I could imagine Mary asking Joseph, “Where is Jesus? Have you seen Him?” Just a question of curiosity, no big deal, equally matched by Joseph’s relaxed reply, “No…have you?” Mary and Joseph were journeying back home from Jerusalem. They probably hadn’t seen Jesus all morning – at least, not since they left the Holy City at sunup – and traveling with the group, they assumed that he, like most twelve-year-old boys, were running ahead, exploring off the road, enjoying the company of other boys his own age. Maybe when they stopped for lunch, they asked a few friends, “Have you seen our son?” they started to wonder, but still didn’t get too worried – he was probably eating with a family that had something better to offer. Maybe curiosity started to grow when he didn’t zip by and ask for a snack mid-day. But as the group started to settle in for the evening, as fires were built and as camps were set up and the traveler’s meals were being prepared and still no Boy, you can very easily imagine their concern growing into worry. “Mary, you go this way; I’ll go that way. Ask everyone if they’ve seen Jesus…” Remember – it was a few days before Passover. There was a lot of traffic on the road, people coming into and going out of Jerusalem. Plus, there are always men of questionable character on the road, looking for easy prey to mug. Mary’s maternal instincts were firing on all 8 cylinders; Joseph was growing worried. No one among the travelers – not fellow moms or dads or Jesus’ running buddies – no one had seen their Son. Concern, wonder, worry – they were all replaced by full-on fear. Their son was missing.
Maybe they spent the night in camp, trying to remember the
last place they had seen him and work up a plan for the morning. Maybe they
interviewed friends and family members, trying to discern if any of them had
seen Jesus. Maybe they got a few hours of fitful sleep while waiting for the
sunrise to illumine their way back to Jerusalem. Maybe they even turned around
that very night and stagger-stumbled their way back into Jerusalem. I can
imagine their search: Day one, checking the place where they had stayed, hunting
in shops, looking among extended family who lived there in the city, anxiety
growing each passing hour. Day two, now frantically stopping passers-by,
desperately asking merchants, catching travelers who are entering the swelling city
for Passover, asking if they saw a lost boy on their way into the city. Day
three, a terrible sense of trepidation settles into their hearts. When was the
last time they ate or slept? They can’t remember. Perhaps they went so far as
to find a kind-looking soldier, daring to ask him if they heard of a boy who
may have gotten arrested or hurt or...something worse. It’s been three days.
Where’s left to look?
Three days…three lonesome, terrifying, days without their
son. Their son…lost. Finally, Mary and Joseph turn to the temple. The temple –
the early Jewish church. Then, as now, the house of the Lord. Funny, how people return to the house of the
Lord in times of crisis. When the world crumbles, when lives turn upside down,
when crisis crashes upon crisis and answers are not forthcoming, when you
really, finally understand why the last straw broke the camel’s back, that’s
when people – physically, emotionally, spiritually broken people - return to
the Lord’s house. It makes sense. When you can’t rescue yourself, when you
can’t save yourself, when you can’t fix it, when you can’t find the strength to
go one more step, when you have no more answers or options or solutions or
resolutions, when you have lost everything, people return to the Lord’s House.
And so, Joseph and Mary went to the Temple. Physically exhausted,
emotionally spent, spiritually emptied, they returned to the Lord’s House. Were
they seeking succor, rest, answers, support, prayers, a few coins from the
community pauper’s chest to help them stay a few more days to search?
Imagine when there, in the Temple, they find Jesus and the
flood of emptions that threatened to overwhelm them. Of course, there’s relief
and joy – that which was lost is found! But there’s also frustration and anger
that He was not with them in their journey; exasperation at the hurt He caused.
And there’s astonishment, of course, at His teaching the elders. It all comes
to a head that you can hear in Mary’s words, “Son, why have you treated us so?
Behold your father and I have been searching for you in great distress” (v.
48).
“Why were you looking for me? Did you not know that I must
be in My Father’s house?”
Did you catch that? There’s a subtle clue in that
interchange. Mary said, “Behold, your father and I have been searching…” Jesus
answered that He must be in “My Father’s house.” Although the answer seems
harsh, don’t hear it with anything less than a respectful tone towards His
mother. Don’t hear any sass or in the voice of a smart-alecked pre-teen boy.
Hear it with the voice of a Boy who is being obedient to His mother but also
His Father – His heavenly Father. It’s a gentle, but not so subtle reminder to
Mary that while Jesus is her son, and therefore to be obedient to her as His
mother, Jesus is also God’s Son, and He must be obedient to His Heavenly Father
as well. While He would be obedient to both Mary and Joseph, He must first and
foremost be obedient to God. Mary and Joseph needed a sharp reminder of who
Jesus really was, why He was given to them, and what His mission is.
We need that reminder too, especially after Christmas and at
the dawn’s breaking of a new year. It’s all too easy, all too common for us to
make Jesus into whatever we want Him to be – a Stretch Armstrong form of Jesus
that we can shape into whatever kind of image we want Him to be. And, isn’t it
strange – when we do that, often He winds up looking just like us. Listen to
how people talk: My Jesus wouldn’t judge people; My Jesus wouldn’t talk that
way; the Jesus I worship would never vote for him or her; the Jesus I know wouldn’t
say no to what I want. Our made-in-our-own-image Jesus espouses our causes, He
cheers our points, He furthers our dreams. He doesn’t challenge; he coddles. He
doesn’t call to repentance; instead, He eggs us on, reveling in whatever we
enjoy. So, Jesus becomes a racial Jesus, a pro- and anti-Jesus, a Democrat
Republican Independent Jesus, a consumer-driven Jesus. And us? What does that
make us? It makes us out to be God – lower case g - or, at least, we make
ourselves into the image of a god, one who can create a Jesus that fits our
needs. This man-made, in-our-image Jesus that we create is not who Jesus is.
So, when we see Jesus in the Temple, in the Lord’s House, in
His House, it serves as our wake-up call. It reminds us of who Jesus really is;
why He was born; what He came to do: His Father’s business.
The Father’s business is always the opposite of our idea of
business. There is no buying or selling or exchanging goods and services. There
is only grace giving and grace receiving. The Father’s business is giving His
Son for the sins of the world through the womb of Mary into a world gone wrong,
into a vortex of suffering and bleeding and dying. This took place in a far
different temple where the altar was the cross, the priests were Roman
soldiers, and the sacrifice was the Lamb of God who takes away the sins of the
world.
The Father’s business would result in another time when
Jesus seemed lost to Mary. Jesus’ mother spent another three days agonizing
without her Son. She didn’t have to frantically search for Him though; she knew
where He was. Her Son, Her firstborn Son whom she once wrapped in swaddling
clothes and placed in a manger, was instead wrapped in burial linen and placed
into a cold, stone sepulcher. Three days, dead; three days, separated; three
days without her Son.
“Don’t you know I
must be about My Father’s business?” That’s as true for Easter as it was in the
temple that day. The Father’s business is life from death; resurrection from
the grave. And in this Jesus, the Father’s business is made known in His
resurrection, conquering sin, death and the grave for us. So we never forget,
He makes it known to us in this House – this Lord’s House. He gives Jesus into
the splashing of water that drenches you in grace on the day you are baptized
and floods you every day afterward with the Father’s grace-drenched love. He
gives Him into a temple of nouns and verbs and adjectives, into the temple of
His Word read and preached, through which the Spirit works and speaks life into
your worn and weary soul. The Father gives Jesus into your mouth, into that
fifty-cent sized piece of bread that is stuffed with the golden grace of heaven
and a sip of wine that has fermented in the veins of God.
The Father’s business is to always give the Son so that you
might always be receiving the Son, and in Him and with Him, You receive
everything the Father wants you to have here in His House.
It’s in this House, this church among the body of Christ where
the Son does the Father’s business. In the Father’s house, you are delivered a
clean slate, a personal history that is purged of every wrongdoing – no matter
how great or small – and what you receive is Jesus. The Father’s business is to
deliver to you a clean conscience: wholeness, no matter how broken you are;
peace, no matter how conflicted your life may seem; hope, no matter how you
overwhelmed you may feel. In His house, the Father delivers Jesus to you.
In His name. Amen.
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