Introduction

This is the sermon I had planned to preach at Holy Cross Lutheran Church, Beatrice, Neb., on Saturday and Sunday, Dec. 26–27, 2009, for the First Sunday of Christmas. A blizzard forced cancellation of worship on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. So the congregation will celebrate its Christmas services this weekend, leaving this sermon a blog-only message.

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Readings

1 Samuel 2:18–20, 26
Psalm 148 (antiphon v. 13)
Colossians 3:12–17
Luke 2:41–52

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Prayer

Father in heaven, grant us times of quiet thoughtfulness, that we may rest in your Spirit, listen to your voice, and ponder in our hearts the good news of your Son’s birth. Amen.

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Message

It’s a great mystery
and more than a little frustrating
that we know so little about the years
between Jesus’ birth and his ministry.

Today’s Gospel shares the only details
about those thirty years
largely lost to human memory.

There’s just this one account
of a family journey to Jerusalem
to celebrate the Passover,
the great Jewish feast
marking God’s liberation of the Hebrew people from slavery in Egypt.

It seems Jesus and his parents
traveled in a kind of family caravan,
and when it came time to leave the city,
Mary and Joseph had walked a whole day
before they realized Jesus was nowhere
among all of the relatives in the group.

So they returned—frantic with worry—
and searched Jerusalem for three days.
Finally, they found him in the temple,
deep in conversation with the teachers,
“listening to them and asking them questions.” (Luke 1:46b, NRSV)

Mary poured out her anguish,
basically saying to her son,
“Your father and I have been worried sick,
thinking you were lost.”

Jesus, like any twelve-year-old,
had a ready reply:
they had searched backwards.
“Did you not know that I must be in my Father’s house?” (Luke 1:49b, NRSV)
And if that’s where he must be,
then they would have found him right away
if they had begun to search there.

It doesn’t seem to me that St. Luke tells this story
just to help us know that Jesus, in some ways,
was like every teenage child we know and love,
or like the teenagers we ourselves once were.

Instead, this account helps us to see
how Jesus commits his life to his Father,
meaning his Father in heaven.
Jesus is not in the temple sightseeing
or watching the varied tapestry of pilgrims
congregating from all over the known world.

Rather, he is focused and dedicated
to sitting among the teachers
and learning from the treasure
of the accumulated lifetimes of wisdom
they carry in their memories.

So he listens and asks questions,
because he “must be in [his] Father’s house.”
This is the task and the joy
for one who lives a life of faith and trust,
dwelling in the presence of the Father.

It’s really no different for us.
We have commitments and responsibilities
to our families and friends,
to our work and our school,
to all of the individuals and institutions
that share—and sometimes compete for—our dedication and attention.

And yet, because we are Christians,
because we are followers of Jesus Christ,
we live with the same task and joy
of dwelling in the presence of our heavenly Father.
We, too, must be in our Father’s house.

In part, this place, this sanctuary, is our Father’s house,
not because it is a particular building,
but simply because when we come here,
we trust that our Father has promised to meet us here
in worship and study and fellowship.

He’s committed to dwelling in our midst
when we assemble to hear his Word proclaimed,
to celebrate his Meal of sacrifice and sustenance,
to welcome new sisters and brothers through his Baptism,
to embrace new companions from other congregations,
to study his Scriptures and the Church’s traditions and teachings,
and to console and comfort one another with his divine peace.

And when we listen to our Father
and to the collective wisdom of our Church,
living in us who gather here
and flowing from our forebears throughout the Church’s history,
we find that God changes us,
that he guides us to live in his ways.

This is what we receive in St. Paul’s message
to the early Christians at Colossae.
God desires for us to dwell together
in ways that set us apart from others.
Because he is our God and we are his people,
we ought to be compassionate, humble, meek, and patient.
We must bear one another’s burdens,
forgive one another,
and above all, love one another.
We are called to be thankful,
to let our lives be shaped by the Word of God,
and to worship him with grateful hearts.

It can all sound overwhelming,
as if God demands perfection of us,
when we know the truth in our hearts
that we are far from perfect.

But that’s where the account of Jesus in the temple
comes to our aid and assistance.
Jesus, the Son of God,
sat and listened and learned from his elders.
He found reason to ask questions,
and when he went home with Mary and Joseph,
he “was obedient to them.” (Luke 1:51a, NRSV)

We can’t go too far wrong
when we listen to the teachings of our Tradition,
when we gather around our elders in the faith,
when we live in obedience to our parents,
whether they are the ones who raise us
or the ones who serve as our spiritual parents in the faith.

The ancient Rule of St. Benedict was written in the early 500s,
a time when the culture of the Roman Empire was in decline
and both civilization and the Church were under attack.

St. Benedict began his little book of guidance with some simple words:

Listen, O my son, to the teachings of your master,
and turn to them with the ear of your heart.
Willingly accept the advice of a devoted father
and put it into action. (Rule of St. Benedict, Prologue 1)

It doesn’t matter whether we are monks
or people who aspire to embrace the wisdom of monasticism
or if we just find these words enlightening.
When we do what St. Benedict invites us to do,
when we listen and turn and accept wise and faithful advice,
we will live the way Jesus shows us,
the way he leads by example and invites us to follow.

And as we follow him,
turning the ear of our heart to his teachings,
we are doing what St. Paul admonishes us,
“Let the word of Christ dwell in you richly….” (Colossians 3:16a, NRSV)
And when that happens,
we will find ourselves “in our Father’s house,”
just as he finds a home in our hearts. Amen.