“Son, why have you done this to us? Your father and I have been looking for you with great anxiety.”
As I read these words at this moment of my life, I see myself in Mary. She and Joseph have just lost track of their son, and have rushed back to Jerusalem – no doubt with hearts pounding and minds racing to the worst conclusion – in order to find him. I can so clearly imagine this visceral feeling of parenting failure, because I’ve experienced it plenty over the past year as I’ve been learning to navigate caring for two tiny humans at once.
In the midst of our own insecurities and frustrations, it is so easy for us as parents to imagine that our kids are purposely causing us harm. When my older son demands for me to play with him while I am trying to calm down his screaming brother, I think, “Can’t you see that I am overwhelmed? Why won’t you let me rest?” When he finishes dinner as I have just finally sat down, I think (and hopefully don’t say, but I wouldn’t put it past me), “Why don’t you want me to eat?” Or when he stalls bedtime for the millionth time, I think, “Why won’t you let me have time to myself?”
When I take a step back and think about this logically, I know that none of these actions are directed toward hurting me, and are actually developmentally appropriate for a three-year-old. He needs to play in order to learn, and his bedtime stalling is actually more of an expression of love and attachment to me than the opposite. He is being who he is supposed to be.
Likewise, the twelve-year-old Jesus did not act out of a desire to hurt his parents. He is simply following the budding call inside of him. He remained in the Temple, his Father’s house, sitting among teachers and learning from them. The people there were “astounded at his understanding and his answers,” perhaps able to envision who Jesus would become even better than his own family. In response to Mary’s question, Jesus doesn’t understand why they were looking for him, because to him it is clear that this is where he is supposed to be.
I find some comfort in the fact that even Mary, born without original sin, has a hard time separating her parenting insecurities from her communication with her child in tough moments. We all come from imperfect parents, and we carry our own baggage into our parenting.
Yet, there is some good news. As we celebrate the Holy Family, we see that even imperfect families are Holy. And we are reminded that it is not up to us to control who our children become – rather, it is our job to let go of them when it is time. Our children are not our own. We are simply stewards of the lives entrusted to us. Just as Hannah and Mary had to give their sons over to God’s care, we must give our children the space to live into their vocation.
The other piece of good news is that God is a loving parent who is free from human insecurities, and when our own parents fail us, we can look to God to provide the comfort and direction that we seek. On this feast of the Holy Family, may we learn to entrust to God those who we love most, and to seek God’s care when those we love most fail us.