By all accounts, when my parents told me I would be a big brother, I didn’t take the news well. Although, to be fair, I was very young when they told me. Again, if my mother is to be believed, I was a precocious child–which, I think we all can agree, feels like a questionable assertion.

If ever there was a kid who wanted to be an only child, it was me, apparently—if my mother is to be believed—which I don’t because that sounds nothing like me.

When they came home from the hospital, I didn’t quite cotton to my newly-arrived younger brother. My mom said that I wasn’t petulant or mean to him but that I just walked around looking betrayed all the time. She said, “I could just see it in your eyes.”

Is there anything worse than feeling betrayed by the people supposed to love you most?

When someone or a system we thought was intended to aid and benefit us betrays us, the feeling gets lodged deep inside our souls. It’s hard to see anything else but the betrayal.

I suspect that’s why so many marriages fail after one partner feels betrayed by the other. How do you get past that feeling in your gut every time you think of it? Like the tongue that rolls around and can’t stay away from the sore spot in your mouth, our minds return repeatedly to the betrayal.

We ruminate over it, meaning we gnaw on it like a cow chewing its cud, swallowing it, and then bringing it up to chew on all over again. Wash, rinse, repeat.

So villainous is betrayal that Dante places it in the ninth circle of hell, which is at the center. Interestingly enough, Dante depicts the deepest place in hell not as a lake of fire but as a lake of ice. Those who’ve betrayed family, country, a guest, or a benefactor populate this ninth circle—all trapped in ice. This part of hell is reserved for the worst traitors, like Brutus and Cassius, who betray Julius Caesar. And, of course, Judas Iscariot, the betrayer of Jesus—who gets devoured continuously by Lucifer himself (the greatest betrayer of all) at the very center.

But Judas wasn’t Jesus’ first betrayer. Jesus had to deal with it even closer to home. I can only imagine how he must have felt when he went home and found himself persona non grata.

After returning to his hometown, maybe hoping to catch up with a few friends from high school—I don’t know, maybe look up his 7th-grade math teacher or Boy Scout Troop Leader. Who knows?

But when he arrives, he’s doing his thing, and people start losing their minds. Now, I know that your Bible says the hometown folks were “astounded.” Some versions say that they were “amazed.” Both versions sound like they see Jesus’ little magic show and say, “Wow! Who knew the kid had it in him?”

But that translation doesn’t account for the slur the crowd hurls at Jesus. If they were starstruck by the boy who came home, they wouldn’t have concluded by wondering aloud how “the son of Mary” could do anything worth taking notice of.

“How is that a slur?” you ask.

For the townspeople to have identified him by his mother meant that Josep—for whatever reason—was no longer around. So, the single-mom jibe (apparently, always a popular go-to) would be offensive to just about anybody.

“But so what?” you say. “So, Joseph’s not around, and Mary’s been left holding the same bag every other single mom has lugged around for a good part of their life. Not good, I’ll grant, but certainly not unique.”

So, why do I think this reference to Jesus’ parentage wasn’t a casual observation by a busybody in the crowd but an intentional slur?

If you remember all the way back in chapter three, Jesus was once again in Nazareth, his hometown. Only that time, his mother and the rest of the family came out to tell him to tone down his stage show a bit because the locals were starting to gossip. When told that his mother and brothers were there to talk to him, Jesus turned his back to his family and wondered aloud in front of God and everybody, “Who are my mother and brothers?” Like they weren’t even there.

And if that weren’t bad enough, he just got up and left, took off toward the sea. I’m sure his family was confused and embarrassed.

“Well, obviously, they’re embarrassed. Who wouldn’t be? But what does this have to do with Jesus being rejected by his hometown folks three chapters later, and what’s up with the whole slur-thing?”

We know that when Jesus went home the second time, the crowd was hostile and not awestruck.