Of course it was perfectly true that He gave no trouble in the home; He was astonishingly obedient, and as for love of the Scriptures there had never been His equal. He simply devoured them and was asking continual questions that they could not answer; there wasn't too much time for Bible reading with so many mouths to feed and so much work to be done. Really, there were more important things to do than to delve into Leviticus all day long! Leave that to the Rabbis who were paid to do it.

There were those visions of course, and the wonderful words that had been uttered: time was when Joseph and Mary were continually talking about them. But you can't keep on talking about things that never seem to happen. All the excitement was over, forgotten by all, and life had to be lived. Well, of course, we won't forget them altogether and we can't help thinking, thinking, when the day's work is over: but we won't talk about them any more. If only Jesus had done something wonderful, or been more striking or—oh well, what's the good! He's what He is, and it can't be altered. Thank God He's a good boy in the house, and doesn't give any trouble ...

In some such way faith faded into unbelief, and the tragedy of Isaiah 53 took place. The Lord of Glory was unnoticed and unrevealed, for His Father had ordained that He should grow up as a tender plant and as a root out of a dry ground with no form nor comeliness, nor any beauty to make Him desirable as a national leader. The Son of God passed His early life in this wretched village unobserved and unrecognised; a pleasant enough youth with nice manners and a godly turn to His conversation, but not in any way remarkable, or likely to stir men's hearts for a national crusade. His brothers and sisters accepted Him as one of themselves, the eldest of the family of course and extremely kind, but a bit of a