Richard Maxwell

The Gospel text today has taken me on an unexpected journey . . . unexpected, in that when I first re-read today’s story to prepare for this sermon, I never imagined that I’d end up thinking about some of the things I ended up thinking about. I never imagined that I’d end up trying to talk to you about some of the things I’m gonna try to talk to you about. What I’ve been thinking a lot about is Joseph . . . you know – as in Mary and Joseph . . . and the subject of faith.

As you just heard, this morning’s story is about the Holy Family making a pilgrimage to Jerusalem for Passover – something they did every year – but this time, when Jesus is twelve, he gives his parents the slip and stays behind in the city when his family starts home. What ensues is a frantic search for Jesus by Mary and Joseph, eventually leading them to the Temple . . . after days of anxiety and fear. There they find Jesus calmly sitting with the teachers, listening to them, asking them questions, and answering questions put to him.

We can only imagine his parents’ reaction when they finally find Jesus. Some texts say they were astonished, others use the word startled, the King James’ Version says that Mary and Joseph were amazed. The Greek verb in the original text is actually a very strong one, which perhaps is best translated as “to be struck out of oneself.” You and I might say that they were beside themselves . . . can you imagine what they were feeling, finding their 12-year-old son who’s been missing for days? Relief, anger, wonder . . . a flood of emotions probably engulfed them. In response to Mary’s questions, “Why have you done this to us? Why have you caused us so much pain and agony, why have you frightened us like this? Your father and I have been looking everywhere for you.” Jesus says, “Why were you so worried? Why didn’t you know where I was? Didn’t you know that I’d be at my Father’s house?”

As with all Gospel stories, there are all sorts of different things that can be said about this particular story. But as I thought about it, I realized that Jesus’ answer to Mary’s question is the very first thing we hear Jesus say in Luke’s Gospel. “Why were you searching for me? Did you not know that I must be in my Father’s house?” We, of course, understand completely what Jesus is saying: of course, God the Son is to be found in the Temple, the house of God the Father. But it seems important to me to point out that in the very first statement he makes in this Gospel, Jesus – at the age of twelve! – is claiming his identity . . . an identity entirely separate from Mary and Joseph. Our text says that Mary and Joseph didn’t know what he was talking about . . . but I wonder. After all they’d already gone through with Jesus, wouldn’t they know EXACTLY what he meant?

Remember . . . the angel Gabriel had appeared to Mary, announcing a miracle . . . that she, a virgin, would become pregnant and that her son would be called “Son of the Most High.” Her elderly cousin Elizabeth also becomes miraculously pregnant and when Mary visits her, Elizabeth proclaims, “Who am I, that the mother of my Lord should visit me?” When Jesus is born, angels seem to be flying all over the place bringing all sorts of people to marvel at the infant. And when Mary and Joseph bring Jesus to the Temple to name him, prophets are falling over themselves, making all sorts of amazing statements. I betcha that Mary and Joseph know EXACTLY what Jesus is talking about when they find him in the Temple . . . they just know enough to keep it to themselves.

And this is when I began to think especially about Joseph. Poor, Joseph . . . he doesn’t get much attention paid to him. He disappears from Luke’s Gospel after today’s story. None of the Gospels have any stories of Joseph being around when Jesus is an adult. Tradition has it that Joseph was already an old guy when he married Mary . . . that would help to explain both how Mary kept her virginity and why Joseph disappears from the Gospels early on . . . maybe he died shortly after today’s story. The truth is, we don’t know. If Mary and Joseph were more typical to the ancient Middle East, she might have been around 13 when they married, and Joseph might have been around 15. But however old he was, I think it’s pretty safe to assume from what we DO know that Joseph was a good father . . . a great father. And so, you see, I began to wonder how Joseph might have felt when Jesus said to him, “Why were you looking for me? Didn’t you know I’d be at my father’s house?”

As I thought about this, I came across a portion of a book-length poem called, A Woman Wrapped in Silence, by a Roman Catholic priest named John Lynch.[1] What I found imagines Joseph’s thoughts as he leads his family home after he and Mary find Jesus in the Temple, and I’ve adapted it a bit to share with you . . .

Joseph had marked the sure inclusion of himself and of his heart when Mary had first said that they had been searching for Jesus.

But as they walked, Joseph was also remembering the fall of the quiet accent on the word as Jesus spoke of His Father.

It was the only bliss Joseph had ever hoped for, this name, and strength, and head he was for them.

And when at Nazareth they’d come to him and given him precedence and had asked for decisions for their home, when Mary had deferred to him, and Jesus had raised His eyes and asked consent, Joseph was not dull nor uninformed of what his honor was.

Joseph swore then he would break two hands in labor, wear them to the stumps of hands if Jesus would ask or ever breathe one whispered wish.

But Jesus had gone from him, and said it was His Father’s business here that took Him, and that He’d be alone.

At the young age of twelve, Jesus breaks away from his parents and asserts himself. One of the most difficult jobs that all parents face is letting-go of their children . . . letting go of their own hopes and dreams for them, and allowing their children to have their own hopes and dreams. All great parents struggle to allow their children to grow into their own unique selves, which are, of course, separate from their parents. Perhaps today’s story is a story of bittersweet success for Joseph . . . a triumph of sorts. Jesus, claiming his own true identity, is in some ways saying goodbye to Joseph . . . while also declaring Joseph’s success as a father. Joseph has done his job well; it is finished. There is no seat at Cana’s wedding table for Joseph, no opportunity to witness the first miracle or hear Jesus preach his first sermon. Nor will Joseph know the horror of the crucifixion, or the joy of the Resurrection. His story ends here, having delivered Jesus to the brink of adulthood, having heard Jesus claim his true identity, Joseph’s story ends. And Jesus’ story begins.

Each one of us has images and understandings of Jesus that we cherish. And each one of us knows in our hearts that Jesus the Christ is ever so much larger than any image or understanding that we can have of him. Yet oftentimes we hold too tightly onto the Jesus we’ve come to know and love, hoping against hope in some inarticulate way that we can manage and control our Lord. But Jesus will always break out of our grasp . . . elude us . . . and claim his own identity. Christ Jesus will always be about his Father’s business, not ours. Our job is not to pursue our own dreams and desires for Christ, no matter how noble or selfless they are. Rather, our job is to be parents to our faith. Nurturing it, allowing to grow and change, letting go of our own childish notions and desires . . . and allowing our faith, if you will, to grow into adulthood. Our job is to let go of our own hopes and dreams – no matter how beautiful they are – and to allow Christ’s hopes and dreams to rule supreme. Our job is to allow Christ to claim Christ’s identity in our own hearts.

In this season of Christmas, this season of celebrating Christ’s coming into our midst – into our very beings – let us join together praising God and worshipping the Christ found here, in his father’s house. And may Christ assert his kingship and identity in our hearts.

[1] Found in Divine Inspiration, the Life of Jesus in World Poetry, assembled and edited by Robert Atwan, George Dardess, and Peggy Rosenthal, published by Oxford University Press in 1998, pp. 60-61.