A reflection on Luke 2:41-51
I imagine every parent has felt the anxiety of losing a child in a crowd, at a store, at the park, or elsewhere. I have had a few memories of such stressful moments.
The first time I remember this happening was when my oldest son was about four, and we went to the St. Louis Balloon Race at Forrest Park. We walked through a crowd sitting down, watching the balloons light up at dusk. I must have let go of Jack’s hand, took a few steps forward, and then turned around. He was gone. I mean, just plain gone. I scoured the crowd in a panic. But everyone sitting on the ground was about the same height as little Jack, and he was nowhere to be seen. The next thing I know, he’s standing right at my feet. I don’t know how he got there or if he was ever really gone. But, oh, I felt such relief and joy when I found him right by my side.
In a recent Gospel reading, Luke 2: 41-51, Joseph and Mary temporarily lost their twelve-year-old, Jesus. Can you imagine the anxiety? They lost him for three days! When I lost Jack, it wasn’t even three minutes. The three days of Jesus being “lost” seem to foreshadow Jesus being in the tomb for three days. In both situations, Jesus was apparently gone, but not truly gone, and certainly not permanently gone.
I lost another son. Ambrose passed away at three years old. He and his thumb-sucking smile are also apparently gone, but not truly gone, and certainly not permanently gone. Just as Joseph and Mary found Jesus in the Temple of his father’s house, I will one day find Ambrose in our same father’s house.
In the meantime, even knowing this, there is an absence due to the separation. I will continue to search for my son! And I pray my search will be fruitful.
Dear Lord,
I miss Ambrose. There’s an unexplainable emptiness due to the separation. It’s like a gap between two magnetic poles meant to be together. I ask for your wisdom and strength in helping me use the energy from this gap to fuel my drive toward union with you and him. Help me to find him in memories and prayer. May the memories of my sweet boy ignite a sense of gratitude for the gift you gave me. And may my prayers to my son bring me closer to you. I trust his life entirely to you and do not ask that you bring him back to me but rather that he brings me to you. May he draw me closer to the Holy Eucharist, where I will find him in union with you – giving up your bodies so we may have life.
Amen
