Sally A. Brown, Professor Emerita, Princeton Theological Seminary
Implicit in today’s Gospel text, Luke 2:41-52, is a richly textured tapestry of sound. We begin in Jerusalem’s narrow streets, filled with Passover pilgrims. Shouted greetings to friends not seen for twelve months mix with congenial haggling in the market stalls. At dusk, the intoned chanting of ancient prayers wafts from tables framed by candlelit windows. Later, the stamping of hooves and the tramping of many feet, mixed with children’s shouts and adult chatter, suggest a caravan headed home. Then, suddenly—a mother’s cry of dismay! Two sets of frantic footsteps retrace the path to the city. Two voices shrill with anxiety inquire, then fall silent, over and over, until at last, we hear the murmur of sage voices echoing in quiet space, marked at intervals by an inquisitive, higher voice. Two voices, male and female, interrupt—frustration now mixing with relief. The young voice, calm, speaks. Then silence. Three sets of footsteps, now, move beyond the city gates into the countryside.
In Year C, any inclination we may have had to linger fondly at the manger in the days after Christmas is swept aside the very next Sunday. The lectionary designers seem bent on alerting us, as Mary and Joseph were alerted, that to sentimentalize this God-sent boy would be a mistake. Their reunion with their missing son results not in a reassuring return to normalcy, but rather in an irreversible shift in their relationship with him. Jesus declares that he must be about the “interests” or “concerns” of his (true) Father. It is a pivotal moment for all of them. After this, Jesus “submits,” Luke says, to their parenting; but as he matures, he will not be making his surrogate father’s “concerns” his own.
We might remind listeners that Mary is not only Jesus’ earthly mother, but arguably his first disciple. In “pondering” (or “treasuring”) this moment (2:51), she would surely muse on the startling prophecies about her boy from Elizabeth, Zechariah, and others—but also Simeon’s dark warning of a piercing sword (2:35). She must surrender Jesus to a future she knows holds danger. She must also surrender herself to whatever pain his unknown future may cause her. In what ways are we, fellow disciples with Mary, called upon to surrender ourselves to what Jesus and his true Father ask of us?
A sermon might explore how a religious community, its practices and its traditions, can play a life-liberating (rather than life-limiting) role in our lives. Luke is unique in presenting us with a young Jesus who recognizes his unique identity, even if he does not yet know his destiny. Luke suggests that neither this self-recognition on Jesus’ part, nor his intense interest in the interpretation of the written tradition on display in the Temple, come out of the blue. His parents are devout Jews, making the Passover pilgrimage annually. This indicates that they have fostered in their son a living relationship to a wider community, as well as its texts and traditions. They have done so in a way that frees him to ask questions. As this gospel unfolds, we will discover that Jesus is related to Jewish tradition in a manner that is neither wooden nor precious. How does the life of a Christian community, with its practices and its scriptures, create a living matrix of wisdom that helps us test present paths that beckon, and then face the future with calm and courage, creativity and hope?
Soon, the crèche scene will be tucked away in its box. Perhaps the young Jesus, exploring the hard-won wisdom of his community—and yet, in so doing, unafraid to question his elders—is exactly the companion we need as the fragile possibilities, and unnerving uncertainties, of this new year beckon.
Insights into Biblical Greek Grammar and Syntax 