In the Roman Catholic tradition—although not in the Episcopal Church—the Gospel we just heard is proclaimed on the Sunday after Christmas Day, for what is called the “Feast of the Holy Family.” And why not honor this intrepid family? We’ve just heard of Mary and Joseph’s fateful journey to Bethlehem, and of Jesus’ heralded birth, so why not gather up the rather slim biblical material we have about his growing up and try to flesh out the picture of Jesus’ family life as a model for our own?
What Luke’s Gospel gives us is a pretty recognizable family portrait. Today we met an errant adolescent and some worried parents, with the Jesus-specific twist that he’s actually wiser than his parents when it comes to things of God. And then we have the apparently neglectful father and mother who forgot about their son for an entire day of travel, and had to spend another whole day traveling back to Jerusalem to look for him. That’s some parental dysfunction right there. But it’s OK because it makes Jesus’ family seem more like any of ours right? I say this is all humility as a parent who certainly messed up repeatedly. Something my sons are only too happy to remind me of.
We all know a thing or two about messy families, no? Lord knows many of us have lived through family complexity over the recent holidays. Hopefully we had some good meals and some quality time with our close relatives over the holidays, but you and I both know that wasn’t true for everyone. Some of us were lonely over the holidays. Some of us were grieving the loss of people who would normally be part of our family gatherings. Some of us were quarantined due to COVID or unable to travel because of weather. Some of us have complicated and painful relationships with our families. I myself struggle to support a close relative whose mental illnesses flare over every holiday.
Which is why I find myself wondering about just what the church means when we refer to the holy family. Note that the Bible doesn’t actually use this term to describe Mary, Joseph and Jesus: the understanding of their threesome as a model of family holiness emerged as a theme in classical art in the 14th century, but wasn’t really popularized until a French bishop founded an order in the name of the Holy Family in the 17th century.
But if we look to Mary and Joseph for a model of how to be family now, there really isn’t much material to work with. We do know that Jesus had parents who cared very deeply for him, kept him safe in the face of political threats and exile in Egypt, and who saw to his religious education. The latter of which happened in the context of extended family: recall that he was traveling with parents, relatives and friends to observe the Passover in Jerusalem.
Just because the Bible itself does not specifically refer to Jesus and his parents as The Holy Family, however, doesn’t mean that the Bible isn’t chock full of family stories that we can learn from. Not necessarily because they are role models for us, however. Recall Adam and Eve and their rivalrous sons, Noah and the whole family of created beings cooped up in an ark, Abraham trafficking his wife and Isaac and Rebekah and their trickster son Jacob. Whose multiple wives birthed his nation-building progeny. As the saying goes and the Bible surely affirms, “families! You can’t live with ‘em, and you can’t procreate without them.”
Indeed, it wouldn’t be far from the truth to think of the Hebrew Scriptures as a record of God’s vast and vastly dysfunctional human family. Into which Jesus the Christ is born in due season: the heir to royal rogues and prostitutes, if Matthew’s long genealogy is to be trusted. And yes, his family was holy: just as so many families who do their best to listen to God and forgive each other and care for vulnerable children are. But beyond the intriguing boyhood stories of family visits to the temple, there’s not a lot we can learn from Jesus’ human family of origin.
On the other hand, Jesus himself did have plenty to say about families. Some of it not especially encouraging. For example, in the 8th chapter of Luke, Jesus denies his biological mother and brothers, saying “My mother and my brothers are those who hear the word of God and do it.” And further on, in the 14th chapter, “Whoever comes to me and does not hate father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters…cannot be my disciple.” Huh. So much for The holy biological family!
But families do feature prominently in Jesus parables. Their members appear at weddings and family vineyards and in rivalry and as obedient and disobedient children. Perhaps non more obviously so than in the beloved Parable of the Prodigal Son. You remember the story, right? A father gave an inheritance to his sons and the younger squandered it in dissolute living, as Luke records it. Eventually that wayward son repents and returns to his father’s house, where his older brother whines about the unfairness of it all. That part sounds like the families we know, right?
But… the father’s house. The place the prodigal son returned to, without even knowing whether he’d be accepted back. “I will say to him,” thought the repentant son, “Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you; I am no longer worthy to be called your son. treat me like one of your hired hands.” Then here comes the part we all love. Jesus teaches “But while he was still far off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion; he ran and put his arms around him and kissed him.”
What was twelve year old Jesus doing in the Jerusalem temple when his parents left him behind? I think he was learning about his father’s house. Not his father Joseph’s house—although I’m sure Joseph was a fine father—but about that home for the heart where we are all, and always, welcome. At any age, regardless of what we’ve done. Our home is with God. That’s the lesson Jesus was learning in the temple, and a lesson we are called to teach here at Trinity.
Let us, as a church, be that kind of welcoming father’s house. Cathedral Warden Steve Sosnowski described us beautifully— naming virtually every member of our extended church family—in his Christmas Eve facebook post that began “I wanted to share a moment of grace, peace and love with all of you.” We can be that kind of father’s house—graceful, peaceful, and full of love—for the curious twelve year old, for the young adult seeking a change, and for each other.
Here’s what I know about families. All families are kind of a mess. And all families are holy. All parents are imperfect and all children are wayward, to some degree. Truly, it’s a miracle of God that any of us survive to adulthood. And then, God willing, we find partners and marry and make households and families of choice. We are called to love and support each other’s faithful journeys, in so many different ways. In the immortal words of Archbishop Tutu, whose mortality caught up to him this week: “God’s dream is that you and I and all of us will realize that we are family, that we are made for togetherness, for goodness, and for compassion.”
I’d venture to say that the Biblical measure of family holiness if not so much in their configuration, but in the family’s capacity to help every member find their way home to their father’s house. Which could be the home of their biological parents, but might just as well be another place of grace, peace and love. It might be the campus ministry that supports a young person’s vocational goals, it might be the AA group that accepts us as we are but doesn’t leave us there. It might be the Family Shelter which Trinity supports, it might be online in daily morning prayer, where we listen to each other and to God. It might be right here in this little historic, wooden church, perched on the edge of St. James Park, this very Sunday morning. Where we come to meet our common father, and know that we are welcomed home.
