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I'm a lapsed Catholic. Since I signed up for a class in my University of Georgia English program called "Letters".
We started out the quarter (back when there was such a thing as a quarter rather than a semester) studying the sometimes saccharine letters of Abelard and Heloise. But by the middy part of the term, we were head first into the letters of Paul to the Corinthians. That's when I began thinking (knowing?) that my religion was a political movement rather than a spiritual one.
Today I stood in the lobby of St Joseph's hospital in the Sandy Springs neighborhood of Atlanta waiting for Mr Right's return from the facilities. I found myself drawn in to a gold and glistening life size portrait of a dude looking serene? forlorn? serious.
I assume it was St Joseph. So I looked him up tonight. But before I get to the part where I admit that I've relinquished control to the glistening, morose chap on the wall, let me explain how much sleep I've had in the past four days.
Upon hearing that oh-so-precious father had cancer in his bladder, I started a feast of psychosis. I will be an orphan. I will be alone. I will lose the rock of my life. Fuck. He dies and I won't know shit from asshole. Excuse me. But yeah. I don't know life on this earth without him on it. I don't want to either. So that's a week and a half or so ago. Slept fine, slept ok, slept weird, slept in space madness, slept with nightmares...then four days ago...slept for five hours, slept for three hours, night before a particularly critical interview...slept for five hours with nightmares, dad's surgery is next day...slept three hours, slept four.
Standing in front of a golden dude today, I said, "what's you're damn problem? Wings too heavy?"
Here's the prayer of St Joseph I just found.
Oh, St Joseph , whose protection is so great, so strong, so prompt before the throne of God. I place in you all my interest and desires. Oh, St Joseph , do assist me by your powerful intercession and obtain for me from your divine Son all spiritual blessings, through Jesus Christ, Our Lord. So that, having engaged here below your heavenly power, I may offer my thanks giving and homage to the most loving of Fathers. Oh, Saint Joseph , I never weary contemplating you, and Jesus asleep in your arms; I dare not approach while He reposes near your heart. Press him in my name and kiss his fine head for me and ask him to return the kiss when I draw my dying breath. Saint Joseph , patron of departing souls - pray for me.
And this is the translation of its meaning.
It is said that this prayer was found in the fiftieth year of Jesus. In 1505 it was sent from the Pope to Emperor Charles when he was going into battle. Whoever shall read this prayer, or hear it or keep it about themselves shall never die a sudden death, or be drowned, nor shall poison take effect of them; neither shall they fall into the hands of the enemy, or shall be burned in any fire or shall be overpowered in battle.
Drowning, eh? Seems familiar lately.But the real point I'd like to make here, and the specialness of this day for me (a day set aside for mothers) is this:
Saint Joseph exemplifies a father’s presence as a teacher, a trustworthy man of faith, and a man whose faith inspires others to grow in confidence and wisdom.
It makes some sense that my father, my rock, my glistening golden portrait of a man, suffers his pain in St Josephs hospital.
