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First Sunday After Christmas, 12/27/2015
Sermon on Luke 2:41-52, by David H. Brooks
I was afraid of the UPS man.
No, this is not a childhood fear kind of thing. I was truly anxious this time last year, because when we came home from our travels to visit family we found a little yellow sticky-note on the door. I held it in my hands, an ominous clue that the man in brown had come to us as he made his rounds. I was anxious, you see, because we were not expecting any more packages to arrive at our home. This could only mean that someone whom we had not anticipated –nor for whom was secured an appropriate gift—was sending us something! Who could it be? WHO? What was our unknown gift-assailant sending us? Should we run out and buy something, package it, and be ready with the Sharpie pen to write the address of our mysterious gift-sender on it and press it into Mr. UPS’s hands? The anxiety was suffocating.
Of course, it seems anxiety and worry is an emotion that comes in spades this time of year. And it’s not just that Christmas always seems to bring out the best in people. We are in a time that is particularly beset with deep anxiety and concern about what is happening in our homes, in our neighborhoods, in our world. We see on the news so much that is troubling and challenging, and we are tempted to wonder what is the point of coming together and singing about a newborn king in the midst of such daunting trials. So perhaps it is fitting that this story from Luke of young Jesus in the Temple is front and center today.
Most preachers tend to focus on the child prodigy that astounded the learned and wise of Jerusalem. I am struck by the dynamics in this family, and how skillful Luke is in presenting those dynamics to us.
Mary, Joseph and their extended family have left the city after the religious festival that all attended. You know how that works—Mom, Dad, their brothers and sisters, grandmas and grandpas, aunts, uncles, and tons of kids all traveling together, first trying to get it together enough to get to worship, then making the return trip—in this case, largely on foot. Everyone accounted for? Let’s go!
So, in a moment that the Home Alone guys stole, everyone assumes that everyone is accounted for. And they have been traveling a day when they stop for supper and Mary looks for Jesus, and…no Jesus. Nowhere to be found among the relatives. So, hearts pounding like jackhammers, they sprint back to the city, where they find the boy Jesus acting as if nothing is wrong, as if being twelve and separated from your family in a busy city area is normal. Mary tells Jesus that they have been most anxious—even grieving, according to some interpretations—as they hunted for the truant. Mary’s response makes sense— How dare you treat us this way! Jesus’ doesn’t—I am busy doing the things of my Father.
Except it does make sense, what Jesus says. He is always at work, doing those things that have their origin and source in the very heart of God. What he does is the work of God, to instruct, to heal, to comfort, to save—even from the beginning, when his birth was announced, he is connected to that work of God that will communicate to us all the tender compassion of God. Jesus’ age does not matter here; what matters is that Jesus is (and will) do that work of the Father. After all, among the most common words on Jesus’ lips is some version of don’t be afraid; don’t be anxious. You can hear it echoing in the background of his confrontation with Mary and Joseph: Don’t worry, don’t be anxious, don’t be afraid; I am doing the work of God, and it will turn out right.
In this season of anxiety, when even the UPS man represents the conflict and the anger and the worry and the exasperation and the fear that injects itself even into our closest relationships, even into our own hearts, we hear in the background the echo of Jesus’ words: don’t be afraid, I am at work, and it will be made right. This story of a child lost and found ends with Mary and Joseph not understanding, but notes that Mary held all of it in her heart. Luke particularly delights in holding up Mary as the prime example of the disciple—the one who is willing for God to work in her and through her; the one who treasures the word of the Lord and let it work, grow within her; the one who does not always understand why things are as they are but is patient to allow time to offer insight; the one who is willing to suffer (the sword that will pierce your heart) for her love of the Son. Here, Luke points us to Mary, and how her heart—the source of her self-willing—is captured by her Lord. In the heart of the disciple, there is time and space for what Jesus is doing to take root and grow, to replace anxiety with hope, fear with courage, despair with confidence. It is to dwell with the Word, to hear it, let it work in us and upon us, especially when we do not understand; especially when the Word itself is the source of our anxiety. But in all of this, be not afraid—Jesus will do the work of his Father in you. Amen.