perpetually whirring fans of our computer
or furnace or refrigerator.
or furnace or refrigerator.
We
don’t even notice it all…
…till
it’s not there (say, when the power goes out).
And
then we feel the need to fill that void—
to
break the uncomfortable silence.
I
know of folks who require a “white noise” machine
to
make static-like sounds in the background
just
so they can sleep.
(So much for “Silent Night”!)
(So much for “Silent Night”!)
Maybe
the Scriptures’ silence on the life of the Holy Family
is
meant to remind us of another way.
What
can the silence of Nazareth teach our families?
For
one thing, it encourages us to listen—
to
listen with greater care to one another,
to
listen more attentively to God.
In
my experience,
poor
communication is the source of most strife in family life
and
most confusion in the spiritual life,
and
communication breaks down most often
not
because we fail to express ourselves clearly,
but
because we fail to listen well.
In
family relations, in our relationship with the Lord,
silence
encourages us to truly listen.
And
silence also encourages us to trust—
to
live by faith.
Think
of the task entrusted to Mary and Joseph.
Where
could they turn for guidance?
How
could they know
if
they were parenting the Son of God aright?
Sure,
angels occasionally appeared on the scene
in
those first few months,
but
their messages may have only made matters more mysterious, not
less.
Like
Abraham and Sarah so many generations before them,
faith
alone could support and sustain them.
And
that’s how it is with us, too.
Such
faith, such trust in God’s promises,
is
tested and matures in silence.
Our
heavenly Father will never be accused of oversharing—
quite
the opposite, in fact.
As
Mother Teresa of Calcutta liked to say,
“God
is the friend of silence.”
And
yet, because silence is so rare,
it
makes us uncomfortable.
And
because silence makes us uncomfortable,
we’re
pretty quick chase it away.
We
work hard to fill in the gaps.
But
it’s precisely in those silent gaps,
in
those quiet and open spaces,
that
we’re most likely to meet the Lord.
May
our families—whatever their size or shape—
learn
to listen better and learn to trust more.
We’ll
learn these things best when—little by little—
we
begin to befriend even just a few brief moments of silence.
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