Jesus went where?

Family. Nothing quite like it--for better or for worse!

Now, one of the other (7) books by Mark and Elizabeth Clare Prophet that John and I had acquired over the 18 months prior to his diagnosis was The Lost Years of Jesus: Documentary Evidence of Jesus' 17 Year Journey. I started reading it when he got sick and took it with me on our trips to the clinics. I was looking for something on the lighter side, something interesting; something close to a novel. It was interesting--filled with pictures and maps; got my mind off our problems for a bit, and, most importantly, didn’t require much from me.


One night, I got home late from visiting John at the hospital and one of my aunts and my grandmother, who were babysitting, were still up. I got a glass of water, thanked them for their help, and started to go upstairs to bed. My aunt (unfortunately plagued by chronic narrow-mindedness), picked my copy of The Lost Years of Jesus off the kitchen table and, holding it somewhat in my face, asked, “So, where do you think he was?” I said, “What?” She said, “Jesus. Where do you think he was?” It was not going to be pleasant and I was determined to not engage.

I said, “It’s late. I’m going to bed. I haven’t finished the book yet and I’m not going to get into a debate with you.” My grandmother piped up, “I know where he was--he went to the East to study.” I said, “Oh, were you reading the book?” She said, “No. My father told me when I was 12 years old.” I said, “What?” She said, “When I was 12 years old, I was attending the Sacred Heart Academy in New York City.” (She was half French, half Italian; born in Constantinople and raised speaking French, English and Italian.) “One night I asked my father where Jesus was between the age of 12 and when his story started up again in the New Testament. He asked me where I thought he was. I told him that I didn’t know where he was, but I didn’t believe that he spent all those years doing woodwork and carpentry with his father. My father said, ‘You’re right. He didn’t.’”

She went on to explain that before meeting her mother, her father had been interested in becoming a Jesuit priest. He had a friend who was a Jesuit who was working in the Vatican at the time (before 1900), who gave him a small book to read and told him that if he could read that and go forward with the knowledge contained within, and understand and be able to live with the fact that it would never be shared with the Catholic lay people of the world, then he would be able to be an excellent Jesuit. My great-grandfather read the book, and decided he could not become a Jesuit. Why not? Because the book told about the same story that is told in The Lost Years of Jesus--that Jesus went to the East, to India and Tibet and studied with the lamas and teachers there, before he returned to begin his mission of three years as described in the Gospels. My great-grandfather could not reconcile the Catholic Church keeping such critical information from the people.

My aunt, who was listening to her mother’s story in disbelief, said, “Why didn’t you ever tell us?”

My grandmother looked up at her with her big, deep-set brown/black eyes and, very matter-of-factly said, “You never asked.”

On that extraordinarily awkward note, I went to bed and left them to their own discussion.

Ah…family dynamics! Ya’ never know what your grandma knows unless you ask!

Today is Tuesday, and it is blue. Blue is the color of God’s Will. While it was my growing faith in and acceptance of God’s Will that would sustain me then and in years to come, my grandmother’s newly revealed family mysteries contributed greatly to the “coloring” of my journey!