Betty Owens Geary

Luke 2:41-49; New International Version
41 Every year Jesus’ parents went to Jerusalem for the Festival of the Passover. 42 When he was twelve years old, they went up to the festival, according to the custom. 43 After the festival was over, while his parents were returning home, the boy Jesus stayed behind in Jerusalem, but they were unaware of it. 44 Thinking he was in their company, they traveled on for a day. Then they began looking for him among their relatives and friends. 45 When they did not find him, they went back to Jerusalem to look for him. 46 After three days they found him in the temple courts, sitting among the teachers, listening to them and asking them questions. 47 Everyone who heard him was amazed at his understanding and his answers. 48 When his parents saw him, they were astonished. His mother said to him, “Son, why have you treated us like this? Your father and I have been anxiously searching for you.”

49 “Why were you searching for me?” he asked. “Didn’t you know I had to be in my Father’s house?”

Reflection
I grew up in the church, almost literally. Probably the first place I went other than our house was the nursery at First Methodist Church in Texas City. For 18 years I was there every Sunday in the nursery, then Sunday School and worship, and later Methodist Youth Fellowship on Sunday evening. During the week I was in the nursery when my mom was at her United Methodist Women meetings, Vacation Bible School in the summer, Wednesday night potlucks, and countless other occasions. The church truly was a second home, and I always felt at home there. I expect many of you had a similar experience.

When my brother-in-law was ordained, I attended the service with my sister and parents. We came into the sanctuary at First Church Houston, crowded with clergy and lay delegates from all over Houston and East Texas. My nephew, then six, spotted me, and came running across the church in front of the altar to hug me. I was so glad that he felt so at home in the church that he could run and call out “Aunt Betty! Aunt Betty!” in front of all those people. I had never seen so many preachers in one place; my nephew was unfazed by the large crowd. He was comfortable, not intimidated. He knew he belonged there, that he was home. I always love to see children who are at home in the church.

The story of the boy Jesus in the Temple, staying behind when his parents started home, is the only story we have of Jesus’ childhood. He knew, even at the age of twelve, that where God was, he was home.

I’ve called several United Methodist churches home. St. Luke’s has been home for 33 years now.  Recently, the church I grew up in closed. What was left of the congregation now worships with another small United Methodist church in town. This was sad news for me, of course. But my anchor has never been the church buildings themselves. While I treasure the experience of being present in church with friends, I have been just as anchored to the church while worshipping from home and gathering with our Sunday School glass on Zoom as when we can be there in person. I am so grateful for this anchor in my life.

Prayer:
God, I am so grateful for the church, not just the buildings, but the people, the prayers, the music, the Word of God. I thank you for providing this anchor in my life. Amen.