HOLY REBELLION
Colossians 3:12-17, Luke 2:41-52
As we seek to be practitioners of this Christian faith, I think it's important to remember that the primary data for our practice does not come from dogma, or abstract ideas. The primary data for our faith comes from a story--that's what we base our dogma and all of our abstract ideas upon. A story of a particular person who lived at a particular time, Jesus of Nazareth, whom the church has taught is both divine and human, in every way like us, except without sin...that is the Chalcedonian Formula.
But in our examination of the story of Jesus, we usually skip from infancy, which we spend of course a good bit of time thinking about and reflecting upon this time of year when we celebrate Christmas. We skip from infancy all the way to age 33, when Jesus begins his ministry. And we forget that Jesus was a human being who grew up, who had a childhood, probably suffered with acne, and had to learn how to shave, and had questions about girls, no doubt. But we don't really think about that, I think, too much.
And so today, the story that Kris just read from Luke is indeed unique. This is a unique opportunity for us to think about Jesus as a kid. This is, in fact, the only story in all of the scriptures, in the entire New Testament, that gives us any kind of indication as to what Jesus was like as a kid. And I hope that we might explore this story as a way to reflect on, and think about, our own practice of family, for those of us who are parents. To reflect on some wisdom that might be applicable to our parenting, or, if you're a kid, what it means to grow up. It's appropriate for us to think about this story, especially today, as we baptize these two children, John Paul and Daniel. Because we, when we took that baptismal vow today, all agreed to be their godparents in baptism. We are the godparents of all these children who are among us. And so, this hopefully might be instructive for us, in whatever way we might be parents, or we might be growing up in a family.
So let's look at this story. The first thing that strikes me about this story, and maybe it strikes you, too, is that this is a portrait of a very normal kind of family. Don't you think? It's not an Ozzie and Harriet kind of picture we get here, with Jesus and Mary and Joseph. And we can probably superimpose any of our less-than-perfect moments, especially on a road-trip, onto this narrative. This is basically, you know, the Holy Family's road-trip to Jerusalem.
I remember when I was growing up, sort of etched in my memory, in my oral and visual memory, is my father--I can see his arm on the bench seat of our Rambler station wagon--looking back and saying, "One more word, and I'll stop the car." And we did, and he did. Many times. But, you know, we all have stories like that. And it's interesting that this picture, coming to us from the scriptures, is not too different from that, really.
Let's just flesh out that picture a little bit. We have the Holy family, Jesus and Mary and Joseph, coming to Jerusalem, as they did every year, we read, for the Passover festival. And they're going back, in a kind of extended family caravan. The whole village is going back. And back then, it literally did take a whole village to raise a child. So, you know, the kids would have been going between cousins and aunts and uncles, and suddenly, they discovered Jesus is missing. And we can imagine the fight that must have ensued, there. "I thought you had him!" "I thought you had him!" They discovered Jesus is missing. It wouldn't have been unusual to imagine, in that kind of situation, a whole day would take place before they found that out.
And then they go back to Jerusalem, and it takes them three days to find Jesus. I think Luke intends for that to be a significant number. Three is often the number in the scriptures for some transformation to take place. And they find him, in the temple, of course. And when his parents find Jesus, when Mary finds Jesus, she loses her cool, like any parent would lose their cool over such a thing, that an adolescent might do in any of our families. This is basically what it says in the scripture, not too far from the literal translation. She says, "Kid, why have you treated us like this? We've been looking all over for you. Child, why have you treated us like this?" That could be on the lips, I think, of any parent of an adolescent. I'm not in that stage right now, my child is six; sometimes it feels like parenting a teen, six going on sixteen, but that could be something that any of us would say to a kid. "Why did you stay out past your curfew? Why have you done this to us?"
And Jesus' response is rather odd, don't you think? Not terribly apologetic. He says, "Did you not know that I was in my Father's house?" Now think about that response for a minute. That is a complete dis of Joseph. "What do you mean, child, you were in your father's house?" You know, we hear that he didn't obey his parents here, but later on, he came back home and was obedient thereafter to his Mary and Joseph; and we hear that Mary treasured all these thing in her heart. But, I can imagine, that happened not until after a long grounding for Jesus. You know: "You're grounded!"
We're having some fun with this story, and perhaps Luke means for us to do that. But, I think, here's the point that Luke wants us to get. What he is trying to communicate here, I think, is very subtle. It has something to do with how the scriptures, God's word, want us to encounter the mystery of the incarnation. Because we have here, on the surface of it, any Jewish family in the first century. Not too different--not any special kind of family, necessarily. An adolescent kid going against the will of his father. But there's a sort of subtle paradox going on here that I think has to do with the mystery of the incarnation. I think it also has something to do with human development.
So here's the paradox: to do the will of my Father, with a capital "F," I have to disobey my father, with a small "f." Someday I'd love to do a sermon about this way that Jesus uses to address God as Father. "Abba" is the word he uses, which means "Daddy," and we don't get how radical that would have been in his time, theologically, for him to use that nomenclature. It also might help us, in some ways, get past the gender-exclusivity of "Father," which gives some of us a problem. But, to do the will of my Father, with a capital "F," I have to disobey my father. And the point isn't to disobey my father, for its own sake, just to be disobedient. But here's the point: to show that one's primary devotion is to a higher Father, or to values higher than what's represented by loyalty to my earthly father. In Mark's gospel, there's a scene in which Jesus and his mother and his brothers--you know, there are these big crowds wanting to see Jesus, and they say, "Hey, your mom and brothers want to see you." And he says, he disses them, too. He says, "Who are my mother and my brothers, but those who do the will of God..." who do the will of my Father? And so, here's the very radical thing about the faith that Jesus incarnates and embodies: what that faith means is acting according to the very highest of values. Values even higher than loyalty to kin and clan. That's what it means to follow Jesus. That's a very radical requirement that our allegiance ultimately is not to our own family, even.
And so how is that instructive of our family life? What does it matter for me as I try to parent my child, or you, in whatever way you are involved with parenting? I think the story has something to say about how we approach parenting; namely, I think it has to do with how parenting is aimed at helping our children eventually not to do our will, but to help them develop so that they are able to act out of a higher set of internal values--to act out of a higher will than ours, than their parents. In other words, here's the paradox of parenting: that in some sense we are to teach our children to rebel against our will. And not for its own sake--I don't mean to say that, and maybe I'm being a little provocative in saying that. But in favor of a higher set of values that they discover from the voice of God, calling them, as God called Jesus. Our job as parents is to help our children find their own inner compass. This is the way Kahlil Gibran puts it in that wonderful book The Prophet which I so often turn to--I think has so much wisdom in it.
And a woman who held a babe against her bosom said, "Speak to us of children." And he said..."this is the prophet who speaks..." and he said, "Your children are not your children. They are the sons and daughters of life's longing for itself. They come through you, but not from you, and though they are with you, yet they belong not to you. You may give them your love but not your thoughts, for they have their own thoughts. You may house their bodies, but not their souls, for their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams. You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you. You are the bows from which your children, as living arrows, are sent forth."
I think that's a wonderful image of parenting. "You are the bows from which your children, as living arrows, are sent forth." And we can't control the weather conditions through which they are going to fly, or even the ultimate trajectory of their course. As parents our job is to help our children--in the jargon of modern psychology, this is from modern family systems theory--is to help them become "self-differentiated." That means that their inner motivation is not to please other people, as important as that can be, or even us as parents--but that their motivation for action comes out of a deep and solid sense of self. It means that we will seek to instill into our children values that will provide inner guidance, instead of merely external limits.
Maybe the best image for our parenting is that we should seek not to give them a bridle, but a compass. In some sense we have a clue about that process going on in this text, because Jesus is with the herd, isn't he, he's with the village, going back to his hometown on this journey to Jerusalem, and he peeled away from the crowd to follow his own inner calling. And it's interesting that that happens just before Jesus would have been bar mitzvahed, just before the time of his "coming of age." There's something about the developmental process going on there, in that text.
One of the ironies, I think, about confirmation in the church, is that we ask kids, at the very time biologically and developmentally they're trying to develop a sense of their own independent self...that we ask them to join their father's church, so to speak. As important as it is for us to impart to them the values that are precious and holy, that we teach, it's also important that we give them the choice about that.
In Palo Alto where I served prior to coming here, there were occasionally kids who, after the confirmation process, said, "I'm not ready." And I was so glad we affirmed those children in doing that, and saying I'm not ready to embrace this yet, lest this process be about a herd mentality, or about peer pressure. Several months ago, Catherine and I saw a movie called The Devil's Playground. It's a wonderful documentary, if you get a chance to watch it--it's about Amish teenagers in the Amish community, who at age 16 go on what's called a Rumspringa. It's a German word for, literally, "running around." And they're allowed to go and drive cars, and smoke, and drink, and even do drugs, to sow their wild oats, so they can make a real decision about joining the community. And strangely enough, 85% to 90% return to the community--the highest percentage, it claims in that movie, historically, of all time.
I'm going to end this morning, and relieve you of my raspy voice here, with some words that maybe those of us who are baby boomers have heard many times, words of Crosby, Stills, and Nash. And I want to dedicate these lines to John Paul and Daniel James, and Paul and Tina, and Becky and Matt, and all of us who are godparents in this congregation, and to all the children that are part of this family, this body of Christ here.
Teach your children well, and feed them on your dreams. The one they picked, the one you'll know by. Don't you ever ask them why. If they told you, you would cry. So just look at them and sigh, and know they love you.
December 31, 2006 Jeff VamosAmen.
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