January 4, 2008

Many years ago, I found myself living in the sandhills of eastern North Carolina.  My residence was a house on a turkey, tobacco and pickle farm.  My work there was to protect loans that the local bank made on farm equipment.  This was not where I pictured my life unfolding, but there I was, and in that place I learned many valuable lessons.  For instance, when disposing of dead livestock, do it down wind of the kitchen.  Opening day of deer season is an acceptable reason to close school and John Deere combines are easy to start and hard to stop.  I also picked up good childrearing tips during my stay on the scrub plain.  The head bank teller, Mattie Lou Minshew, admonished me to keep a detailed record of my second child.  She said she had three boys close together and her first son’s baby book was voluminous, pictures and mementos spilling out whenever it was moved.  The second son’s memory book was much more modest and the third son’s was two pictures, one art project and 1 report card.  She said the day he found it, he cried so long that when he finally went to bed, she took stuff out of the oldest brother’s book, erased his name and glued into the youngest son’s.  She told me, details matter, memories are important.  I said, “sure.”  I had been diligent with my daughter’s story.  I expected to do the same with the next baby.  But, I got distracted.  Two kiddos take up a lot more time than one, and I also had delinquent tractors to locate. 

So, I understand that while we want an in depth record of our beginnings, and how we started out, other life events often interfere and gaps are left in our history.  If this is true for us in the modern age of digital cameras and elaborate scrap booking paraphernalia, it was certainly true in 1^st century Palestine.  At the time of Jesus’ birth, there was very little recordkeeping or journaling.  And the letters Mary may have sent her mother about Jesus the toddler or the jokes Jesus told at nine were lost almost immediately.

All that we know of Jesus of Nazareth prior to his public ministry at age 30, comes from the gospel accounts of Matthew and Luke.  Matthew details the infant’s lineage.  Luke describes the night he was born.  Matthew notes the visitors coming from the east brining gifts and paying homage.  Luke records that all traditional Jewish rites were observed.  The child was circumcised and named on his 8^th day of life.  On his 33^rd day, the parents took him the five miles from Bethlehem to Jerusalem to be presented and dedicated at the temple.  Matthew wants the world to remember that Herod was so threatened by the wise men’s defection that he sent troops to slaughter the innocents.  All children in and around Bethlehem, two years old and younger, were killed. 

Matthew explains that Jesus escapes this fate because an angel appears to Joseph in a dream and tells him to take the child and his mother to Egypt and to stay there until the angel returns to him.  Herod dies, the angel comes again to Joseph’s dreams and family leaves Egypt and goes back to Israel and settles in Nazareth.  Then, for ten years, the record is silent.  We have no information, no details on the life of the Holy Family.  Did Joseph’s business flourish or struggle?  How many children did Mary have after Jesus?  Was it an orderly or a chaotic household?  We don’t know.  What was Jesus like as a little boy?  Was he an extrovert or an introvert?  Was he artistic, athletic, musical, reserved?  Was he tall or short?  Was he lighthearted or serious?  We don’t know.

The only incident recorded and remembered about Jesus’ youth is the account we just heard.  Like all other Jewish families of their day, Joseph, Mary and their children join friends and travel to Jerusalem once a year for the annual celebration of Passover.  The spring festival of Jesus’ twelfth year was no exception.  The family goes into the large city, goes to the services at the temple, shops in the market place, visits with relatives and at the end of the festivities several days later, they begin the long walk back home.  Crowds leave the city on the same day.  Imagine the Sunday after Thanksgiving when everyone returns home from grandma’s. 

A caravan is stretched over across the landscape and kids run alongside one wagon.  They tire out and catch a ride in another.  Like teens everywhere, some separate from their parents and hang out with their friends.  Normal today, normal in year 10 or 11.  But, at the end of the first day on the road, as the group stops to prepare dinner and bed down for the night, Jesus doesn’t come back to his parents.  They start calling and walking through the campsites and no Jesus.  They check in with all their friends.  They track down the relatives.  No one has seen him.  Now they are worried.  This morning he was with them in Jerusalem, tonight he is missing.  So, Mary and Joseph have to go back. Imagine their anxiety as they back track to the capitol city. 

Once they arrive, there is no happy reunion.  Their son is not waiting for them at the city gate.  There is no text message, no voice mail.  There is no Amber alert, no patrolmen to dispatch.  The couple once again are on their own.  So, they hunt and call and retrace.  For three days they search for their son.  Three days filled with fear, weariness, growing desperation.  Then, having tried more logical places to locate a 12 year old boy, they wander into the imposing temple.  And sitting there on the floor, at the feet of the great religious minds of their time, is their missing son.  He’s safe.  He’s comfortable.  He’s engaged in lively debate.  He’s being listened to and drawn in.  He’s happy and well and in his element.  And the parents are relieved and ticked off!  Can you imagine their emotions?  If I was Mary, I’d want to do some sort of simultaneous hug and throttle on the child.  I wouldn’t care a whit about the elevated surroundings or the grand rabbis or my smart little son.  I’d be a royal mess – furious and elated.  I wouldn’t know which one to feel first and how to sort out my reaction.  Like a normal mother, Mary had the same problem.

Luke records her reaction, “When his parents saw him, they were astonished; and his mother said to him, ‘Child, why have you treated us like this?  Look, your father and I have been searching for you in great anxiety.’”  And the answer Jesus gives does not satisfy.  His response is not the words of a compassionate, reasoned Son of the Most High.  His answer sounds exactly like the reaction of a 12 year old human male.  Why were you worried?  Why were you searching for me?  Didn’t you know I’d be all right?  Didn’t you know I’d be here?  No, Jesus, if we knew you’d be here, we would have come and picked you up four days ago.  If we knew you would be here, we would have saved ourselves three days of looking and come here first.  And why would we think of this place first?  When had you ever mentioned studying with the rabbis?  When had you ever expressed this interest?  In all the subsequent accounts of Jesus, this is the one where he appears most human.  And the only thing that saves him from coming across like a smug spoiled brat is what Luke reports next.

“His parents did not understand his reasoning, what it was that he meant.  Then he went down with them to Nazareth and was obedient to them.  Jesus increased in wisdom and strength and in divine and human favor.”  

In the void of descriptions and details about the character, personality, life events, and physical appearance of the young Jesus, we learn this central truth. In his natural make-up, Jesus was a considerate, respectful son who appreciated and honored his parents.  He was also a theological prodigy who had an innate understanding of the mind and will of God.  At age 12 he had an epiphany.  He discovered a truth about himself that would alter the rest of his life.  Those days in the temple, he discovered something of his divine essence.  He began to sense what God had planned for him and how God had equipped him for this work.  And so, on his trip home that Passover, Jesus determined that he would always have to walk a line, a line between satisfying the expectations of his world, the hopes and dreams of his parents, the usual demands of Jewish life and friendships and meeting the mission of his creator – God Almighty.

When the demands of the world are in sync with God’s providence, all is well. In those times when human expectations are at variance with the Father’s plan, Jesus understood where he would have to stand.  God’s call to him, God’s claim on his would always come first.  This is a profound lesson to learn at such a young age.  Its truth is so important that the ancient account survived.  Across time and history, loss and lapses, this story stayed alive.  Short, tall, we don’t know.  Curly hair, straight hair, we don’t know.  Careful in human relationships, devoted to God, this we know.

It may be no accident that the details of his personality and appearance did not survive.  This way, all humankind, all variety of folk can find commonality with God’s own son.  We can imagine him being like us and so find encouragement in his example.  Where details do remain, we must pay close attention.  They point us clearly to the direction we are to follow.  Like Jesus, we walk a line, a line between satisfying the desires of the world and answering God’s call to us.  Our charge, just as Jesus discovered in the temple, is to discover what God created each one of us to become.  Then, once we have a sense of our unique mission, we find the resolve to live it out wherever it calls us.

Not one of us is too young or too old to locate our purpose.  Not one of us is too young or too old to follow God’s holy plan for us – first, last, all the time.  May we find the resolve to do so.

Amen.