A Baby No More
Commentary
Just yesterday, we celebrated the birth of Jesus as a baby. Today, we turn our attention to the episode when he was twelve years old. And the pericope concludes with a broader observation about his growing up.
That was fast! Those of us who are parents will recognize the speed of this transition. How many of us have said, “It only seems like yesterday that he/she was a baby”?
The gospel episode from Luke is an important one for our Christology, though, even if it does feel a bit rushed on the day after Christmas. For the truth and beauty of the incarnation is not seen only in that stable or that manger. It is seen also in the twelve-year-old with his parents. And it is seen, too, in the summary statement of how he grew.
There is something perhaps more challenging to our sense of the combined divinity and humanity of Christ when we are forced to think about him as an adolescent. It is easy enough for us to think of him as perfect when he was a baby. After all, we tend to think all babies are perfect! And we have mostly grown accustomed to the stories from his adult ministry, where he functions as a perfect man. But a boy of twelve? What does a perfect twelve-year-old look like? It’s easy to picture how an adolescent can be fully human; but fully divine?
We will explore our Christology a bit more in our treatment of the gospel lection. Just now, however, we turn to a philosophical consideration. Is there mutability in perfection? Can a thing be perfect, change, and remain perfect? This, it seems, is among the issues raised by our text, and an important one to contemplate on the day after Christmas.
1 Samuel 2:18-20, 26
It’s hard for me to imagine making the choice that Hannah and Elkanah did. As the story goes, it seems that after their baby, Samuel, was weaned, they entrusted him to Eli the priest, thus dedicating him to the Lord’s service. And, as suggested by our Old Testament text for this week, they saw their boy once a year.
Of course, it’s hard for me to imagine making a lot of choices that earlier generations made. My maternal grandparents, for example, both left their families behind in Europe as teenagers in the late 1800s to come to America. What hope did they have that they would see their families again? Not much. That’s a hard choice for me to imagine. Likewise with the generations that sent their children off to boarding school while still very young. Not to mention the generations that have had to send their children off to war. These are all parents who were made of sturdier stuff than I am!
It may well be, of course, that my reading of the story of young Samuel is a misreading of the text — and a misunderstanding of Hannah and Elkanah. For I perceive the whole scene as a sad one. But perhaps they did not. Perhaps this whole experience for them was a source of continual rejoicing.
Samuel’s very existence, after all, was an answer to prayer. Hannah had been barren — and perhaps berated — and the early part of the story paints a portrait of a woman who was miserably unhappy. She beseeched the Lord for a child. And dedicating that child to the Lord’s service was not the Lord’s prerequisite but rather Hannah’s proposal. The birth of Samuel, therefore, was a marvelous answer to prayer. And each year when they saw their boy, they were reminded of both God’s miraculous power and his attentive generosity in hearing and answering their prayer.
And then, too, there is that added layer of parental joy that comes when you are so proud of seeing what your son or daughter is becoming and doing. It is such an unspeakable heartache, after all, when your child’s choices or direction in life are negative or unhealthy ones. But these earnest parents were surely gratified year after year to see their boy growing and faithfully serving the Lord.
The Bible doesn’t tell us for how long Hannah and Elkanah lived. We don’t know for how many years they got to see Samuel grow. And so, one wonders if they had the privilege of witnessing all that their son went on to become.
Samuel, after all, becomes a uniquely important and accomplished character in Scripture. He was not primarily a military hero (cf. Deborah or Gideon); he did not burst onto the national scene through great exploits and feats (cf. Samson); he was not publicly heralded as Israel’s leader by some predecessor (cf. Joshua) or natural succession (cf. Solomon). And yet, remarkably, he became the undisputed leader in the nascent nation of Israel. Moreover, he became kingmaker in the land. And even after they had a king (Saul), the narrative gives evidence that Samuel is still the one in charge, including the move to anoint a successor to Saul who is not from Saul’s line (David).
We don’t know how much Hannah or Elkanah lived to see. None of it would have surprised them, though, would it? After all, Samuel’s very birth was an improbability — the work of God’s grace and power. Why shouldn’t the rest of his life be the same? And, as our brief text reveals, “Samuel was continuing to grow and to be in favor both with the Lord and with people.” The trend lines that his earnest parents saw while he was still young, therefore, could be extrapolated out into the remarkable man of God and national leader that Samuel became.
Colossians 3:12-17
If this passage from the Colossians were a color, what color would it be? If it were a type of music, what would it sound like? If it were a part of your anatomy, which part would it be?
I’m not thinking in terms of strict allegory. Rather, I’m thinking of an overall feel, a general impression. What is the feeling you get as you read these verses from Paul?
In addition to three grown daughters, my wife and I are blessed with twin eight-year-old girls. While our older daughters are occupied with adult concerns, the twins are still very much little girls. Their room is filled with stuffed animals. They are surrounded by things that are soft and pastel.
It is tempting for me to read this passage from Paul’s letter to the Colossians and put it in our little girls’ room. It feels soft and pastel to me. If it were music, it would be more “Brahms’ Lullaby” than “Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony”. And if I were to associate this passage with any part of my anatomy, I’m sure it would be my heart — especially my heart in its symbolic sense as the seat of tenderness and emotions.
I share these impressions with you only so that I might correct myself in front of you. For deep inside, you see, I know that I am wrong. My gut reaction to the tone and content of this passage is a misreading of it.
I take words like “compassion,” “kindness,” “gentleness,” “patience,” and “love,” and I make them into the names for a collection of soft, little, stuffed animals. Here is my bunny, Patience. Here is my kitten, Gentleness. That puppy is Kindness. And so on.
These words — these Christian virtues — sound to me like the lyrics for a lullaby. It’s all very pastel. And if I read the first part of the passage in that way, then the rest of the passage will probably be accompanied by the same tune in my mind.
Ah, but I should know better than that. “Gentleness,” for example, implies great strength. It is harnessed strength, to be sure, but it is strength, nonetheless. If a strong, young father is holding his newborn baby, which of the two is the gentle one? The newborn is weak, it’s soft, and it’s vulnerable, but it is not gentle. Gentleness is an attribute of strength.
Likewise with compassion. Look at the portraits of compassion in scripture — the good Samaritan, the father running to embrace his prodigal son, Jesus healing the multitudes — and we see that it is not at all a passive enterprise. Compassion rolls up its sleeves. Compassion endures challenges and pain. Compassion is the strong stuff of sacrifice.
And then there is patience. If patience were like a stuffed animal or a lullaby, we wouldn’t find it so challenging and elusive. No, patience is more like a weightlifter or a marathon runner than a stuffed animal.
So let me set aside — and help the people in my pews who may be like me also to set aside — any harmless, pastel notions about what Paul is saying here. He is not recommending that the Colossian Christians live in a little girl’s room. No, he is commending to them the strong, tough, no-nonsense virtues that characterized Christ himself. This is not rock-you-to-sleep music but a robust back. And if it is a part of the anatomy, it is indeed the heart — not as the stuff of valentines, but as the strong muscle that is constantly moving and is essential for life.
Luke 2:41-52
The brief episode from Luke that serves as our gospel lection for this week is a gift unique to Luke. No other gospel writer gives us any glimpse into Jesus’ growing up years. This is our lone insight into what that home and that phase might have been like. And we discover, not surprisingly, that the episode is as profoundly mixed as Jesus himself.
Our historic Christological affirmation about Jesus is that he was both God and man. Indeed, we affirm what is beyond our comprehending or explaining: that he was fully divine and fully human. How does that work? What does that look like? Well, perhaps it looks just like this pericope from Luke.
The divinity element of the episode is evident in the scene we see in the temple. Young Jesus is found there, conversing with the teachers. If he was only listening to them, then it would be a tribute to his earnestness and humility. But this twelve-year-old is genuinely engaged with the experts, and he is astonishing them. Is he just a prodigy? We might wonder that until the climax of the encounter. But when Jesus identifies the temple as “my Father’s house” — while speaking to his human parents, no less — then we recognize the divinity in the passage.
Meanwhile, our gospel passage is unmistakably human in so many ways.
The journey, for example, is human. This is a fact we may miss because we take it for granted. But the reality is that Jesus and his family were not supernaturally in two places at once, nor were they miraculously transported from Nazareth to Jerusalem and back. No, they walked and ate and rested and walked just like everyone else.
The journey was also altogether human in its companionship. We see that the holy family was traveling as part of a larger group. We can imagine the cadre of friends, neighbors, and extended family members that were making the pilgrimage together. And as the trip was probably made mostly on foot, we can imagine the members of the larger crowd moving freely between smaller groups of walking conversations. It would be an easy thing, therefore, to assume that anyone who did not happen to be with you was certainly with someone else in the plenary caravan
Then there is the altogether familiar and entirely human experience of losing track of a child. If we are accustomed to seeing Mary and Joseph in stained glass or marble, this moment reminds us that they were just as flesh-and-blood as you and I are.
They lost their child, and they panicked. They searched. And they reprimanded. There is nothing supernatural in any of that, you see. It is all fully human.
And Jesus’ behavior, too, strikes us as fully human. Is it not typical of a twelve-year-old to be somewhat oblivious to parental concerns? To say that he still had some growing up to do is not to question his divinity or his perfection. It is to affirm what is revealed in scripture: that he was born on earth as a human being. And for young Jesus to miss the bus ride home, as it were, to fail to communicate with his parents, and then to seem somewhat obtuse to their genuine concern all looks like a twelve-year-old who has some growing up to do.
And grow up he did. That, in fact, is Luke’s concluding word on this episode. “Jesus kept increasing in wisdom and stature, and in favor with God and people.”
In the end, the passage from Luke is a microcosm of our historic, orthodox Christology. It is an episode that is both human and divine. And, as such, it gives us a glimpse into the mystery of Christ.
Application
The Old Testament hero Samuel was an extraordinary man, to be sure, but he was only a man. And, indeed, as we review his story, it’s clear that he was not a perfect man. But he was exemplary, as well as a pivotal character in Israel’s history. And our Old Testament passage about Samuel’s boyhood concludes with this line: “Now the boy Samuel was continuing to grow and to be in favor both with the Lord and with people.”
Over a millennium later, as Luke recorded the story of Jesus’ birth, life, ministry, death, and resurrection, he included for his readers one, brief episode from Jesus’ childhood. This is our gospel lection for the week. And Luke concluded that episode with this line: “And Jesus kept increasing in wisdom and stature, and in favor with God and people.”
The parallels between the statement about Samuel and the statement about Jesus are unmistakable. And while, for almost anyone else, to be compared with Samuel would be immensely flattering, in Jesus’ case it feels different. After all, to be compared to any human being is something of a demotion for the Son of God. And in this case, the parallel passages draw attention to the very humanness of Jesus’ childhood.
The rest of the gospels — apart from this lone, brief excerpt from Luke — allow us to think of Jesus being a baby and Jesus being a man. But Luke reminds us that Jesus was also a boy. And, consequently, that he grew. And that growth is portrayed favorably, in the style of Samuel of old.
As noted above, the growth — dare we say, the development — of Jesus prompts us to ponder the relationship between perfection and mutability. Luke tells us, for example, that Jesus grew in wisdom. If he was less wise before, was he imperfect?
I am a proponent of the notion that there can be change and growth within perfection. A seed could, in theory, be a perfect seed — that is, nothing wrong with it — and yet the seed is not a finished product. It grows into a larger plant. But it could be “perfect” at each step and stage along the way, couldn’t it?
The fact of Jesus’ growth should, I believe, be a great encouragement to us. It reminds us that there is room for our own growth, too. The Lord is not impatient for us to be “finished.” He is content for us to go through the process of going from what we are at this moment to what he intends for us to be in the end. But the fact that he has a “finished product” in mind for us at the end does not mean that we are unsatisfactory in the meantime. Whether with Samuel, with you, or with Jesus himself, the Lord is content for us to be growing in all of the various ways that are pleasing to him and that move us toward what he has in mind.
Alternative Application(s)
1 Samuel 2:18-20, 26; Colossians 3:12-17 — “Tailor-Made”
Some outfits are just striking. They don’t necessarily need to be flamboyant. It’s not as though we walk out into the world each day obliged to look like we are on the red carpet before the Oscars. Yet, still, we know what it is to feel good about how a given outfit looks on us and how we look in it. And that’s a nice way to feel as you go out into the day.
I’m not sure why every outfit doesn’t feel that way, but I know that they don’t. Not for me, at least. But some outfits have the advantage of being “just right.”
In his letter to the Colossians, the Apostle Paul played the role of spiritual haberdasher. He has quite an ensemble picked out for them. And he communicates it to them piece by piece.
“As those who have been chosen of God, holy and beloved,” he writes, “put on...”
The underlying Greek word that Paul uses, which we have translated “put on,” was unmistakable clothing imagery. The same verb is used by Matthew to describe the soldiers putting Jesus’ clothes back on him after they had mocked him (Matthew 27:31). It is used by Mark to describe John the Baptist’s customary clothing (Mark 1:6). It is used in Luke to express the instruction given to the servants about putting the best robe on the prodigal son (Luke 15:22). It is used in Revelation to reference the robe worn by the exalted Christ (Revelation 1:13). This is just a small sample of the usages across the New Testament, but it is enough to give us a sense for the word. Paul is clearly trying to conjure in the Colossians’ minds an image of getting dressed.
The apparel that Paul has in mind, however, is not the ordinary stuff of robes and belts and tunics. Rather, he identifies for them the following wardrobe: “put on a heart of compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness, and patience.” That's quite an outfit!
I think we have all known some folks along the way who dress like this. And they are beautiful people, are they not? The old maxim said, “The clothes make the man.” And in the case of this sort of outfit, the truth is profound.
If you and I want to go out into every day, therefore, wearing something that is truly striking — an ensemble that will make us both look good and feel good — let the apostle be your tailor. This is not an outfit that we put on while standing in front of the mirror, however. No, for this wardrobe, we need to get dressed on our knees. But, of course, there’s no better beauty treatment than that.
The Old Testament writer includes for us a very sweet detail in his telling of the story of young Samuel. “His mother would make for him a little robe,” we read, “and bring it up to him from year to year when she would come up with her husband to offer the yearly sacrifice.” We can imagine the sweetness and care of the mother’s hands as she prepared a little outfit tailor-made for her son, whom she loved. How much more wonderful, then, is the apparel that the heavenly Father has prepared for those he loves! And he is eager for you and me to put it on and wear it every day.
That was fast! Those of us who are parents will recognize the speed of this transition. How many of us have said, “It only seems like yesterday that he/she was a baby”?
The gospel episode from Luke is an important one for our Christology, though, even if it does feel a bit rushed on the day after Christmas. For the truth and beauty of the incarnation is not seen only in that stable or that manger. It is seen also in the twelve-year-old with his parents. And it is seen, too, in the summary statement of how he grew.
There is something perhaps more challenging to our sense of the combined divinity and humanity of Christ when we are forced to think about him as an adolescent. It is easy enough for us to think of him as perfect when he was a baby. After all, we tend to think all babies are perfect! And we have mostly grown accustomed to the stories from his adult ministry, where he functions as a perfect man. But a boy of twelve? What does a perfect twelve-year-old look like? It’s easy to picture how an adolescent can be fully human; but fully divine?
We will explore our Christology a bit more in our treatment of the gospel lection. Just now, however, we turn to a philosophical consideration. Is there mutability in perfection? Can a thing be perfect, change, and remain perfect? This, it seems, is among the issues raised by our text, and an important one to contemplate on the day after Christmas.
1 Samuel 2:18-20, 26
It’s hard for me to imagine making the choice that Hannah and Elkanah did. As the story goes, it seems that after their baby, Samuel, was weaned, they entrusted him to Eli the priest, thus dedicating him to the Lord’s service. And, as suggested by our Old Testament text for this week, they saw their boy once a year.
Of course, it’s hard for me to imagine making a lot of choices that earlier generations made. My maternal grandparents, for example, both left their families behind in Europe as teenagers in the late 1800s to come to America. What hope did they have that they would see their families again? Not much. That’s a hard choice for me to imagine. Likewise with the generations that sent their children off to boarding school while still very young. Not to mention the generations that have had to send their children off to war. These are all parents who were made of sturdier stuff than I am!
It may well be, of course, that my reading of the story of young Samuel is a misreading of the text — and a misunderstanding of Hannah and Elkanah. For I perceive the whole scene as a sad one. But perhaps they did not. Perhaps this whole experience for them was a source of continual rejoicing.
Samuel’s very existence, after all, was an answer to prayer. Hannah had been barren — and perhaps berated — and the early part of the story paints a portrait of a woman who was miserably unhappy. She beseeched the Lord for a child. And dedicating that child to the Lord’s service was not the Lord’s prerequisite but rather Hannah’s proposal. The birth of Samuel, therefore, was a marvelous answer to prayer. And each year when they saw their boy, they were reminded of both God’s miraculous power and his attentive generosity in hearing and answering their prayer.
And then, too, there is that added layer of parental joy that comes when you are so proud of seeing what your son or daughter is becoming and doing. It is such an unspeakable heartache, after all, when your child’s choices or direction in life are negative or unhealthy ones. But these earnest parents were surely gratified year after year to see their boy growing and faithfully serving the Lord.
The Bible doesn’t tell us for how long Hannah and Elkanah lived. We don’t know for how many years they got to see Samuel grow. And so, one wonders if they had the privilege of witnessing all that their son went on to become.
Samuel, after all, becomes a uniquely important and accomplished character in Scripture. He was not primarily a military hero (cf. Deborah or Gideon); he did not burst onto the national scene through great exploits and feats (cf. Samson); he was not publicly heralded as Israel’s leader by some predecessor (cf. Joshua) or natural succession (cf. Solomon). And yet, remarkably, he became the undisputed leader in the nascent nation of Israel. Moreover, he became kingmaker in the land. And even after they had a king (Saul), the narrative gives evidence that Samuel is still the one in charge, including the move to anoint a successor to Saul who is not from Saul’s line (David).
We don’t know how much Hannah or Elkanah lived to see. None of it would have surprised them, though, would it? After all, Samuel’s very birth was an improbability — the work of God’s grace and power. Why shouldn’t the rest of his life be the same? And, as our brief text reveals, “Samuel was continuing to grow and to be in favor both with the Lord and with people.” The trend lines that his earnest parents saw while he was still young, therefore, could be extrapolated out into the remarkable man of God and national leader that Samuel became.
Colossians 3:12-17
If this passage from the Colossians were a color, what color would it be? If it were a type of music, what would it sound like? If it were a part of your anatomy, which part would it be?
I’m not thinking in terms of strict allegory. Rather, I’m thinking of an overall feel, a general impression. What is the feeling you get as you read these verses from Paul?
In addition to three grown daughters, my wife and I are blessed with twin eight-year-old girls. While our older daughters are occupied with adult concerns, the twins are still very much little girls. Their room is filled with stuffed animals. They are surrounded by things that are soft and pastel.
It is tempting for me to read this passage from Paul’s letter to the Colossians and put it in our little girls’ room. It feels soft and pastel to me. If it were music, it would be more “Brahms’ Lullaby” than “Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony”. And if I were to associate this passage with any part of my anatomy, I’m sure it would be my heart — especially my heart in its symbolic sense as the seat of tenderness and emotions.
I share these impressions with you only so that I might correct myself in front of you. For deep inside, you see, I know that I am wrong. My gut reaction to the tone and content of this passage is a misreading of it.
I take words like “compassion,” “kindness,” “gentleness,” “patience,” and “love,” and I make them into the names for a collection of soft, little, stuffed animals. Here is my bunny, Patience. Here is my kitten, Gentleness. That puppy is Kindness. And so on.
These words — these Christian virtues — sound to me like the lyrics for a lullaby. It’s all very pastel. And if I read the first part of the passage in that way, then the rest of the passage will probably be accompanied by the same tune in my mind.
Ah, but I should know better than that. “Gentleness,” for example, implies great strength. It is harnessed strength, to be sure, but it is strength, nonetheless. If a strong, young father is holding his newborn baby, which of the two is the gentle one? The newborn is weak, it’s soft, and it’s vulnerable, but it is not gentle. Gentleness is an attribute of strength.
Likewise with compassion. Look at the portraits of compassion in scripture — the good Samaritan, the father running to embrace his prodigal son, Jesus healing the multitudes — and we see that it is not at all a passive enterprise. Compassion rolls up its sleeves. Compassion endures challenges and pain. Compassion is the strong stuff of sacrifice.
And then there is patience. If patience were like a stuffed animal or a lullaby, we wouldn’t find it so challenging and elusive. No, patience is more like a weightlifter or a marathon runner than a stuffed animal.
So let me set aside — and help the people in my pews who may be like me also to set aside — any harmless, pastel notions about what Paul is saying here. He is not recommending that the Colossian Christians live in a little girl’s room. No, he is commending to them the strong, tough, no-nonsense virtues that characterized Christ himself. This is not rock-you-to-sleep music but a robust back. And if it is a part of the anatomy, it is indeed the heart — not as the stuff of valentines, but as the strong muscle that is constantly moving and is essential for life.
Luke 2:41-52
The brief episode from Luke that serves as our gospel lection for this week is a gift unique to Luke. No other gospel writer gives us any glimpse into Jesus’ growing up years. This is our lone insight into what that home and that phase might have been like. And we discover, not surprisingly, that the episode is as profoundly mixed as Jesus himself.
Our historic Christological affirmation about Jesus is that he was both God and man. Indeed, we affirm what is beyond our comprehending or explaining: that he was fully divine and fully human. How does that work? What does that look like? Well, perhaps it looks just like this pericope from Luke.
The divinity element of the episode is evident in the scene we see in the temple. Young Jesus is found there, conversing with the teachers. If he was only listening to them, then it would be a tribute to his earnestness and humility. But this twelve-year-old is genuinely engaged with the experts, and he is astonishing them. Is he just a prodigy? We might wonder that until the climax of the encounter. But when Jesus identifies the temple as “my Father’s house” — while speaking to his human parents, no less — then we recognize the divinity in the passage.
Meanwhile, our gospel passage is unmistakably human in so many ways.
The journey, for example, is human. This is a fact we may miss because we take it for granted. But the reality is that Jesus and his family were not supernaturally in two places at once, nor were they miraculously transported from Nazareth to Jerusalem and back. No, they walked and ate and rested and walked just like everyone else.
The journey was also altogether human in its companionship. We see that the holy family was traveling as part of a larger group. We can imagine the cadre of friends, neighbors, and extended family members that were making the pilgrimage together. And as the trip was probably made mostly on foot, we can imagine the members of the larger crowd moving freely between smaller groups of walking conversations. It would be an easy thing, therefore, to assume that anyone who did not happen to be with you was certainly with someone else in the plenary caravan
Then there is the altogether familiar and entirely human experience of losing track of a child. If we are accustomed to seeing Mary and Joseph in stained glass or marble, this moment reminds us that they were just as flesh-and-blood as you and I are.
They lost their child, and they panicked. They searched. And they reprimanded. There is nothing supernatural in any of that, you see. It is all fully human.
And Jesus’ behavior, too, strikes us as fully human. Is it not typical of a twelve-year-old to be somewhat oblivious to parental concerns? To say that he still had some growing up to do is not to question his divinity or his perfection. It is to affirm what is revealed in scripture: that he was born on earth as a human being. And for young Jesus to miss the bus ride home, as it were, to fail to communicate with his parents, and then to seem somewhat obtuse to their genuine concern all looks like a twelve-year-old who has some growing up to do.
And grow up he did. That, in fact, is Luke’s concluding word on this episode. “Jesus kept increasing in wisdom and stature, and in favor with God and people.”
In the end, the passage from Luke is a microcosm of our historic, orthodox Christology. It is an episode that is both human and divine. And, as such, it gives us a glimpse into the mystery of Christ.
Application
The Old Testament hero Samuel was an extraordinary man, to be sure, but he was only a man. And, indeed, as we review his story, it’s clear that he was not a perfect man. But he was exemplary, as well as a pivotal character in Israel’s history. And our Old Testament passage about Samuel’s boyhood concludes with this line: “Now the boy Samuel was continuing to grow and to be in favor both with the Lord and with people.”
Over a millennium later, as Luke recorded the story of Jesus’ birth, life, ministry, death, and resurrection, he included for his readers one, brief episode from Jesus’ childhood. This is our gospel lection for the week. And Luke concluded that episode with this line: “And Jesus kept increasing in wisdom and stature, and in favor with God and people.”
The parallels between the statement about Samuel and the statement about Jesus are unmistakable. And while, for almost anyone else, to be compared with Samuel would be immensely flattering, in Jesus’ case it feels different. After all, to be compared to any human being is something of a demotion for the Son of God. And in this case, the parallel passages draw attention to the very humanness of Jesus’ childhood.
The rest of the gospels — apart from this lone, brief excerpt from Luke — allow us to think of Jesus being a baby and Jesus being a man. But Luke reminds us that Jesus was also a boy. And, consequently, that he grew. And that growth is portrayed favorably, in the style of Samuel of old.
As noted above, the growth — dare we say, the development — of Jesus prompts us to ponder the relationship between perfection and mutability. Luke tells us, for example, that Jesus grew in wisdom. If he was less wise before, was he imperfect?
I am a proponent of the notion that there can be change and growth within perfection. A seed could, in theory, be a perfect seed — that is, nothing wrong with it — and yet the seed is not a finished product. It grows into a larger plant. But it could be “perfect” at each step and stage along the way, couldn’t it?
The fact of Jesus’ growth should, I believe, be a great encouragement to us. It reminds us that there is room for our own growth, too. The Lord is not impatient for us to be “finished.” He is content for us to go through the process of going from what we are at this moment to what he intends for us to be in the end. But the fact that he has a “finished product” in mind for us at the end does not mean that we are unsatisfactory in the meantime. Whether with Samuel, with you, or with Jesus himself, the Lord is content for us to be growing in all of the various ways that are pleasing to him and that move us toward what he has in mind.
Alternative Application(s)
1 Samuel 2:18-20, 26; Colossians 3:12-17 — “Tailor-Made”
Some outfits are just striking. They don’t necessarily need to be flamboyant. It’s not as though we walk out into the world each day obliged to look like we are on the red carpet before the Oscars. Yet, still, we know what it is to feel good about how a given outfit looks on us and how we look in it. And that’s a nice way to feel as you go out into the day.
I’m not sure why every outfit doesn’t feel that way, but I know that they don’t. Not for me, at least. But some outfits have the advantage of being “just right.”
In his letter to the Colossians, the Apostle Paul played the role of spiritual haberdasher. He has quite an ensemble picked out for them. And he communicates it to them piece by piece.
“As those who have been chosen of God, holy and beloved,” he writes, “put on...”
The underlying Greek word that Paul uses, which we have translated “put on,” was unmistakable clothing imagery. The same verb is used by Matthew to describe the soldiers putting Jesus’ clothes back on him after they had mocked him (Matthew 27:31). It is used by Mark to describe John the Baptist’s customary clothing (Mark 1:6). It is used in Luke to express the instruction given to the servants about putting the best robe on the prodigal son (Luke 15:22). It is used in Revelation to reference the robe worn by the exalted Christ (Revelation 1:13). This is just a small sample of the usages across the New Testament, but it is enough to give us a sense for the word. Paul is clearly trying to conjure in the Colossians’ minds an image of getting dressed.
The apparel that Paul has in mind, however, is not the ordinary stuff of robes and belts and tunics. Rather, he identifies for them the following wardrobe: “put on a heart of compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness, and patience.” That's quite an outfit!
I think we have all known some folks along the way who dress like this. And they are beautiful people, are they not? The old maxim said, “The clothes make the man.” And in the case of this sort of outfit, the truth is profound.
If you and I want to go out into every day, therefore, wearing something that is truly striking — an ensemble that will make us both look good and feel good — let the apostle be your tailor. This is not an outfit that we put on while standing in front of the mirror, however. No, for this wardrobe, we need to get dressed on our knees. But, of course, there’s no better beauty treatment than that.
The Old Testament writer includes for us a very sweet detail in his telling of the story of young Samuel. “His mother would make for him a little robe,” we read, “and bring it up to him from year to year when she would come up with her husband to offer the yearly sacrifice.” We can imagine the sweetness and care of the mother’s hands as she prepared a little outfit tailor-made for her son, whom she loved. How much more wonderful, then, is the apparel that the heavenly Father has prepared for those he loves! And he is eager for you and me to put it on and wear it every day.
