Luke 2:41-52
Now every year his parents went to Jerusalem for the festival of the Passover. And when he was twelve years old, they went up as usual for the festival. When the festival was ended and they started to return, the boy Jesus stayed behind in Jerusalem, but his parents did not know it. Assuming that he was in the group of travelers, they went a day’s journey.
Then they started to look for him among their relatives and friends. When they did not find him, they returned to Jerusalem to search for him. After three days they found him in the temple, sitting among the teachers, listening to them and asking them questions. And all who heard him were amazed at his understanding and his answers.
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.” He said to them, “Why were you searching for me? Did you not know that I must be in my Father’s house?” But they did not understand what he said to them.
Then he went down with them and came to Nazareth, and was obedient to them. His mother treasured all these things in her heart. And Jesus increased in wisdom and in years, and in divine and human favor.
I love that – after all of that drama, excitement, fear, and anxiety – after the embarrassment and worry of having lost Jesus – after having traveled and searched and knocked on who knows how many doors – after calling his name in anger, frustration, fear and desperation, God knows how many times, before finally finding him calmly chilling, safe, sound, and smug, in the Temple – Mary “treasured all these things in her heart.” Isn’t that just so sweet and motherly of her?
And I kind of like that we don’t hear a word about Joseph, because I get to use my imagination about his response. I bet Joseph was so pissed and so frustrated – about having to turn around, having to waste all of that time, losing all of those good travel days. He probably missed some work and lost some money because of this nonsense. I imagine him mumbling and groaning and kicking the dirt 20 paces ahead of Mary and Jesus, for three days, all the way back to Nazareth; like a First Century Clark Griswold, while Mary “treasured all of these things in her heart.”
You can imagine it right?
So stressed … so anxious … so afraid … so guilt-ridden over having lost the boy; or having not double-checked on the boy; or having trusted that the boy – the Son of God, for crying out loud – Emmanuel – which means “GOD WITH US” – would actually BE WITH THEM, like he was supposed to be. I imagine Joseph, muttering and mumbling, angrily under his breath, “Name him Jesus, because he’s going to save his people from their sins.” He just LOST ME four days and a week’s wages! How’s HE gonna “save his people from anything?!?!” Gimme a break! I’ll believe it when I see it.
Maybe I’m projecting. Surely I digress.
But seriously, I made a comment during our Blue Christmas worship service – that annual worship service for the weary, for the sadness and struggle that is also so much a part of the holidays for so many – I said something about how glad I was to see those who showed up, show up, that night. And about how I wish that that service had been as full as I knew it would be on Christmas Eve, which was filled to over-flowing as many of you know, three times over.
I said that because I knew on Christmas Eve, we’d have a bumper crop of those folks who come every year “for the festival” – for the pomp and circumstance, for the familiar carols, for the nostalgia of “Silent Night” by candlelight, and for whatever grace and good feels we find in all of that. And it’s not nothing. I’m always so glad that they and their families join us, and that we’re able to welcome them like we do.
But I always want them to know that we’re about that kind of goodness and grace year-round in the Church. And I always wonder how long all of that goodness and grace – all of those good feels – last in the hearts and minds and lives of those who join us once a year, or even just every once in a while.
Do they make it out of the parking lot – those good feels? Do they last through the night, past Christmas morning, and beyond the opening of all those gifts? Has Jesus gotten lost in the shuffle, left behind in the Temple, as it were; gone missing in the mix that is life in this busy, scary, anxious world we share? And of course, I wonder the same about myself and about all of us, too, who practice our faith more regularly and with such good intentions.
Because the truth is, that we all have – or will have – those moments when Jesus seems to go missing … when he doesn’t seem as near as he did on Christmas Eve … when we have taken his presence for granted, like even his parents were able to do … and when we have looked for his love, his peace, his hope, his gracious presence in all the wrong places, or not at all … when the circumstances of our lives so easily crowd him out or make him hard to find.
And today makes me hope we’ll remember that we can always find him here … in the temple, in the Church, in God’s house of worship.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m certain that you can meet Jesus during a walk in the woods, or on the golf course, or sitting in your recliner, by the fire, with a candle and your favorite Bible.
But Jesus reminds me today that this is holy ground; that God’s house is where he’ll always be – in Word, in the sacraments, and in the fellowship of believers who look for him here. And I take that as a great comfort and as a holy charge and calling, too. And I hope you do as well.
I hope that we’re doing our best – on Christmas Eve and every day – to be sure the love of God, in Jesus, is being made known in this place, always in thought, word, and deed. That through our ministry and mission it’s clear Jesus is waiting for whoever comes searching for him; that we’re proclaiming his grace with no strings attached; that we’re listening for his guidance; that we’re receiving and offering his kind of mercy and forgiveness; that we’re working for his sort of justice, peace and equity in the world; that we’re welcoming others the way we’ve been welcomed, ourselves.
I heard a bit on NPR’s “Morning Edition” yesterday, about the hymn “Amazing Grace.” Apparently, New Year’s Day, 1773, was the first time that most familiar hymn was ever performed – 251 years ago.
And I never wondered about the lyric “I once was lost, but now am found” before, in the context of Jesus, Mary and Joseph, and this journey from Jerusalem, as we hear it, so soon after Christmas. “I once was lost, but now am found.”
It could mean a million different things for any one of us – at any given time or season of our lives. I wonder what it might have meant for Jesus way back when. Did he feel as lost as his parents thought he was or as any pre-teen kid can feel at that time in their life? Is that why he made his way back to the Temple in the first place? To find some comfort … some company … some holy ground … some kind of peace and love and support he wasn’t finding elsewhere in those days? And why wasn’t God’s house – the Temple – the first place Mary and Joseph thought to find him in?
I hope this is always a safe place where you and I – and others – feel welcome to come for worship when it’s filled to the brim, when it’s just the regulars, or when we just need to be alone with our God.
I hope this is sacred space where we can ask hard questions and long for answers, even if they don’t come easily, as fast as we’d like, or at all.
I hope this is a place where we can find our footing on a bit of holy ground when we need it, where we can search for good news and find the kind of grace that’s hard to come by anywhere else in the world.
I hope this is a place where we can always find the Jesus who shows up at Christmas, but whose presence lives and moves and breathes among us, always.
And I hope this is a place where we let ourselves be found, too, by the abundant, amazing love and grace of God – in such a way that we are clothed with compassion, kindness, humility, meekness, patience and that same love – so much so that others will find us here; that they’ll come and see the difference it makes for us – and what a difference it can make in the world when we let it.
Amen. Merry Christmas.
