Psalm 90; Luke 2:41-51; Isaiah 40:6-8
Robert M Watkins
Step one:
Remember which children you brought with you on the trip!
Our story from Luke this morning brings Jesus right into our own homes. As a parent, I can well recall moments when I was sure that my wife knew where the children were just as she knew that I possessed that information while neither of us knew a blessed thing at all. Oh, the mad dashes through the neighborhood, the frantic searches of the house, and the quick marches up and down the aisles of a supermarket. It is so very comforting to find out that Mary and Joseph lost Jesus, just for a little while. It assures us completely that Jesus was fully human.
That piece of information is invaluable as we stand on the cusp of a new year.
Both of our Old Testament texts remind us inescapably of whom we are–grass that withers, a breath of wind, and inconsequential in the great sweep of time. Old Testament texts are supposed to do that. They are to remind us always of our humility before God. God is. We are not gods, no matter how we puff ourselves up and arrogate our status.
North Korea laid their dictator to rest last week. The crowds wept–but out of sorrow, or simply due to fear that if they did not weep, there would soon be cause for real tears quickly? The motorcade passed–what looked to be ancient Lincoln Continental convertibles, the first with a twenty foot by twenty foot portrait of Kim Il Jung tied into it. Now, if that is not declaration of self-importance, I do not know what is. It all smacked of Herod from the Gospels–a monarch lost in himself to the point that he engaged in murder to ensure real grief at state funerals.
Prophet and prayer alike remind us that such stances are patently false. Beyond that, they are anathema in the presence of God, a real and true power, one fully worthy of worship. God alone is the source of all things. God alone can bring life into being from nothing much. God alone can break the barrier of death. God alone can bring to fruition purposes, promises, and possibilities with no thought of failure of any sort. God is. We are not gods.
But how does God use such unimaginable power?
To be with us.
To commune with us, deeply and profoundly.
To become one with us.
And God does so with an end to bring love that knows no bounds into full blossom. God wills that we live free from the shadows of sin and death, free from the fears that come with those dread shadows, and free to be all whom God created us to be.
The sign of this wondrous grace is Christ as Jesus of Nazareth. Our hope comes in this story from Jesus’ childhood–his parents lost him in the chaos of a family traveling–too many distractions, too many pulls, too many voices to keep up with everyone, with the result that Jesus got left.
A minister friend of mine confessed once that he left his daughter locked up in church one Sunday afternoon. It was a classic misstep. He and his wife were usually near the last to leave after greeting everyone, but thus Sunday, his wife left much earlier than usual, for her parents were visiting and she had to finish getting lunch prepared. The pastor assumed that junior-ette took this opportunity to flee the premises–no early escape could be dismissed–so he did not really pay much attention as he packed up his computer and things to go home. He got home and even got as far as getting settled at table when his wife casually asked, “Did you call Sarah for lunch?” No, he had not. So he went upstairs to fetch her, but she wasn’t in the playroom, nor her bedroom, nor ANYWHERE. “Didn’t you see where she went when y’all got home?,” he asked.
“No, because she rode with you.”
“No, she didn’t; she rode with you!”
A look of abject horror passed between them, and off to the church he sped. He found Sarah no worse for wear in the Senior High classroom, watching TV, lost in a movie, blissfully unaware she’d been left.
Christ came for this!
That is so good for us to remember situated as we are on New Year’s Day.
No one can be quite sure what awaits us in the coming year. I would be loathe to make any predictions whatsoever. Things are jumbled and uncertain, a mash of conflicting pieces that no one can really sort out or muddle through to force a focus of any clarity.
Psalm 90 is a great assurance for anyone dealing with uncertainty of any kind. At times, we find this psalm hard to read because it seems so pessimistic about human life. It does not shy away from suffering of any sort or type. It does not dismiss that a good people struggle to make it through their days. It does not try to sidestep the feeling from time to time that God may somewhere be the root of what ails us. Yet, even as the psalm prays starkly and bluntly, it just as powerfully proclaims the faith that in God, all shall be well and all manner of things shall be well. God’s first response is mercy. In that mercy, God may well correct us as we stray, but God will also be with us to assure us that we WILL find our way at last.
Hold fast to that proclamation.
Isaiah does, remarking at the deep contrast between ourselves and our God. We may be grass, but God, and, just as importantly, God’s Word, endures forever. There is no day, month, or year in which God is not already present with grace, redemption, and comfort for all therein. We see in a glass darkly, but for God, all is laid out completely, fully, and all is within God’s care. With that assurance, we can sleep tonight and each night to come. I know that for some of us, even that assurance may not help each and every night, but the promise is there. God is with us. God knows us. God understands us. We may wither under stress, but God knows no stress. God offers us that firm, powerful hand to guide us and keep us.
Look to Jesus, lost in the Temple. Jesus was not afraid. He was at home in the Temple. He was with his Father in heaven. It probably took Mary a good, long while to accept that–and to stop glaring at Joseph for being a nincompoop! But Jesus knew what we can know–with God, all shall be well and all manner of things shall be well.
Keep that thought as this new year unfolds day by day.
Amen.
