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| "The Presentation of Our Lord" (Bartolomeo, It. 1516) |
“…for my eyes have
seen your salvation…” (Luke 2:30a)
So what are you waiting
for? We spend a big chunk of our lives waiting, don’t you think? When
you’re a kid you can’t wait to grow up. You wait for Christmas, or for
graduation, or for your first car. We anxiously count down the days until a
baby is born. We wait for the opportunity to get that new job, or for escrow to
close on our home, or for retirement, or the birth of a grandchild.
Sometimes there are
things we hope we can see before we die. It might be something that’s just
silly, like one more Super Bowl victory for our favorite team. Or it might be something
which is deeply impacting. We want our child to get out of rehab and assure us
he’s on the right track in life. We want to see a certain project come to
completion and know our work has not been in vain. We want to patch things up
with an estranged loved one. Then we can die in peace.
For some of us, we’re
waiting for the world to change.
IN the gospel lesson in
the Revised Common Lectionary appointed for the Feast of the Presentation of
Our Lord (Luke 2:22-40), we see two seniors who’ve been hanging around
the temple in Jerusalem, praying and waiting for God to do God’s thing and
restore a broken nation. The Bible says Simeon—a pretty darn good old dude who
was righteous and devout—was “looking forward to the consolation of Israel.” That
is, he was waiting for some word of comfort for his people. Anna, the octogenarian
widow, wanted to share the Good News of Jesus’ birth with those who were
looking for “the redemption of Jerusalem.”
These two geezers wanted
to see things put right. They loved the Lord, and they knew from their youth
what God desires. It must’ve been hard for them to live under Roman occupation,
knowing a pagan dictator was calling the shots in the land that had been
promised to their ancestor Abraham and his descendants. They must’ve grieved
the violence with which the Romans kept order and the violence with which the
Zealots opposed that order. They must’ve seen the greed and corruption of the
temple officials and the hypocrisy of the Pharisees. I’ll bet they felt their
own identity as God’s Chosen People had been poisoned by a fractured and
godless world.
But then a young couple
came to the temple, showing devotion to God by observing the customs of the
faith. And they had with them a little baby boy who was to be presented to the
Lord.
A quick word, if I may,
about this practice of presentation and purification. Jesus would’ve
been circumcised on the eighth day after his birth, but Mary wouldn’t be able
to go to the temple or synagogue for another 33 days under Levitical law. Because
the ancient Hebrews had a thing about blood, women who had given birth—and you
must admit we all came into this world in
a pretty messy way—were deemed to be ritually unclean until 33 days after the
birth of their son. If Jesus had been born a girl, Mary would have to wait 66
days (Go figure!). Mosaic law decreed that the firstborn of anyone—be they
human or animal—was to be presented as an offering to the Lord. Naturally, one
would not want to give away their child, so parents could present their
firstborn and redeem him with a burnt offering of a goat and a sin offering of
a turtle dove or a pigeon. If the couple were poor and couldn’t afford a goat,
two pigeons were the discount rate. [i]
There are some things about this passage which I find rather touching. The first is that Mary and Joseph were obviously poor because they paid the poor peoples’ rate—two pigeons to redeem the Savior of the world. I also love the image of this old guy, Simeon, holding up the baby boy like a proud grandpa seeing the next generation of his family name. He knows this child is the representation of his hope. The Holy Spirit has called him to the temple to meet the one who will lift up the oppressed and put the arrogant in their place. Of course, as Simeon tells Mary, this isn’t going to be a day at the beach for Jesus. He will be opposed—and, indeed, continues to be. The Good News doesn’t mean the absence of suffering.
I also love Anna. I’ve
known so many Annas in my time—little widow ladies who love their place of
worship, never miss a Sabbath service, serve on altar guilds and sing in choirs
and send out birthday cards and anniversary cards to folks in the congregation.
The Church thrives on the faithfulness of all the Annas and on their prayers.
They are the ones who have lived patient lives and can speak with authority
about the goodness of the Lord.
Anna and Simeon won’t
live to hear Jesus preach or see him perform miraculous healings. But they live
knowing God has not abandoned them. They keep believing in the righteousness
which is to come.
I am reminded of Dr.
Martin Luther’s King’s last sermon, often called “The Mountaintop Speech,” which
ended in a rhetorical flourish:
Well, I don't know
what will happen now. We've got some difficult days ahead. But it really
doesn't matter with me now, because I've been to the mountaintop. And I don't
mind. Like anybody, I would like to live a long life; longevity has its place.
But I'm not concerned about that now. I just want to do God's will. And He's
allowed me to go up to the mountain. And I've looked over. And I've seen the
Promised Land! I may not get there with you, but I want you to know tonight,
that we, as a people, will get to the Promised Land! So I'm happy tonight, I'm
not worried about anything! I'm not fearing any man! Mine eyes have seen the
glory of the coming of the Lord!
Dr. King was assassinated
the day after he made this speech.
Perhaps we all are
waiting for those things we might not get to see—an answer to climate change, a
lasting peace in the world, an end to poverty and gun violence, a renaissance for
the American Christan Church or whatever it is that touches your heart
right now. We may not see it come to pass, but we have seen the Light of
the World. We have heard the voice of Jesus, and we still believe in our
hearts.
The grass withers,
the flower fades, but the word of the Lord stands forever.
(Isaiah 40:8)
Peace be with you, my
friend.
[i] See Leviticus 12. A famous exception to this rule was made by Hannah in 1 Samuel 1:1 – 2:11. She wanted a child so badly she was willing to give her son, Samuel, to serve in the temple as soon as he was old enough. The command to give the firstborn is found in Genesis 17:10-12.
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