He was a father, yet none bore his name,
No bloodline claimed, no heir to his fame.
He held a Son whom he did not beget,
Yet in his arms, God’s salvation was set.
He was a husband, yet love took no claim,
No passions to tame, no rights to proclaim.
His vow was silence, his bond was grace,
A love unconsumed, yet time cannot erase.
He was a dreamer, yet not for his gain,
No visions of riches, no titles to reign.
His dreams were of angels, of warnings, of flight,
To guard what was sacred in faith’s solemn night.
He was a protector, yet owned not a thing,
No riches for himself, no treasures to cling.
Yet dangers he shielded, through desert and fear,
A guardian unseen, steadfast, and near.
He was a worker, yet labored unknown,
Carving and shaping, yet pride wasn’t his own.
A table, a shelter, for others he made,
A life poured out, yet love never fades.
The saint of the hidden, the uprooted, and the sent,
Those in between, the few, and whose identity is bent.
In his shadow, their purpose glows,
They who give without taking, counting no cost.
With empty hands and silence sage,
They find their gift and rise new again.
In Salvation’s great economy, his name whispers low,
Faithful and righteous, content to let go.
In the loss of self, Saint Joseph found his call,
The father of exiles, the silent shepherd of souls.
Of priests and the vowed, in missions unknown,
Migrants and refugees, in lands not their own.
Migrants and refugees, in lands not their own.
In his shadow, their purpose glows,
They who give without taking, counting no cost.
With empty hands and silence sage,
They find their gift and rise new again.
In Salvation’s great economy, his name whispers low,
Faithful and righteous, content to let go.
In the loss of self, Saint Joseph found his call,
The father of exiles, the silent shepherd of souls.
(Inspired by the morning prayer on the Feast of St. Joseph, the Spouse of Mary, Our Mother - 19th March, 2025)
