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| Simeon and Anna Recognize the Lord in Jesus: Rembrandt van Rijn |
Scripture can be found here...
The month of January was named by
the ancient Romans for their god Janus, the god of beginnings and, therefore,
also, endings. Also the god, therefore, of transitions, gateways, doorways and
time. Janus was the god who looked both backwards and forwards, so he was
depicted as having with two faces, so that he could do both at the same time.
Looking back and looking forward.
It’s what we do at this time of year. We look back at the year gone by. Print
and online magazines will provide us photographs and biographies of the famous
and infamous people who died this year—Maurice Sendak and Sally Ride. Donna
Summer and Arthur Ochs Sulzberger. Phyllis Diller and Neil Armstrong. Nora
Ephron and David Rakoff. And the critics will offer up their lists of the ten
best movies, and the ten best novels, and the ten craziest things said by this
or that pundit or news station this year. We look forward too, by the making of
our own lists—our New Year’s Resolutions, the ways in which we will become, we
hope, better people. I will learn to play the mandolin, I will lose weight, I
will cut down on the time spent online, I will write letters with pen and
paper. We look back and we look forward.
Have you ever wondered why this
time of looking back and looking forward is most commonly celebrated by getting
good and drunk?
There are lots of possible
answers to that question. Here’s my guess. I think it can be hard to look back.
For some, they are looking back on a tragedy like that suffered by the
community of Rochester on Christmas Eve, or the one ten days earlier in Newtown,
CT, the death of so many innocents. For others, the hardships were not on the
scale of sudden tragedy, but were sustained over time, like a long, dull ache
that does not go away. Life transitions, job losses, relocation, relationship
troubles or breakups, health problems small, medium and large. These are the kinds of painful realities
that may well still be with us as we transition into the New Year. Looking back
can draw a sharp red line under the pain that only seems to increase the ache.
Thus, the impulse to dull it, deny it, and cover it up with a celebration whose
main feature seems to be not being able to remember too much the next day.
Simeon and Anna look back and
look forward, too, but in a way that is very different.
When we meet Simeon, we are told
he is a man “righteous and devout, and looking forward to the consolation of
Israel.” Simeon looks back, and he sees the pain—all that pain and suffering we
have been hearing about all through the fall, the story of the struggles of God’s
people. But Simeon looks forward as well. He looks forward to God’s
consolation.
That word, consolation, is from a
Greek word meaning “calling near.” Simeon is looking forward to that time when
all God’s people will know that God walks beside them, that God hears their
cries and pleas and calls for help. You could make the argument that Simeon is
looking forward to the coming of a Messiah.
Simeon sees that consolation in
the flesh when he sees the infant Jesus, the one brought to the temple by his
parents.
Anna, too, looks back on a life
with its share of pain. She and her husband had just seven short years together,
and she has lived the rest of her life—fifty years or more—in the temple. Anna
is a prophet, and that means she is a truth teller. Anna’s truth is that she
spends all her days hoping, praying, waiting, looking forward that time when
the balm and healing of God, will pour down upon her and upon all God’s hurting
children.
Anna sees Jesus, and he becomes
her truth, he becomes that healing balm of God.
Both Anna and Simeon look back
and see in the past, not just the pain, but also the joy. They see both pain
and joy in the future as well, in their own lives, and in the life of this tiny
child, still in the arms of his parents. We hear Simeon’s words to Mary, and we
wonder—is this the kind of thing one says to a new mother? But this is not just
the very real and human story of the life of Jesus unfolding; it is the story
of scripture, too. As we tell the story, we tell it all—we don’t leave out the
painful bits, or the traumas, and we don’t leave out the joys and beauty. We
try to tell the truth, tell it whole.
Looking back and looking forward.
Like Anna and Simeon, we are here in the midst of the still-beautiful
celebration of Jesus’ birth, God’s consolation, God’s drawing near to frail and
fragile humanity. We have called, and God has come. This morning, after our
offering, we will all share in an opportunity to pray, not simply with words,
but with actions, for healing and wholeness, for ourselves, for those we love,
and for God’s whole world. You will be invited to come forward, if you wish, to
receive anointing and prayer, from either myself or one of our ruling elders.
Anointing with oil and prayer is an ancient way of showing that you are asking
for God’s healing. It is an enacted prayer, a physical sign of your spiritual
hope.
You will also be invited to light
a candle, as another form of a prayer-in-action. These can be prayers for
yourself, for a loved one, for a group of people, for a community, for the
church, for the whole world. Your candle is a physical sign of your spiritual
hope.
And you will be invited to a time
of silent prayer. Prayer in community is a powerful thing. Even if you choose
not to come forward to light a candle or to receive anointing, you can
participate by praying.
“My eyes have seen your
salvation,” Simeon says, “which you have prepared in the presence of all
peoples, a light for revelation to the Gentiles and for glory to your people
Israel.” God’s consolation is for all. God’s promise of healing is not about
holiness or worthiness or praying hard enough or being anointed well enough.
God’s consolation, God’s healing, is a gift. As we look back on the year past
and as we look forward to the year that dawns, God’s consolation is free for
the asking. Thanks be to God. Amen.
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