Fifteen years ago, a single photograph in a magazine captured something extraordinary: a father lifting his 16-month-old son toward heaven, both faces alive with joy. The image accompanied “A Letter to My Son,” written by acclaimed author Tim O’Brien. It was more than just a father’s musings – it was a revelation of how profoundly a child can transform a man’s heart. Today, as we celebrate the feast of St. Joseph, this modern father’s letter opens a window into an ancient truth about fatherhood, love, and divine purpose.

A heartfelt thank you for taking the time to read this homily for the SOLEMNITY OF ST JOSEPH (March 19, 2025). Your support means a great deal to me, and I’m deeply grateful for the many who share these messages with their friends, families and social media followers. If you’ve found meaning in these words, I’d be grateful if you’d share them with others who might benefit.

And for those who prefer listening, you can find the audio version on SoundCloud HERE or subscribe to the podcast on iTunes HERE. Your comments, messages, and the way you’ve embraced these homilies continue to inspire me.  Sincerely in Christ -Father Jim

O’Brien writes to his son Timmy with raw honesty: “You dropped into the world, my son, my first and only child – a surprise, a gift, a miracle.” He confesses his fears of being an older father, of being remembered only as “the graying old coot,” and then makes a stunning admission: he would trade every word he’s ever written – his entire life’s work – for just a few more years with his son. In that moment of truth, this celebrated author realizes what every parent eventually discovers: that all our achievements pale in comparison to the miracle of raising a child.

But if O’Brien’s story moves us, imagine St. Joseph’s. Here was a man who received not just any child, but the Son of God Himself. Joseph never speaks a single word in Scripture – not one – yet his silence thunders through the ages.

While O’Brien discovered fatherhood changed him from a writer into something more, Joseph’s transformation was even more profound: from a simple carpenter to the Guardian of our Savior, the Protector of the Church, the Terror of Demons.

Think about that first Christmas night. While O’Brien had a hospital room, Joseph had a cave. While modern fathers pace in waiting rooms, Joseph desperately knocked on doors in Bethlehem. And when the moment came, this man who had planned on a quiet life as a carpenter found himself cradling the Creator of the Universe in his calloused hands.

Every parent believes their child is God’s gift to the world. But Joseph? Joseph was the only man in history who was absolutely right about this.

The beauty of Joseph’s story lies not in grand speeches or dramatic gestures, but in his presence. Day after day, year after year, he simply showed up. He taught Jesus how to work wood, how to read the Torah, how to be a man. But in doing so, he learned something far more profound – he learned how to recognize God in the ordinary moments, in the sawdust and the silence, in the small hands reaching for his own.

Joseph never lived to see his foster son turn water into wine. He never witnessed the healing of the blind or the raising of the dead. He never heard the Sermon on the Mount or stood at the foot of the Cross. Yet he found something perhaps even more precious: he found hope in the daily presence of Jesus, in the quiet moments of teaching, learning, and loving.

In these troubled times, when darkness seems to press in from all sides, St. Joseph’s example blazes like a beacon. He reminds us that hope isn’t found in grand gestures or mighty deeds, but in the simple act of being present to Jesus. Just as Joseph found his purpose not in his craft but in his calling, we too are invited to find our hope not in what we do, but in Who we welcome into our lives.

Like O’Brien typing “I love you” with his son’s fingers on the keyboard, and like Joseph guiding Jesus’ hands on the carpenter’s tools, we are called to let God work through our own humble efforts. For in the end, hope isn’t something we create – it’s Someone we welcome, just as Joseph did on that holy night in Bethlehem.

This is St. Joseph’s lasting gift to us: the knowledge that in welcoming Jesus – whether into a cave in Bethlehem or into our own troubled hearts – we welcome hope itself. And in that welcome, like Joseph, we find not just our purpose, but our salvation.