For Part 1 of this imaginative recounting of young Jesus in the Temple (“An Insuperable Assignment”), click HERE.
The parents spent the Feast visiting friends and family and touring the holy city, then departed for Nazareth. Mary and other women went ahead with younger children, Joseph with older siblings and men. Each thought Jesus with the other, or with other family members returning to Galilee.
Anxiety, then worry, then stark terror ballooned within when he didn’t appear at the family campfire. Pulses racing, they organized a search among relatives and friends, only to be emotional wrecks when Jesus couldn’t be found.
Mutual recrimination followed, both so angry with themselves they could only express irritation with each other, Joseph asking sharply, “Why didn’t you make sure he was with you?” and Mary tearfully replying, “Because I thought he was with you!,” then falling into each other’s arms in mutual agony.
Neither could escape self-abuse, however, for not having made very sure he was with one of them. Now, on his first trip from home, his first Passover, Jesus was missing, and they were a day out on their journey. What would God think of them, and how could they ever explain their oversight?
So heart-sick they felt physically ill, they ate nothing. Mindlessly smoothing the ground beneath, they lay on their mats, staring into space, the laughter around them a mockery, a three-quarter moon ignored, their pounding hearts shooting pains through stricken limbs. Passover joy had turned to lamentation, and no balm existed to soothe it!
A sleepless night of turning and squirming followed—every sound heard baleful, every conversation threatening, every thought painful by thinking of the impact of being left behind made on Jesus.
“Now, on his first trip from home, his first Passover, Jesus was missing, and they were a day out on their journey.”
Somehow in the process of going from Mary to Joseph, their boy had lost his way, or had been sidetracked—OR who could know? How terrified he must be NOW, if still in the city, without friends or acquaintances, spending the night alone for the first time in his life. Wouldn’t he be awake all night, his alarm exceeding theirs, looking everywhere for them, wildly hoping to find them around the next corner or in the next street, calling in desperation at every campfire, “Father, Mother, are you there?,” knowing they would come running?
And worse still: could he be on the road looking for them, stopping at every campfire headed north, hoping to find them, only to fail?
They choked back the tears they could, and wept those they couldn’t. They prayed, hoping to stifle worry, then worried anyway, and prayed again for God to protect their young, helpless child!
Mary thought of old Simeon’s threat of a sword piercing her soul and felt it twisting inside her. Mentally savaging himself as the one ultimately responsible for Jesus’ care, Joseph rehashed every awesome experience with his son, each resonating with profound mystery. Far from needing any discipline, Jesus anticipated Joseph’s standards and demands by possessing even higher ones. When teaching his children, Joseph noticed that Jesus seemed to already own what he offered, his eyes urging Joseph to say more than he knew. It was all very stimulating and humbling.
“Mary thought of old Simeon’s threat of a sword piercing her soul and felt it twisting inside her.”
However, Joseph noticed from the first, Jesus always had another taste under his tongue while keeping his own counsel. Joseph and Mary often discussed it, saying all they knew, knowing they could never say enough, and what they did say, hopefully deficient. Jesus kept his own counsel. It was just as well, Joseph thought; for if Jesus had explained, they couldn’t have understood. Though Joseph had seen a change in him during the trip, especially as he stood in the Court of Israel, still Jesus said nothing to him.
This Joseph knew for certain: they explicitly trusted Jesus because he had always been trustworthy. By not worrying where he was, by not refusing to leave until they knew he was present, both he and Mary expressed confidence in that integrity. How had it all gone wrong?
Early morning found them already well on their way back to Jerusalem. They arrived in the city by early afternoon and searched through the day. Darkness found them continuing, increasingly terrified. Into the night they labored, asking everyone they saw, visiting many pilgrim campgrounds. The many twelve-year-olds in Jerusalem made their questions useless. A bullying fear scaled and stormed their faith as they tossed sleeplessly in a rented room, beseeching God, “Let us see again that little boy’s face, so we can embrace and love him; we promise never to be so careless with any of our children, but especially with this one, God. Please, God, don’t let us fail.”
“Into the night they labored, asking everyone they saw, visiting many pilgrim campgrounds.”
They began the third day at first light, searching—in the synagogues, the bazaars, the slopes of Olivet, wherever they saw children playing or parents gathering; to friends they knew in the city; stopping Roman soldiers who might have seen him wandering; crossing the viaduct into the Upper City; scouring public buildings; asking everywhere for information; offering a reward. They probed everywhere, looking for that familiar face. In pleading, shuddering apprehension they quizzed everyone, “Have you seen our child?”
Nothing! He had vanished. Never had the city seemed so cold, uncaring, large, and meaningless.
By early afternoon they came from one last search of Olivet to the steps leading to the Huldah Gate. And there lost all will to continue. They sat, a restricting knot in their chests; they choked at every breath, its tension crushing them. They wanted to rip their clothes and flagellate themselves. They wanted to collapse on the street and sob like babies. They wanted to tear out their hair and scream. Instead, they hung their heads, emotionally demolished. They stared blankly, confounded by a relentless melancholy, their hearts broken, their lives shattered, paralyzed by a disaster they couldn’t comprehend, whose consequences they couldn’t face.
Jesus was gone; how could it be? He was gone, and they were left alone. He couldn’t be found, and how were they ever going to explain to God?
“He couldn’t be found, and how were they ever going to explain to God?”
At last Joseph spoke, first with the quiet resignation Mary knew so well, “Maybe we need to offer a sacrifice of petition;” then with a broken, blurted desperation that terrified her, “GOD, HELP US FIND OUR SON!” She pressed her face against his quivering shoulder, trying to find strength as she gave comfort.
Without further word they climbed the stairs into the Court of the Gentiles. Joseph purchased a lamb and headed for the altar, holding the lamb in his arms, as Jesus had just nine days before. Through the Court of the Gentiles they dragged leaden legs, habit overcoming lethargy. Up the steps, into the Court of Women they plodded, heading for the Nicanor Gate.
Without comprehending, Joseph raised his eyes to a knot of men along a wall thirty yards away, some seated, others standing in a semi-circle. Looking heedlessly—he had almost turned away when the circle broke, then instantly closed—he saw what electrified him….
“Jesus!” he gasped, catching his breath, almost choking on the words. Setting the lamb down, and pulling Mary to him, he pointed in the direction of the men. “He’s there, Mary. I saw him sitting on the ground before the rabbis.”
Clenching his arm, eyes boring a hole in the direction he pointed, aghast with relief, she squealed, “Are you sure?”
As they both looked, the circle broke again, and there he was!
“As they both looked, the circle broke again, and there he was!”
It was like a dream…no, like a thousand nightmares suddenly passed. In the instant they stood there, mouths open, they couldn’t believe it. Jesus was here. Jesus was alive! Praise God, their son was safe.
In the next instant, as men in that gathering animatedly discussed the issue at hand, all conversation froze when a woman’s voice thirty yards away cried out, “Jesus! Jesus!” As the boy rose and turned toward the familiar voice, they saw a frantic young couple clattering out of control across the pavement. Jesus had begun to say, “Hello, Father, Mother,” when the woman reached and smothered him with hugs and kisses, murmuring her relief, her praise to God, a frenzy in her grip as she buried Christ’s head in her bosom, vowing to never again let him out of her sight. He stood immobile, docile before her embrace, nearly asphyxiated by her wild effusion. Struggling to free his head, his arms came to her hips, and he jerked an imploring look toward Joseph, who stared wonderingly, walked close, and stroked his head. All the while Mary enveloped him, wailing bitterly.
Then a more elemental emotion flared in her as fright turned to irritation. The strain and terror of three days abruptly vanished and, in its place, something angry and impatient soared. Here he was in the temple like it was his home, unworried and unharmed. He had intentionally stayed in Jerusalem after the Feast; he hadn’t been lost and no one had coerced him. He hadn’t been looking for them. He obviously felt completely at ease without them and had no trouble being alone, by himself, spending nights away from them.
“He obviously felt completely at ease without them and had no trouble being alone, by himself, spending nights away from them.”
They had been scared sick with worry, and he had been unaware. He hadn’t seen their departure as abandonment of him and hadn’t hurriedly left the city to find them, to feel secure in their company, to look forward to being home again in Nazareth, with familiar sights and companions.
No, he had consciously remained behind, not even trying to make contact with them, perfectly content to remain where it seemed likely he had been ever since they left for home. And they had feared him ill or injured! Here they were, exhausted from two nights and three days of sleeplessness and hunger, and he oblivious to the torment he caused. What could possibly have prompted this rudeness, this violation of all Mosaic teaching? This was the first time he had broken faith with them, but what a whopper when he did.
Her grip relaxed, she held him at arm’s length, brushed tears and nose against her sleeve, her face a map of despair. She reached again for his shoulders and, in a case of monumental guilt transference, shouted the accusatory, “Child!”
He darted a startled glance at his shoulders, and, as question marks registered in his wide brown eyes, and stark innocence wrote itself all over his friendly face, her anger melted into a mixture of relief, reproof, love and vexation. “Why have you treated us like this, Son? Your father and I have been in agony looking for you.”
“Looking for me, mother?” he replied incredulously, astounding everyone, “Didn’t you know I would be here, in my Father’s house?” He quietly explained, a smile on his face, “I’m not surprised you returned for me, only that you had to search for me; you should have come here immediately.”
“Didn’t you know I would be here, in my Father’s house?”
My Father’s house floored Joseph. He had heard Jesus say it at mid-morning just four days before. Now again…what could it mean? Joseph certainly knew the temple was God’s house, and that his son, born as no other, understood the difference between his guardianship and God’s Fatherhood. And, since God was his father, Jesus was not only in no danger at all, but able to make decisions independent of them.
It startled Joseph back to the reality that twelve years of village life had diminished and obscured. This child, born in defiance of natural law, had in defiance of youth learned his mature identity. As a child needed to be in his father’s house, Jesus belonged in the temple under God, not in Nazareth under Joseph. Joseph understood: that’s why Jesus felt no personal diminution in their departure without him; his Father remained in Jerusalem, and so would he, as his Father’s Son.
As Jesus intended, the oblique reply puzzled and stunned, without offending, Joseph. It further enlightened him in the extraordinary nature of his son. They had known it wasn’t unusual for gifted young men to be in attendance at such discussions. But, knowing Jesus as they did, it shouldn’t have surprised them that he would spend time in the temple, being taught and teaching, listening respectfully and questioning the scholars. Knowing him as they did, it shouldn’t have surprised them that he would not only ask intelligent questions, but offer incisive, discerning, and insightful answers that astonished the rabbis—the most trenchant, precocious child they had ever seen, and still a full year from his bar mitzvah! Not legally a man, he possessed a man’s mature mind. What would he be when a man?
“Not legally a man, he possessed a man’s mature mind. What would he be when a man?”
Indeed, devoid of all affectation, he was simplicity itself, but with remarkable clarity—as learned in the spiritual life as the scholars in its religious forms. There were many rabbis in the group those three days, but all separate conferences ceased as word passed of an astounding boy who more than held his own in discussions with learned doctors. He had all the potential of the rising sun, and who could say how he would shine when fully luminous? Older adults shook their heads in wonder, younger adults stopped and gazed, stunned at his spiritual genius.
The exchange between mother and son profoundly affected the scholars, who had looked on from Mary’s first shriek, watched her soar out of control and Joseph fight to retain it, both torn by relief, anguish and anger. It could have been humorous, except those three days had convinced them there was nothing laughable about this boy. He possessed not only a constitutional maturity, but an incredibly deep, mysterious, and indefinable persona. What had occurred between him and his parents merely matched his character. As the rabbis absorbed the scene, they couldn’t stop shaking their heads in wonder.
After an embarrassed silence, one rabbi spoke thoughtfully: “Shouldn’t a youth of such religious precocity stay in Jerusalem to continue his education?” As voices seconded the opinion, Mary heard piercing words, “No, no, please not that, you can’t take him from his mother and father”—and only when the teachers stared horizontal icicles did she realize she had voiced them.
“As the rabbis absorbed the scene, they couldn’t stop shaking their heads in wonder.”
Joseph saw her stricken face, put his arm around her as she collapsed against him, then turned to Jesus, knowing he would make the decision. Fighting to control the terror in his own voice, he asked, “Son, what do you think? Would you stay here with the leaders or return home?”
Without hesitation, and in an affirmation that catapulted their hearts aloft, “Oh, no, Father, I’ll return with you and mother.” None of the scholars rejoined that he was only a boy who couldn’t possibly know his own mind. They had learned…this boy knew his mind!
The family stayed in Jerusalem that night—Joseph and Mary so exalted that the pinnacle of the temple could have been slipped under them. The next day, as they reached the height from which Jesus had first seen the holy city, they looked back at the stony, snowy mountain on the historic mountain of God. It had been the boy’s first trip. They knew it couldn’t possibly be the last.
Adapted from Virgil Hurley, Face to Face with Jesus.
