When Jesus Was Lost in Jerusalem

Every time Suzanne Beck prays the Joyful Mysteries of the Rosary, she recalls the time she was briefly separated from her child in a crowded airport.

The boys were 7 and 10, and we had spent two fun weeks with Grandma and Grandpa in their small Midwest town—a busy time of catching crawdads in the creek, playing twilight baseball and badminton in their big back yard, catching fireflies, playing card games till the wee hours and several trips to the "red spoon store" (Dairy Queen). The plan was to drive to Chicago, meet Dad at the airport, and then spend the next few days doing fun family things there—museums, aquarium, planetarium.

The three of us arrived at O’Hare airport with two weeks’ worth of luggage and planned to lug it all through the security checkpoint so that we could greet dad at his gate (back in the day, you could actually do that). As luck would have it, we got an agent who took her job very, very seriously! She thought she saw something in our bags and proceeded to inspect every article in each bag with a fine-toothed comb. Dirty clothes, toys, and various memorabilia from our adventures were spilling out all over the conveyor belt, and I was frazzled trying to keep track of the two boys, get everything back in the bags, and still be civil to the agent. Then, of course, we were running late. Dad’s plane would be arriving at the gate in just a few minutes.

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Thing One (the oldest) was well acquainted with traveling; while this was a bigger airport than we typically frequented, I felt comfortable sending him ahead to the gate while I put things back together at the security checkpoint. Dad’s arrival gate would be in the D concourse, and I could see that hallway was just a few steps away, so I pointed it out to him and explained that he should just go down that hall until he found the correct gate. He was up for the task and took off on his mission.

Thing Two and I collected all our things, got the baggage back onto the cart and made our way to that D concourse hallway. When we arrived at the entrance, my heart almost stopped. It was not a regular concourse hallway after all: it was THE longest escalator down that I had ever seen, covering at least two full stories. I didn’t realize that we were in one terminal but literally had to go down UNDER the runways to an adjacent terminal to meet the plane.

I cannot begin to convey the fear that gripped my heart. I felt like I had just sent Thing One into the abyss of hell. With the big cart of luggage, we couldn’t manage the escalator. Locating the elevator took several minutes, as it was in the farthest, most unobtrusive corner possible. We made our way with me trying to remain calm on the outside, but inwardly, already frazzled from the security experience, I cried out to God to protect Thing One and please help him to find his dad. After the (slowest ever) elevator ride down, we crossed the expanse under the runway and then had to find the OTHER elevator to take us UP to the correct terminal. By this time, I was in an almost hysterical state, thinking I have completely lost Thing One forever.

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We finally arrived at the gate, hoping to see him and Dad, but alas, the plane had landed early, and neither were anywhere to be seen. I had no idea (before cell phones/pagers, of course) if they had met up or if Thing One had been kidnapped, and by this time I was in tears. The sweet gate agent tried to help by paging Dad while we waited, but to no avail. Finally, they suggested that we make our way to the baggage claim and hopefully we would meet there.

Thing Two and I repeated the process in reverse … elevator ride down, hike across the under-runway expanse, elevator ride up, somehow finding baggage claim.

And yes, there was Thing One with Dad, as if nothing had ever happened, with both of them mystified as to why I was so upset. Thing One insisted repeatedly that everything was fine, he knew what he was doing and that *I* was the one who had been lost, he’d known all along what he was doing and that everything was fine!

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I find great comfort knowing that while I thought I was alone, Mary was right with me, empathizing and calming my panicked heart. #CatholicMom

We had a lovely family time in Chicago as planned, but I couldn’t stop thinking of the panic. And then it occurred to me: Mary must have felt something of the same panic when Jesus was lost in Jerusalem. She thought He was safe with friends and family as they left the city only to realize late in the day that he wasn’t in the company of anyone, so He must have been left behind. Can you imagine the panic she must have felt? She and Joseph rushed back (in the dark?) and spent THREE DAYS looking for Him.

Maybe Mary trusted God more or better than me and wasn’t worried. But I have to think that she was a human mother and was just as distraught as I was. How did she sleep for the two nights when they hadn’t found Him? Was Joseph comforting her? What was she telling herself? I mean, she’d lost the Son of God! And then how did she keep her cool when they did finally find Him and only say, “Son, why have you treated us like this? Your father and I have been anxiously searching for you”?

I relive this frequently as I meditate on the Joyful Mysteries of the Rosary and these, and more, questions still fill my mind. I find great comfort knowing that while I thought I was alone, Mary was right with me, empathizing and calming my panicked heart. And while I know that the story is called "The Finding of Jesus in the Temple," in my mind it still is "Mom Loses Son in the Big City," and I will always feel her pain!

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