Jesus, Lost But Found

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.

Advent and Ancestors

Luke 1:39-45

In those days, Mary set out with haste and went to a Judean town in the hill-country where she entered the home of Zechariah and greeted Elizabeth. When Elizabeth heard the sound of her greeting, the child leaped in her womb. Elizabeth was filled with the Holy Spirit and exclaimed with a loud cry, “Blessed are you among women and blessed is the fruit of your womb! And why has this happened to me, that the mother of my Lord has come to me? For when I heard the sound of your greeting, the child in my womb leaped for joy! And blessed is she who believed there would be a fulfillment of what was spoken to her by the Lord.”

---

When David Brooks talks about what it means to see others deeply and to let ourselves be more deeply seen, he leans pretty heavily into acknowledging the significance of a person’s family tree, history, and culture, in order to do that. And he asks this really great question: How Do Your Ancestors Show Up in Your Life?

He quotes the novelist and poet, Robert Penn Warren, who said, “You live through time, that little piece of time that is yours, but that piece of time is not only your own life, it is the summing-up of all the other lives that are simultaneous with yours. …What you are is an expression of history.”

And we forget this, don’t we? …about ourselves, about each other, and about the strangers we meet and see in the world? When someone upsets or angers us on any given day – by cutting us off in traffic, or acting selfish or unkind at the grocery store, by talking behind our back in the church parking lot, or by not pulling their weight on that group assignment at school – it’s worth wondering what else might be going on in their life at the moment, don’t you think?

We’ve all seen that meme or heard the notion that “Everyone you meet is fighting a battle you know nothing about, so be kind. Always.” Well, I think David Brooks takes this to another, more meaningful level, when it comes to really seeing and knowing a person.

We don’t just land here, showing up out of nowhere – so unique, individual, special, and in control of our own respective destinies. Like it or not, we are beholden to or influenced – in some way – by those who came before us; by all of the culture, history, and baggage – good, bad, and ugly – that come along with us. All of the good stuff we’d like to claim about ourselves and be most proud of – isn’t all or only of our own creation. And the hard stuff we work so hard or wish we could change about ourselves – isn’t … always … either.

And the same is true about our neighbor.

Which is to say – what we’ve been trying to show throughout these Advent days – is that seeing others deeply and being deeply seen takes time, work, effort, energy, and faith. And as Christmas draws ever nearer, my hope is that we see this work as ours, because it is and was God’s, in the coming of Jesus. God showed up to see us more fully, completely, deeply … And so that we might take the time and do the work to see Jesus – and each other, through him – more fully, completely, and deeply, too.

What child is this? What child is this? What child is this, and this, and this, and this?

And, perhaps the most human thing about Jesus, is that he had a family tree, ancestors, and a rich human history of his own. And the Gospel writers – heck the whole of the Scriptural narrative – reveals this for us.

I was tempted, but decided to spare you the reading of Jesus’ genealogy from the first chapter of Matthew’s gospel to prove this point. But you know – or I suspect you’ve heard about – all of those old-school “begats” – Abraham begat Isaac, and Isaac begat Jacob, and Jacob begat Judah and so on down the line – 77 times, until you get to Jesus. The point of that litany of names, speaks to the power of ancestry, the impact of a person’s family tree, and the meaning behind all that comes before us and that is poured into our identity and personhood.

Well, for generations, theologians and professors, pastors and preachers have used Matthew’s genealogy of Jesus for nothing more and nothing less than proving Jesus to be the fulfillment of God’s plan for salvation; to establish his credibility as the Messiah; to prove his promised, prophetic pedigree, if you will, as the offspring of Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, King David, and so on.

And that’s not nothing. It may very well have been Matthew’s point. And it serves its purpose. But there’s more to it than that. It’s subtle, surprising, beautiful and impossible to miss once you see it – and I think it comes to a head in this morning’s meeting between Mary and Elizabeth, in Luke’s Gospel.

See, buried in Matthew’s account of Jesus’ genealogy … hidden almost among the names of all those men – the well-known patriarchs, the faithful fathers, and the powerful kings – are also listed the lesser-known names of five women: Tamar, Rahab, Ruth, Bathsheba, and Mary, the mother of Jesus, herself.

And because we know that women – generally – weren’t held in high regard in first-century Palestinian culture, if they were regarded at all, it is profoundly noteworthy to understand, just briefly, who these particular women were; to know their own history as part of this mix, and to acknowledge why their participation in the lineage of Jesus matters.

First, there’s Tamar, who saved her own life and livelihood by surreptitiously sleeping with her Father-in-Law, Judah, becoming pregnant, and thus preserving the family line that led to Jesus.

Rahab was likely an owner/operator of the best little brothel in Jericho, who used her wisdom, hospitality, faith, and bravery to save some Israelite spies once, insuring a victory for God’s chosen ones in battle, and securing for herself a worthy branch on the family tree of Jesus.

Ruth was a Moabite – an outsider of the highest order as far as God’s people were concerned at the time – but, by way of her steadfast faithfulness to her mother-in-law and some sexual self-preservation of her own, she ingratiated and grafted herself into Jesus’ genealogy, too.

Bathsheba, the wife of Uriah, was the – likely unwilling – sexual conquest of King David. Though it’s rarely described as such, she survived a sexual assault by the most powerful man in the land people, who then had her husband killed to cover up the indiscretion, so that she could be kept, by the king, as his wife.

And then there’s Mary, who shows up to Elizabeth this morning with some insane news about a baby on the way.

And Mary and Elizabeth, good, faithful, Hebrew women that they were – would have known every bit of this history, tradition, and genealogy. Which is why it’s not hard to see or imagine how a.) Elizabeth could believe such a thing, and b.) why Mary breaks into song in the verses following what we just heard – that little ditty we call “The Magnificat.” And it’s a song that sounds strikingly similar to a song Hannah, a different ancestral sister from way back in the day – was known to have sung, as well.

And this song is one about a God who scatters the proud, remember; who brings down the powerful from their thrones, who lifts up the lowly, who fills the hungry with good things, who sends the rich away empty. This song, from a Hebrew woman, in the presence of another Hebrew woman, was an anthem of joy, rebellion, prophecy, and hope … that the world was about to turn, with the coming of this Jesus.

And do you think that was the last time Mary ever sang those words, or expressed those desires, or proclaimed that kind of hope? I find that hard to believe. I like to think she sang that song as a lullaby to a nursing baby Jesus. I bet she taught him well about the source of those sentiments from her sisters in the faith. I imagine Mary whispered that good news to her little boy every chance she got … over breakfast, on their way home from synagogue, when he walked out the door to go play with the neighbors, and certainly on his birthday, don’t you think?!

And I think that’s why Jesus knew how to see people more deeply. It’s why I think Jesus knew how to look beneath the surface of another’s suffering; to forgive the choices they made, when necessary; to love an enemy; to turn the other cheek; to treat others the way he would want to be treated; to love the God of his creation; and to love his neighbor, as himself, in every way.

Jesus knew about the battles people were fighting, he had compassion for them because of it, and he came to fight those battles with love, mercy, and grace. When we learn to see him more clearly and understand the source of his compassion and love for the least and most lowly among us … we might get better at seeing them, and each other more clearly, too.

And when we ask and wonder about “What Child this Is?” for whom we’re waiting, we might find him, more often, already in our midst – and live differently because of it.

Amen