Faithful Jews participated in the Feast of Unleavened Bread and Passover, which was a weeklong pilgrimage festival. Joseph and Mary were no exception. They traveled from Nazareth to Jerusalem, which, according to some calculations, was about a five-day journey in New Testament times. After the long celebration, they surely were longing to get home. But after about a day of traveling back to Nazareth, they discovered that their 12-year-old son was not with them. They had to hurry back to Jerusalem to look for Jesus.
They finally found him, after three days of searching, in the temple courts. Like any worried and upset parent, they demanded an explanation from Jesus: “Son, why have you treated us like this? Your father and I have been anxiously searching for you?” Jesus’ answer, it seems, ignores the first question and responds to the second: “Why were you searching for me? Didn’t you know I had to be in my Father’s house?” (Luke 2.48-49).
Jesus was not disrespecting or disregarding the authority of his parents. The larger context of the story, and his submission to them, is sufficiently established as the story ends (Luke 2.51-52).
The text, however, calls our attention to what Jesus’ answer reveals about how he perceived himself. For how you see yourself will often determine what you do. It is apparent that Jesus had a clear understanding of his relationship with the heavenly Father. “Didn’t you know?” points Joseph and Mary to a reality that they should have known, but somehow overlooked. Perhaps implied is the suggestion that the temple should’ve been the first place they looked. “I am a child of the Father. And the child will naturally be found in the Father’s house, engaging in things that matter to the Father.”
How do you perceive yourself? What is at the core of your self-identity? And when people were to search for you, where will they find you? Perhaps I should be plain that I am not just referring to some specific place or building, but also to the kind of activities and events, of attitudes and behaviors, that may be expected of one who is a child of God.
Who are you? Should others be surprised when you choose to prioritize worshiping God with fellow believers on Sundays? Should people wonder when they observe you praying or reading your Bible? Should your friends be astonished when you choose to show grace and forgiveness toward someone who has hurt you? Should loved ones be amazed when you extend kindness to a stranger? You are a child of God. That’s what you do.
I am, therefore I do.
—Keith Y. Jainga