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rofoundly affected by his solitary experience in the sanctuary, Jesus moved through the temple in a straight line, noticed by passers-by, but not disturbed. To them, he seemed a strange looking boy. Perhaps lost. An occasional mother wondered if his parents knew his whereabouts. Jesus was not thinking of his parents. Nor had he a single thought that Eben had not been waiting for him. While his mind was clear, his sensitivity to his environs was overcome by his focus. All he could think of for the moment was the . . . what was it? Contact? in the sanctuary. He knew something had happened to him, yet he could not grasp it, could not comprehend it. He felt himself glowing inside, almost vibrating with an intransigent quality of transcendence. Whatever it was, it made him feel enfranchised, enabled. He was not afraid. He would never be afraid again.
Soon he found himself among the great marble colonnades of Solomon’s porch. He paused, gazed up their graceful lengths and wondered if they might reach to the heights of what he felt inside, and continued on. In a moment, he heard a voice that penetrated his concentration. The sound carried through the door out into the passageway between the columns. It must have been an important voice for Jesus was intensely focused at that moment. He stopped to see. A man with a great beard flecked with gray was speaking to a group of students in one of the anterooms off the side of the porch. Other older men were with them, rabbis and elders no doubt. Jesus listened.
The group consisted of men, or at least, males. Some were boys his age. They sat squirming on the floor, trying to be quiet, but for the most part very bored. The others were a mixture of younger men ascending in age all the way up to the rabbis who to Jesus, seemed quite old. There were maybe thirty in all. They were asking questions about the Feast of the Passover, about why this annual trek to Jerusalem.
One young man about eight or nine years Jesus’ senior stood, “Did not Moses and the children of Israel eat the Passover in their own homes in Egypt? Did they not apply blood to the posts and lintels of their own homes? Then why must we and our families now come all the way to Jerusalem to celebrate this holy day?” One of the rabbis, whose beard was black and well oiled seemed offended at the impertinence of the question and was about to reply with rebuking words. But graybeard smiled. “Do you think the journey too arduous, my young friend? Is such a man of youth and vigor as yourself so easily fatigued?”
Soft laughter from the others. “Do you not recall,” graybeard continued, “in the days of Hezekiah, king of Israel, that he sent letters to Ephraim and Manesseh calling all the priests and Levites to Jerusalem to celebrate the Feast of Passover . . ?”
“That is true, rabbi . . .” He was interrupted by a very young voice. All eyes turned toward Jesus who was standing at the rear of the group. “Yet do you not also recall that it was Josiah, son of Amon and king of Israel who established Jerusalem as the place where all Israel should observe Passover.” The rest of the students were stunned that an inexperienced child should respond to the rabbis with such confidence and poise. Some of them sucked their breath in surprise. The rabbis’ eyes widened. Blackbeard glowered. Graybeard seemed amused. “For do not the Scriptures say,” Jesus continued, “that king Josiah commanded all the people saying, ‘Celebrate the Passover to the LORD your God as it is written in this book of the covenant. . . in Jerusalem?’
“Well, it seems I stand corrected!” graybeard smiled. And who might this young scholar be?
My name is “Jesus . . . Jesus ben Joseph.” Spoken with confidence. Spoken perhaps, even with a bit of pride.
“Joseph?” said graybeard, raising one eyebrow. “Common enough name.” Turning to a colleague, he asked loud enough for all to hear, “Is there a rabbi named Joseph,” assuming Jesus had learned the scriptures from his father. The implication of the joke was not lost on Jesus and it irritated him.
“He is not a rabbi!” responded the boy perhaps too sharply, “he is a carpenter.” A ripple of laughter among the students. Graybeard smiled again, marvelously amused. Even blackbeard smiled.
“Then whence learned you such wisdom?”
“It is not wisdom to remember simple facts from scripture,” replied Jesus. It was not said insolently or disrespectfully. He spoke with the innocence of his age, but now the joke was on the ancient rabbi. More laughter among the students.
“My son!” a commanding voice from the rear of the room. An embarrassed Joseph stood in the doorway, his face revealing relief, anger and shock at what he witnessed. A second later the boy’s mother rushed by his father pushing him aside. She ran quickly into the room taking Jesus by the shoulders. She hugged him and wept. Then holding him at arm’s length she scolded, “Jesus! How is it that you have treated us in this way?” She paused and looked at her son. He seemed totally without understanding of her concern. “Ah!” she cried in strong exclamation. Your father and I have been in anguish searching for you.”
Jesus finally found his tongue in the grasp of his intensely emotional mother. The rabbis and students looked on in curious silence. They were all waiting for Jesus’ explanation. Perhaps the rabbis would come to his rescue. Graybeard seemed to sense the expectation of the students. After all, young Jesus was something of a hero to them now. He was looked upon with a favor akin to respect. Graybeard, say something! “Madam I . . .” Graybeard was cut short.
“Mother, did you not realize that I must attend to my Father’s business?” said Jesus evenly. Again, the question would appear insolent and insensitive were it not for the innocent tone in which it was asked.
Joseph however, would have none of these whimsical, pietistic answers from his son who as far as he was concerned, had done something serious and very wrong. He had with apparent disregard violated the wishes of his parents. This was unacceptable. Taking Jesus by the arm and leading him from the room, he whispered into his son’s ear, “Father’s business or not boy, the next time you run off on an escapade like this, you will answer to this father!” This time, raucous laughter from the students. Joseph’s big, calloused carpenter’s hand hurt. Jesus could not remember seeing his father so angry. Suddenly, he was a boy again. He knew he knew he would be disciplined. And like any twelve-year-old boy, he knew it would not be pleasant. He had caused his parents much concern and pain. At the time when he was supposed to become a man, this was not good. He knew that he had violated their trust. He accepted the penalty that was to come.
Though he were a Son, yet learned he obedience through the things that he suffered.
His mother however, despite her fears, pondered the response of her son. It was a response that would haunt her for the rest of her life.
