I am just another one of those elders and that I am missing the vision of my God, because my eyes are only seeing the Boy…
I have been thinking about the Christ Child in the Temple. I have been thinking about how He interacted with the Elders in that Temple. I can imagine that many of them would have dismissed Him, but there would have been some few of them – those who God wanted Him to speak with during those days – and they would have listened to Him and HEARD what He said. I can imagine those few people reflecting on that Child and His words in the days and weeks and months and years after He was reunited with His parents…
I can imagine those brief conversations changing their lives. Later, when this Child was crucified, did they realise He was the One who they had heard as a Child? Did they realise who He was? Did they follow news of Him? Or did His message get swept aside in the hustle and bustle of their busy lives?
When He was found, did they seek out His parents? Did they want to know who these people were to raise such a Son? Did the Blessed Virgin – in her perfect humility – shy away from their words and their questions? Did Saint Joseph stand awkwardly beside that Boy and marvel at His words? Did he forget for a moment that this was the Child who was born in the stable and placed in the manger and instead, did he see the Son of God in all His Glory as he beheld the wonder of that moment?
Did the angels stand beside Saint Joseph and place their hands on his shoulder to strengthen him for the revelation of that moment? Did the Blessed Virgin feel the Holy Spirit in the air around her as her Holy Son spoke?
How did it look at that time? Was it just the normal dust and bustle and hustle of everyday? Or was it something more? Did they feel some sort of Divine presence in their midst that day? Or was it missed – that Divinity in ordinary clothes with the breaking voice of an adolescent Boy?
And as I reflect on that moment from twenty centuries ago, I also reflect on my own life and my own experience of God Himself in it. Am I like those Elders in the Temple? Am I confronted with God Himself and do I see instead a pre-pubescent boy with a breaking voice and ragged clothes?
Where is God in my life? Is He in my friends, my family? Is He in my enemies? Is He in the tasks that I do voluntarily and the tasks that I never wish to do but do anyway out of compulsion? Is my God beside me? Is He within me? Does He cry with my tears? Does He pity my grief?
When I am alone, is He standing with me? Does He carry me in my despair?
And while I think of that Child in that Temple, with all those old men standing around, I cannot help but feel that I am just another one of those elders and that I am missing the vision of my God, because my eyes are only seeing the Boy… And I feel such a terrible grief when I consider that. I feel such a terrible grief…
For with prayer, I stand on Holy Ground where everything is clear. Here. At the Foot of the Cross.
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