“Did he, to the best of your recollection, ever lay his hands upon anyone or recite any chant or prayer over anyone who was crippled, diseased, or without sight in an effort to make them whole again?”

“Never! If he had, the villagers would have mocked him, or worse. Still, for two days and nights while our father burned with fever, I remember Jesus sitting with him, holding his hands, ministering to his needs, and praying. Yet … my father died.”

“And how did Jesus act when your father died?”

“As did all of us. He wept.”

I tried to keep the disappointment out of my voice. “In those early years, before your father’s death, was Jesus involved in any situations that seemed unusual to you?”

James closed his eyes. “During the past six years I have meditated on our youth for days on end. Only one occasion would perhaps fit your description. When Jesus had attained his twelfth year he was permitted to accompany our parents to Jerusalem and participate in the holy ceremonies, here in the Temple, for the first time. His strange behavior during those feast days was the subject of many whispered discussions between our parents for months to follow.”

Suddenly I thought of my mother. Luke’s narrative of the youthful Jesus in the Temple had been her favorite, one she had read to me often after she tucked her little guy into bed. Now I was about to learn exactly what had happened during that milestone event in his life.

James continued. “The journey to Jerusalem had been without incident, as was their first day’s visit to the Temple, when our family delivered their Paschal lamb to the high priests for sacrifice. On the second day, after they brought their sheaf of barley to the Temple, they began their homeward journey on roads crowded with pilgrims and animals, believing that Jesus was behind in the company of our neighbors. Not until the next morning did they realize that my brother was not with any of our friends. In haste they returned to Jerusalem and searched for three days before they finally found him, in one of these cubicles, sitting as we are now, among some of our most respected rabbis and teachers, not only asking questions like the other children present but answering many, to the amazement of the crowd. As only a mother would act, ours broke through the throng, seized Jesus, and angrily demanded an explanation as to why he had treated them so and caused both her and our father such anguish.”

“What was his response?” I asked, almost too eagerly.