On my wall hangs an icon: St. Joseph stands in the center, holding the Christ child, while behind and above him God the Father is spreading a magnificent spangled cloak, ready, it seems, to swaddle the both of them.
“The Great Comforter,” I’ve dubbed the image; God the holder of blankets, ready to wrap you up and keep you warm. Stranger titles have been given to God: In the Gospel of Matthew, Jesus likens himself to a mother hen. In the Psalms, David calls God a rock.
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