About My Father’s Business
“And He said to them, ‘Why did you seek Me? Did you not know that I must be about My Father’s business?’” — Luke 2:49 (NKJV)
There’s a sacred weight resting in the words of a twelve-year-old Jesus, standing in the temple courts—not as a boy missing, but as a Son found. His voice, unshaken by the anxious hearts of His parents, carries an eternal resonance, echoing through the marble halls and into the deep places of our own souls.
Imagine the scene. Mary’s heart racing, her hands trembling, her mind unraveling with fear: We’ve lost Him. We’ve lost the One the angel promised. We’ve lost the Son we carried, the Son we raised.
Three days—three long, hollow days—of searching. Frantic footsteps. Sleepless nights. Frayed prayers. And then, finally… there He is.
But He isn’t afraid. He isn’t crying. He isn’t clinging.
He’s seated.
Calm. Confident. Radiant with purpose.
And then comes the question that pierces deeper than any sword:
“Why did you seek Me? Did you not know?”
Did you not know?
If I’m honest, those words unravel me. Because isn’t that the ache beneath all of our searching? The fear that maybe—just maybe—we don’t really know Him like we thought we did? That maybe He’s distant, maybe He’s hiding, maybe we’ve lost Him somewhere along the way.
But He was never lost.
We were.
Mary and Joseph weren’t wrong for searching. They were just looking from the wrong lens—through the eyes of fear instead of the eyes of trust. They thought Jesus had strayed from them, but the truth was, they’d strayed from the awareness of who He really was. Familiarity can make you forgetful.They knew Him as their boy, but in this moment, He was revealing Himself as the Son.
But here’s the shift that undoes me:
What was true for them then is not true for us now.
In that temple, Jesus hadn’t yet poured Himself out on a cross. The veil still hung heavy, dividing sacred space from common man. Access to the fullness of God’s presence was restricted to a select few. Jesus wasn’t to be sought in the way we seek Him now, because the work wasn’t finished.
But now?
Now, the veil has been torn—not just in the temple, but in the human heart. The distance has been closed. The God who once dwelled behind curtains now resides within us.
And here’s the part that makes me weep:
We don’t seek Him because He’s hiding. We seek Him because He’s home.
We’re not orphans begging for crumbs from a distant table. We’re sons and daughters awakening to the reality that we’ve been seated with Him all along. The ache we feel isn’t absence; it’s invitation. The hunger isn’t a sign that He’s far; it’s proof that He’s near.
When Jesus said, “I must be about My Father’s business,” He wasn’t just referring to temple teachings or theological debates. He was talking about you.
You are His Father’s business.
Your heart. Your healing. Your wholeness.
Every step He took toward the cross was a step toward you.
Every drop of blood, a declaration: “You are worth it.”
Every breath He gave up, a whisper: “You are My joy.”
So, my friends, when you feel like you’ve lost Him—when your prayers feel hollow, when the silence feels heavy, when your heart aches with the weight of absence—remember this:
You’re not seeking a God who is missing.
You’re awakening to a God who has never left.
The longing in your heart isn’t a gap to be filled. It’s a door already opened.
The tears you cry aren’t evidence of His distance. They’re the rivers where His love runs deepest.
Jesus isn’t asking, “Why did you seek Me?” anymore.
Now, He’s whispering, “I’ve been here all along.”
And that’s the heart-shattering, soul-healing beauty of Beloved Identity:
We don’t seek to find Him.
We seek to remember we were never lost.
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