The Child: Father of the Man
I remember that day well and I’ve often wondered what happened to the boy. Now I know. He’s back again. Once more he’s in the temple, questioning and challenging the elders, scribes and Pharisees, attracting attention, amazement and speculation. But not, I think, receiving the same universal approval.
He was only twelve when I first saw him. We knew from his accent that he was from the north but we assumed his parents were still in the city after the Passover. It never occurred to us that he’d stayed behind and they were frantically searching for him.
We were spellbound. Boys of that age can usually recite scripture, they know the commandments and something of the history of our people. But this boy was different. He knew so much more. Even more astounding was the passion, the eagerness and the depth of his interest. This was not a boy who wanted to be a rabbi or a great scholar. This was a boy who had absorbed knowledge of God into his very being and who reached out for more as if his life depended on it.
He was remarkable. I’ve often wondered what happened to him. Now I know and I remember his name, recognise those searching, piercing eyes and experience once again the power and passion of his faith.
Jesus of Nazareth who are you?
Lord Jesus, the temple was your Father’s house, your home. Thank you for inviting us to join you, as your brothers and sister, in your Father’s kingdom. Give us the grace to accept that invitation and to know the joy of belonging to your family.