As the epiphets about new years, new resolutions, new resolve clamour and ring loud, ring hollow, the feast of the Holy Family sits quietly, humbly amidst it all. There is a father, silent, stoic, efficacious, powerful in his humility. There is a mother, contemplative, patient, virtuous beyond understanding, aligned with the ineffable will of her son. And he, the Incarnation. Somehow obedient, somehow eternal. Humbling himself to 'take the form of a servant.' Let the world clamour, cry out, fuss and feud. Let the dead bury the dead.
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