Lost and Found

Once upon a time, my parents took my brother and me to Washington, D.C. during a crowded tourist season. I was two years old then, my brother was five, and the thing that was paramount in the minds of my parents was making sure that they didn't lose their children in the busy, crowded press of people. So as they marched along the sidewalk amid the surging crowds, my dad placed me on his shoulders and my mom held my brother's hand, and we made our way through the city like that.

Suddenly, my dad panicked. Glancing around frantically, he grabbed my mom's arm. "Charlene! Where's Tammi? Where's Tammi?!" 

Mom would have told him exactly where I was -- on his shoulders -- but she was laughing too hard, so it took a few seconds longer than it might otherwise have taken for this knowledge to sink in.

Fast-forward a few years to a time when my husband I took our three young children to the National Zoo in Washington, D.C. The situation was similar: crowds and chaos, and three children instead of two (we had to switch to zone defense; man-to-man didn't work anymore). You've already guessed, I'm sure, what happened. We'd just left a crowded museum, and in the bustle got separated by a few yards. I knew where my oldest two were; I assumed my husband had the youngest, a toddler at the time. My husband assumed I had her. 

We made the startling discovery that neither one of us had her after about five minutes post-museum-exit, and both of us went running back into the building. Almost immediately, I saw my daughter nearby. A lady was crouched in front of her, pointing to people around them. I heard her say: "Do you see your parents?"

Bless that lady.

I wanted to protect my children, and the panic that resulted from that experience was overwhelming and choking. It's something I never want to experience again. The profound relief that flowed in once I saw my daughter safe and well was exhausting from the sheer weight of it. 

Reading through Genesis 43, I've got to say, I identify strongly with Jacob-the-parent here. Jacob, the worried, pacing, heart-wrenched parent who is paralyzed in indecision, because of his worry over his son Benjamin.

So, in the previous chapter, Jacob's sons come back from Egypt with lots of grain to feed their families, but when they return home, they find the silver in their grain sacks -- the same silver they've presumably used to pay for the grain in the first place. Uh-oh. 

By anyone's measure, even though they know they're honest, it seems quite likely the Egyptians from whom they've purchased the grain will accuse them of theft, and consequences will follow if they return for more grain.

Of course, Joseph their brother has orchestrated the whole silver-returning scenario, but the brothers don't know that. All they know is that when they eventually return to Egypt, per the governor's order, they must bring their youngest brother Benjamin, or they won't get a single bit of grain, nor even see the governor, who is the only one who can sell it to them.

And they all know what their father will say to this. No. No way.

So Jacob and his sons and their families slowly eat their way through the grain, putting off the inevitable, and as time goes by and the inevitable inches closer and closer, Jacob grows more and more distressed. Finally, he faces either a return to Egypt... or starvation. He says in 43:2: "Go back and buy us a little more food."

But Judah shakes his head. Come on, Dad, you know how this is going to go. "The man warned us solemnly, 'You will not see my face again unless your brother is with you.'" Judah explains, likely for the hundredth time, that they must take Benjamin along with them, or the whole journey is pointless, and all of them will starve to death before they get any more food from Egypt. Everything relies on Jacob's permission to release Benjamin.

Jacob can't help pushing back against the inevitable: "Why did you bring this trouble on me by telling the man you had another brother?" Rhetorical questions are often borne out of frustration. Same here. Jacob, his sons, all of them know there's no solid answer, but Jacob's frustration bursts out anyway.

The deck is stacked; there is no way Jacob is getting out of this. But he cries out in his frustration. Why? Sending Benjamin along seems like a sure-fire way to lose the only remaining son of his beloved Rachel. Surely my son will be taken away from me. 

Judah explains the situation yet again, and then says: "I myself will guarantee his safety; you can hold me personally responsible for him. If I do not bring him back to you and set him here before you, I will bear the blame before you all my life." Then, with a tinge of frustration and impatience, "As it is, if we had not delayed, we could have gone and returned twice."

Aw, Judah, what a good guy -- a very different man from the man we've seen in previous chapters. He's grown, matured, rid himself of the selfishness and deceit that has been characteristic of most of Jacob's sons, and he's placed himself as a picture of atonement in this situation -- a precursor of a much greater atonement sacrifice generations later.

At last, Jacob, accepting the inevitable, releases Benjamin into the hands of his sons and watches them ride out of sight. As he had done when he'd reunited with his brother Esau, so he does here: he sends along rich gifts in hopes that they will be favorably received and Benjamin will consequently be kept safe. 

"If I am bereaved... I am bereaved" (43:14). The absolute resignation of this statement kind of shatters me. He's hit the lowest point. Joseph is gone, Benjamin is going, too. Rachel has died; now there is nothing left of her legacy. "I am bereaved." His pain resounds through his words.

Here's the catch: Jacob has no idea what the big picture is. He has no idea the work that God has put into place to turn his sorrow into dancing. God has spent years bringing Jacob to this moment, the darkness before the dawn, in order to show him that when the sun rises, its splendor is the most magnificent thing that Jacob will ever see.

Jacob is looking in the wrong direction. He's lost track of where God is working. He can't see the Lord, because he's not looking in the right places.

Flipping over to Luke 2:41-52, we see the story of another Joseph, his wife Mary, and their son, Jesus, who have all gone to Jerusalem for the Passover celebration. It's noisy, crowded, bustling. Lots of people. Jesus is probably too big to ride on Joseph's shoulders (He's twelve), but I wonder if Mary takes His hand, tries to lead Him through the press of people. He possibly has siblings at this point; maybe Joseph is carrying one of them on his shoulders.

When the feast is over, Joseph and Mary have to go back home, so they start out. Jesus isn't with them for about a day; since they are traveling with family and friends, they likely assume He's running around with friends and cousins. At some point, they realize Jesus isn't anywhere. I thought you had Him.

That shocking, choking feeling of panic that welled up inside me when I looked at my husband and realized my daughter was nowhere in sight must have welled up inside Joseph and Mary. Where is He? Along with this thought that, regarding my daughter, turned my hair white in real-time: Will I ever see Him again?

The parent Jacob was shattered by thoughts in this vein; Mary and Joseph were panicked by similar thoughts. They "began looking for him among their relatives and friends" (Luke 2:44). Then they headed back to Jerusalem. 

Y'all, after three days, they found Him. My dad "lost" me for about three seconds until he realized where I was. I "lost" my daughter for about five minutes until we found her standing with the kind lady who was helping her look for her parents. Those three seconds were an eternity for my dad. Those five minutes were an eternity for me. I can't even comprehend three days.

Mary, I'm sure, nearly collapses in her relief, followed immediately by frustration, which ekes out in her words to Him: "Son, why have you treated us like this?! Your father and I have been anxiously searching for You!"

Why did you wander off? Don't you know how worried we were? Don't you understand that when we couldn't find you, we died a little inside?

I admit to wondering many times about this story. Surely Jesus, being God, knew the distress He caused Mary and Joseph. Losing a child isn't just a bump in the road; it's a deeply world-shaking event that never, ever leaves a parent's memory. You don't "get over" something like that.

But listen to what Jesus says: "Why were you searching for me?" he asks. "Didn't you know I had to be in my Father's house?" (Luke 2:49)

I've always read this passage like this: Didn't you know? Didn't you understand that I would be right here where I am?

My maternal instinct has always wanted to snap back: No! Obviously, if I had known, I would have come straight here. Why did you leave in the first place? I told you to stay right with us, and here you are, wandering off, doing your own thing.

This morning, the Lord showed me a different way of looking at Jesus' answer. Mary asks her question, and Jesus answers in this light: "Didn't you know..." You did know. You already knew where I would be. But you were looking in the wrong places, because you were focused on the wrong things.

Joseph and Mary are so distracted by the bustle of their own expectations and experiences, that they're blinded to Jesus' true purpose, His mission in the world. In context, this story is told immediately after (and timeline-wise, twelve years after) Joseph and Mary take Jesus to the temple to be consecrated, according to the Law of Moses. While they are there, Simeon - a righteous man who has been promised that He will live to see the salvation of the Jews - and Anna, a prophetess, both see the baby Jesus and prophesy over him. Luke 2:33 says: "The child's father and mother marveled at what was said about Him." Specifically, Simeon told Mary, "And a sword will pierce your own soul, too." 

So Mary is seeing all these things, taking them all in. To review:
1.) She sees an angel, who tells her she's going to get pregnant without a man's help.
2.) She proceeds to get pregnant without a man's help, the only time in history this has ever happened.
3.) She sees shepherds come to the stable where she's given birth and talk about how a sky full of angels has told them where the baby is and how to find him.
4.) She watches those shepherds excitedly return to their fields, and in their enthusiasm, tell everyone they meet about what happened.
5.) She comes to the temple courts eight days later to consecrate her newborn baby, and she has two people prophesy over Jesus, and her, too. 

Then Jesus "loses" Himself in the temple courts when He is twelve years old, and when she is so distracted and panicked, He reminds her gently: "Didn't you know?" You did know. You already knew where I would be. Mary has seen the Truth in all the events leading up to that moment in time, but she's chosen to focus on the wrong thing.

In Luke 2:51, it says "His mother treasured all these things in her heart." She can't see the end of the story yet, but she begins to see the plan. She begins to have an inkling that God is making a way, an incredible way that she has barely begun to glimpse.

Thirty-three years down the road, several women head to the tomb to lay spices on Jesus' graveclothes. When they reach the tomb, rather than the dead body they expect to find, they see the stone that covers the entrance rolled away, no sign of a body, and two angels who say: "Why do you look for the living among the dead?"

Why indeed? 

Why do we look for one thing when God is doing another? Why was Jacob so intent on keeping Benjamin safely with him when God was doing a new thing, a better thing, but he couldn't see it because he was so busy looking at the wrong thing?

When we can't see in the dark, our instinctive reflex is to turn away from the light when it comes. We shield our eyes to keep them from being dazzled. We turn around and seek the dark corners rather than looking into the light.

While we're in those dark places, can we trust that God is doing a new thing, even when we can't see it?

In the song Way-Maker, there's a repeated phrase that strikes close to my heart: "Even when I don't see it, You're working. Even when I don't feel it, You're working. My God, that is Who You are."

I pray this for my own children: May they see God, even when they don't "see" Him. I pray that they will search for Him... in the right places. I pray that they won't be so distracted by the side-show, the crowded streets, the fast-paced information flow... that they miss the main story: Jesus, Son of God, Lamb Who was slain, Redeemer, Way-Maker, Promise-Keeper, Light in the darkness, the Alpha, the Omega, the Good Shepherd, the Great Healer, the King of kings,  the Lord of lords.

My God, that is Who You are!