December
31,
2006:
FAMILY
BUSINESS
Luke
2:41-52,
1
Samuel
2:18-20,
26
Eileen
Parfrey
-
Springwater
Presbyterian
Church
Today's
sermon
is
brought
to
you
by
my
never-ending
quest
to
bring
you
with
me
wherever
I
go.
I've
just
gotta
share
with
you
my
Christmas
gift
from
my
beloved
husband,
a
visit
to
the
Dead
Sea
Scrolls
exhibit
at
the
Seattle
Science
Museum.
One
of
my
early
memories
is
of
my
dad
reading
me
a
National
Geographic
article
on
the
discovery
of
scrolls
in
the
Dead
Sea
desert
caves
in
1947
by
Bedouin
shepherds.
Scholars
had
only
just
decided
that
the
parchments
might
genuinely
be
2,000
years
old,
making
them
the
oldest
copies
of
scripture.
Growing
up,
knowing
they
were
tightly
controlled
by
a
group
of
Christian
scholars,
I
never
imagined
I
could
see
them.
It
wasn't
until
the
1980s
that
the
collection
was
made
widely
available
to
scholars.
The
Seattle
Science
Museum
exhibit
is
a
first,
really,
a
small
portion
of
that
collection,
a
mere
ten
fragments
that
include,
"God
created
humankind
in
his
own
image"
and
God's
answer
to
Moses
wondering
what
to
tell
the
Israelites
when
they
ask
who
sent
him:
"I
AM
WHO
I
AM."
The
other
fragments
on
display
include
rules
about
community
life,
a
religious
calendar,
prophecy,
description
of
a
Davidic
Warrior
King
and
statements
about
bodily
resurrection.
Exhibits
before
the
actual
fragments
focus
on
archaeological
methodology
and
artifacts
of
the
Essene
community,
believed
to
be
the
originators
of
the
scrolls.
I
found
myself
face-to-face
with
the
pieces
I'd
heard
about,
first
as
a
small
daughter
at
her
father's
story-telling
knee,
then
as
a
graduate
student
asking
scholarly
questions
of
the
text,
looking
for
authoritative
answers.
The
room
was
dimly
lighted,
the
cases
containing
the
fragments
were
climate-controlled
with
lights
rhythmically
going
on
and
off
to
save
the
documents
from
light
damage.
It
felt
sacred.
Two
thousand
years
ago,
the
community
went
through
the
arduous
process
of
scraping
and
curing
sheep
skins,
trimming
reeds
to
make
pens,
formulating
ink
from
soot,
oil,
pitch,
and
water.
All
this,
by
the
Jewish
Essene
sect
to
preserve
the
written
word
so
as
to
live
in
purity,
reverence,
and
holiness,
anticipating
the
End
of
the
World
and
the
coming
of
God's
Anointed.
The
scrolls
contained
both
the
"how
to"
and
the
"why"
of
their
life
of
anticipation.
Their
reverence
for
the
holiness
of
God
was
reflected
in
their
every
action.
Before
copying
scripture,
a
scribe
would
ascertain
he
had
not
eaten
or
touched
anything
unclean
nor
engaged
in
activities
requiring
repentance
and
absolution.
After
purification
of
his
body
in
ritual
baths,
he
put
on
clean
linen
robes
before
beginning
to
write.
When
the
text
required
him
to
write
the
name
of
God,
he
would
leave
a
blank
space
and
move
on.
Later,
he
would
come
back
to
fill
in
God's
name,
but
only
after
re-purifying
himself,
putting
on
new
robes,
and
using
a
new
pen.
Only
then
could
he
write
what
was
so
holy
it
couldn't
be
pronounced-The
Name-spelled
YHWH
but
pronounced
"Yahweh"
or
simply
"The
Name."
I stood
over
a
fragment
of
Psalm
119
on
exhibit
in
that
dimly
lighted
room.
An
acrostic
poem,
its
subject
is
the
holiness
and
importance
of
God's
Word.
As
I
gazed,
I
found
myself
weeping.
The
letters
were
so
exquisitely
clear.
I
could
read
them,
and
when
it
came
to
The
Name,
the
alphabet
changed
from
Hebrew
to
a
more
ancient
alphabet.
What
moved
me
wasn't
just
the
antiquity
of
the
piece,
nor
was
it
the
single-mindedness
of
piety
that
had
written
that
scroll.
This
concrete
thing
was
a
window
to
what
was
behind
it,
a
mystery
itself
so
holy
as
to
be
worth
the
focus
of
one's
life.
I
wept
for
what
the
scroll
itself
required
of
me.
It
was
in
this
world
that
Jesus
was
raised.
Many
scholars
think
John
the
Baptist
(Jesus'
cousin,
according
to
Luke)
was
raised
in
the
Essene
community.
His
ministry's
emphasis
on
baptism,
repentance,
the
apocalypse
and
the
coming
of
a
Warrior
King
who
would
judge-this
was
the
heart
of
the
Essene
community's
beliefs,
concerns
reflected
in
scroll
fragments
on
display.
It
is
not
surprising
that
the
12-year-old
boy
would
be
found
in
the
Temple.
The
Temple
crowd,
after
all,
is
the
group
most
opposed
to
the
Essenes
(who
were
probably
the
most
pious
people
he
knew).
One
of
the
points
of
contention
was
apparently
whether
to
base
the
calendar
on
a
lunar
year
or
a
solar
year.
The
calendar
argument
had
everything
to
do
with
when
you
celebrated
the
religious
days
of
obligation.
Mary
and
Joseph
have
gone
to
Jerusalem
to
celebrate
Passover,
one
of
the
days
of
obligation.
We
don't
know
if
they
went
to
the
solar
or
the
lunar
celebration,
but
Franciscan
writer
Richard
Rohr
suggests
today's
story
reveals
the
extraordinary
love
between
Jesus
and
his
parents,
because
Jesus'
actions
demonstrate
his
freedom
and
security
in
being
loved.
Being
parented
by
humans
can
often
give
children
the
impression
that
they
are
unlovable.
From
the
toilet
training,
"Shame
on
you!"
to
the
grade
point
average
disappointment,
"You
can
do
better
than
this,"
parents
use
the
model
they
were
given.
Shaming,
manipulating,
threatening.
At
what
point
does
"You
can
do
anything
you
set
your
mind
to"
cease
to
be
incentive
and
become
manipulation?
"Now
show
that
your
mind
is
set."
"You're
the
oldest"
is
a
statement
of
fact
that
can
slip
into
an
accusatory
"You
ought
to
know
better."
"I
told
you
to
never
do
that"
can
carry
the
implied
threat,
"And
if
you
do--!"
Children
have
perceived
these
as
lies
about
being
unlovable
for
millennia,
but
more
recently,
we've
turned
the
lie
inside
out,
although
it
comes
to
the
same
thing.
The
sexual
revolution
gave
us
"free
love."
"It's
private;
I'm
not
hurting
anyone
else."
"If
it
feels
good,
do
it."
"It's
no
more
significant
than
shaking
hands."
The
new
twist
on
the
old
lie
is
still
that
we
are
stuck
being
unlovable
unless
we
prove
otherwise.
Jesus
is
no
Super
Hero
in
the
Temple
horning
in
on
religious
conversation.
Maybe
Jesus
is
investigating
the
family
controversy
with
the
Jerusalem
religious
community.
Luke,
after
all,
says
he
is
listening
and
questioning.
When
his
mother
confronts
him,
he
claims
"family
business"
as
his
reason.
Richard
Rohr
says
this
conversation
is
about
"coming
of
age,"
and
maybe
that's
what
we
need
to
apply
to
our
own
lives.
Like
any
kid,
Jesus
needs
to
leave
Mama's
apron
strings.
We
all
have
to
claim
our
own
lives,
take
responsibility
for
our
actions,
stop
using
what
our
parents
did
to
us
as
an
excuse.
Herb
Anderson
says
that
you
haven't
really
left
home
until
you
can
go
away
and
come
back
again.
As
Jesus'
mission
develops
later
in
the
gospel,
he
redraws
family
boundaries
to
include
those
who
do
God's
will.
So
maybe
the
Essenes
were
right.
Maybe
a
whole
lot
to
our
faith
life
is
about
what
we
do.
I
don't
mean
obsessing
over
whether
you
touched
something
unclean
and
now
you
have
to
take
another
shower.
Archaeology
reveals
concrete
information
about
Essene
piety
focused
absolutely
on
anticipation
of
God's
coming.
It
kind
of
makes
me
wonder
what
concrete
artifacts
would
be
found
of
our
reverence
for
God,
what
stories
will
be
left
to
show
that
we
believed
there
is
more
to
life
than
the
here-and-now.
The
12-year-old
boy
Jesus
may
have
been
checking
out
religious
quibbles.
Was
this
worth
staking
his
life
on?
But
his
parents
show
up.
They
remind
him
by
their
very
presence
to
live
unquestionably
as
one
unquestionably
loved.
The
Essenes
thought
what
we
do
with
our
body
makes
a
difference,
because
of
bodily
resurrection.
For
Christians
living
in
the
Pacific
Northwest
in
the
21st
century,
this
is
a
challenge.
It's
a
challenge
to
believe
that
what
we
do
makes
a
difference
to
other
people.
We
can
get
so
focused
on
our
own
pain
and
loneliness
and
dissatisfactions
that
we
forget
our
actions
and
beliefs
and
inactions
have
implications
for
others.
Mary's
simple,
"Your
father
and
I
have
been
searching
for
you
in
great
anxiety"
resonates
through
the
millennia.
His
parents
loved
him.
There
is
more
to
life
than
we
ourselves.
And
maybe
that's
the
challenge,
not
as
in
"this
is
hard
to
do,"
but
challenge
as
in,
"this
is
what
we
get
to
do"
(if
only
we
will).
The
challenge
for
Jesus
was
to
understand
that
being
loved
was
enough
reason
to
be
obedient
and
return
home.
The
challenge
to
us
(if
only
we
will)
is
to
not
only
"understand"
that
we
are
loved
enough.
But
to
live
as
if
our
lives
depended
on
it.
Because
they
do.
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