The Lost Boy

It was true then, and it’s certainly true now: a 12-year-old child is not capable of coping with, understanding, or surviving in a complex, often hostile environment. Lost or abandoned children are in deep trouble. So, I can understand Joseph and Mary’s anguish when they discovered that their child was missing from the caravan. As told in Luke 2, the parents searched frantically, talked to all the family members, did everything they could to locate Jesus. Don’t you know their anxiety quickly moved to heart-pounding fear. He’s just 12-years-old. Back they go to the major city called Jerusalem, the place from which their caravan had departed several days earlier. They searched everywhere for their boy. For three days they lived in the ice cold grip of fear. Imagine the conversation that Joseph and Mary had when they tried to sleep at night, knowing that their son was huddled in a shadowy back street, or taken by someone who would harm him. So many parents have shared those feelings over the centuries. So many children have cried alone in the night.

Our story has a happy ending. Not all do. They find their boy in the Jerusalem Temple, sitting among wise teachers, listening to their wisdom, even asking questions that seemed rather advanced for a pre-adolescent child. Now comes an exchange of words between anxious parents and surprised son. “Child, why have you treated us like this?” Look at us! Our clothes are stained with tears. Why did you do this to us? I hope they hugged him first. I hope he felt their tears drop onto his shoulders as they embraced in relief and love.

I know the Gospel writer Luke is sending us a message about who Jesus is. The linking of Jesus with Temple, wisdom, spiritual insight, reveal Luke’s intention. The words the child speaks are obvious. My observation, limited by the scant words Luke gives us when the three are united, is more about how we sometimes treat those who have wandered off and gotten themselves lost. The range of responses is wide: scolding, demeaning, accusative…look what you’ve done to us…all the way to wild rejoicing when one coin is found, or one lost lamb, or one wayward son, or one 12-year-old boy. Lots of lessons can be gleaned from a story like this, legitimate lessons. Mine is simply this: love before you lecture. Love might save the day and the relationship. Love might make a tomorrow possible. Tomorrow is a day for lessons. Today is a day for embracing.