Joseph, Our Brother
Stories
Lectionary Tales For The Pulpit
Series II Cycle B
Joseph Bernardin was the Archbishop of the Roman Catholic Church in Chicago. He became a bishop when he was only 38. After several years, he became an archbishop, only to become a cardinal six months later.
His father, a stonecutter, died when he was six and Joseph's mother became a seamstress. Joseph was proud that his mother made his first cassock.
Joseph grew to have a period of self-indulgence. One day he realized his mistake and gave away everything that would hinder his spiritual journey. He began early morning devotions daily at 5 a.m. and adopted new habits.
In his first address to Chicago's priests, Joseph said, "We will work and play together, fast and pray together, mourn and rejoice together, despair and hope together, dispute and be reconciled together. You will know me as a friend, fellow priest, and bishop. You will also know that I love you. For I am Joseph -- your brother."
Cardinal Joseph Bernardin always addressed the people with, "I am Joseph, your brother." It became his signature statement. Indeed, Joseph was like a brother to many: to priests, parishioners, church leaders, and the unchurched. He was not pretentious; he was direct. He was known for his honesty, forthrightness, and integrity.
He was also known for his faith in times of adversity. One fateful day, adversity came in the form of a diagnosis: Joseph had cancer. Joseph immediately sought out people: he refused to be cut off from people and his ministry. He would continue his ministry.
When he would go to Loyola University's Cancer Center, he politely refused the private entrance. Joseph, our brother, took the main entrance. While taking treatments, Joseph shared his pain, his fears, his joy, his love for his God with others in the Center. Joseph, our brother, prayed with them. Joseph, our brother, cried with them.
Seventeen months after his diagnosis -- three months since he learned it was inoperable -- Joseph succumbed to cancer. He died at 68, on his mother's ninety-second birthday.
His funeral was a fitting tribute to Joseph. Flowers, cards, and tears were everywhere. And in the midst of it all stood Jewish memorial candles. A fitting tribute to a brother. A fitting tribute to one who prayed with others.
May Joseph, our brother, rest in peace.
His father, a stonecutter, died when he was six and Joseph's mother became a seamstress. Joseph was proud that his mother made his first cassock.
Joseph grew to have a period of self-indulgence. One day he realized his mistake and gave away everything that would hinder his spiritual journey. He began early morning devotions daily at 5 a.m. and adopted new habits.
In his first address to Chicago's priests, Joseph said, "We will work and play together, fast and pray together, mourn and rejoice together, despair and hope together, dispute and be reconciled together. You will know me as a friend, fellow priest, and bishop. You will also know that I love you. For I am Joseph -- your brother."
Cardinal Joseph Bernardin always addressed the people with, "I am Joseph, your brother." It became his signature statement. Indeed, Joseph was like a brother to many: to priests, parishioners, church leaders, and the unchurched. He was not pretentious; he was direct. He was known for his honesty, forthrightness, and integrity.
He was also known for his faith in times of adversity. One fateful day, adversity came in the form of a diagnosis: Joseph had cancer. Joseph immediately sought out people: he refused to be cut off from people and his ministry. He would continue his ministry.
When he would go to Loyola University's Cancer Center, he politely refused the private entrance. Joseph, our brother, took the main entrance. While taking treatments, Joseph shared his pain, his fears, his joy, his love for his God with others in the Center. Joseph, our brother, prayed with them. Joseph, our brother, cried with them.
Seventeen months after his diagnosis -- three months since he learned it was inoperable -- Joseph succumbed to cancer. He died at 68, on his mother's ninety-second birthday.
His funeral was a fitting tribute to Joseph. Flowers, cards, and tears were everywhere. And in the midst of it all stood Jewish memorial candles. A fitting tribute to a brother. A fitting tribute to one who prayed with others.
May Joseph, our brother, rest in peace.
