Anxiously for three days, she searched for him. She was three whole days beside herself in desperation and worry. How could she be so irresponsible to let this happen?
Every year, for 12 years, she had walked with her husband and son, the 104km journey from Nazareth to Jerusalem for the Festival of the Passover. This year was no different. Her son was…well…good. He was kind, respectful, thoughtful, wise, and obedient. He was the son that had had many words spoken, and names given him at his birth, that she had kept treasured in her heart –
The Son of the Most High. The Son of God…Oh God, she had lost God’s son! He had been prophesied to reign over Jacob’s descendants forever. A king whose kingdom would never end. He’d been called the Messiah, the Lord, a light for revelation to the Gentiles, the glory of the people Israel, the redemption of Jerusalem.
She knew this son was special. He was hers, but not, having been conceived by the Spirit of God after the angel Gabriel had appeared to her and told her it would be so.
And now she had lost him!
She had sung, “all generations will call me blessed, for the Mighty One has done great things for me…”
Yet now, would all generations sing how she had lost the Messiah? Would the world forever scowl at her, look on with shame and disgrace at her for loosing the Saviour of the world? Would her name be spat, instead of honoured, as the mother who could not live up to the responsibility of caring for the Son of God? Had God Himself made a mistake in choosing her?
She despairingly scoured every place they’d visited. Every corner. Every nook and every cranny. Her heart ached with desperation. She enquired of every person she saw. But what really was she to say to them? “Have you seen the Son of God? I’ve lost him!” They’d say she had gone crazy, and so, all she would ask was, “have you seen my son, Jesus?” They did not know, did not yet believe what she knew, what she believed.
It had been three days and there was no sight of him. Was it too late? Joseph had tried to console her. He’d tried to make her stop, to rest, to sleep. With the worst of fears plaguing her mind, she couldn’t. He could do nothing to placate her; she was beside herself in anxiety.
Had a slave trader snatched him up?…Oh God, I’ve lost your son!
Had he fallen ill along the way and wandered off the path now lying somewhere near death?…Oh God, have I killed your son with my carelessness and neglect?
Had he gotten behind and been grabbed and beaten by bandits as they passed that notorious stretch near Jericho? How could I be so irresponsible? Oh God…Oh God…Oh God…I just thought he was in the company of friends traveling together as we all made our way back home.
“Jesus, where are you?”
“After three days they found him…
Instantly, the fear, the anxiety and the desperation of her heart and mind were stilled. But then immediately it surprised her that these emotions be replaced by agitation. It wasn’t that he had really done anything wrong. He couldn’t, could he? But her agitation was founded in that while she had been beside herself, out of her mind, sick with worry, he had been in the temple courts, sitting among the teachers, listening to them and asking them questions. Happily. Contentedly. And, had evidently caught their attention because, “everyone who heard him was amazed at his understanding and his answers.”
Yes, she was relieved, yet in the astonishment and frustration of her past three day’s events, she blurted out, “Son, why have you treated us like this? Your father and I have been anxiously searching for you.”
Jesus, looked up at her, that gentleness of spirit he always bore tearing through her heart, and replied, “Mother, why were you searching for me? Didn’t you know I had to be in my Father’s house?”
I respond to Mary’s story this way –
At times I am desperate. Often anxious. Fearful of the worst possible scenario. Feeling like I’ve messed up. That the Saviour of the World, the Messiah, the Son of God is nowhere to be found.
But Jesus is never lost, not even when I think he is lost to me. I need to remember this. I have not killed him off with my words or neglect. I have not turned him aside one too many times, that now he has given up and left me for others – to talk with and listen to. I have not neglected the responsibility of keeping him and his reputation safe, as if it were my sole job to do so.
He would reply with that gentleness of spirit that He always bears, “Do not fear! You are so loved.
Don’t you know I am in my Father’s house, about my Father’s business – always? The Father is in me, making things right between Himself and the world, not holding your sins against you. Restoring you to His favour. Healing the broken relationship you have had with Himself, and with others, 2 Corinthians 5:19.”
Jesus, may I remember, and never forget, especially in those times I am desperate, that You are always in your Father’s house, and at all times at your Father’s business, and always it is for my rescue, my restoration, my reconciliation, my redemption.