Candlemass
Today we have come out of the darkness of winter into a church full of candles. With the candle of Christ glowing in our mind’s eye, we listen to readings relating to the presentation of Christ in the Temple. As the gospel lesson tells the story, this firstborn to Mary and Joseph is consecrated to God, and a thank-offering to the Lord God Almighty for the safe delivery and the wonder of a new life entrusted to them, is offered, that pair of doves as a sacrifice a sacrifice which is to be a witness to their presentation of the child in the Temple to God.
The parents had not known that Simeon would be there in the Temple courtyard awaiting the Messiah, the consolation of Israel, when all the ills of life in this wretched world will be forgotten because of the bliss of that world to come, ushered in by the King of Kings, the Lord of Lords, our Christ. Simeon created a scene, probably not like the scenes from television and films – his scene was played out in the quiet and no doubt just a little apart from the everyday activity in this public place. He asked to see the child, just as we have asked to see new-born children when the proud parents come round as a family. But unlike you or me, Simeon says those famous words which are sung so beautifully by choirboys past and present (and I hope in the future), “Lord, now let your servant go in peace …” We all know what Simeon held in his arms, a frail infant, a child with all the potentials to become. Simeon held in his arms that tiny, delicate child and wished all things for him, for he had seen that particular child.
The words he uttered over the holy child, are never to be forgotten if you have heard it sung beautifully, or said with feeling from the depths of the soul. They are words I would like to utter over a child as they come to church as a family for the first time, when parents give their thanks for the birth of that new life. But I am not Simeon, am I? However, I do pray that the Holy Spirit will reveal to me to go to church on a particular day in order to see the child who will grow into this country’s or any other country’s saviour. It is what we do when we see any child. The children are our hopes for the present to blossom next spring.
As I said, I am not made of the same stuff of Simeon, and I will be like many awaiting the coming of the consolation. I will be distracted by my everyday concerns, and I may miss the day of his coming. Will my eyes look upon the glory of God? Will my lips part in song when that day of awe comes? Will I hear the triumphal sound of the angels announcing God’s presence here on earth? Those questions are on my lips and in the back of my mind every day.
But we are all like Simeon in the most profound way, for we are all awaiting that day of judgement and awe which will come. Like all of Israel throughout the history of the covenant with God, we are rather confused as to what this day will be. We want one thing, but when it comes it may be another.
As the words from Malachai remind us, “Who shall abide the day of his coming?” That line is so poignantly sung in Handel’s Messiah, and it wrenches us back to the reality of our waiting for God, that God who promised his comfort, that God who is the consolation of his people. What will that day be like when he appears to us?
That is the most profound question we can ask ourselves. And then the next question is whether we will be able to stand when he does appear.
I would like to offer you a complicated theological phrase to understand Simeon a little better. The phrase is “realised eschatology,” which means that Simeon has been blessed by meeting his Saviour and that is the summation of all of life, that final moment of all time, of all humanity.
But we are all like Simeon, for we have all met our Christ in some way. That thought which keeps us heading toward our pole star. The image which comforts us when we are in despair. A feeling which keeps all unfeelingness away from our souls. Yes, I say again, we are all like Simeon, we have all realised what that final moment will encompass. We are all like Simeon because we have all seen the Christ, the Christ who draws our life out in order that we may make it our own. No longer is anything hidden for us. We know what is right and what is wrong. We know how to love our enemies. We know when all will be well. We all know the why of the world.
There is a psychologist who worked in Vienna like Freud and Jung, his name is Frankl. His way of therapy is very direct and is a questioning of meaning, for he sees all human activity as striving for something beyond itself. A man does not go to work day by day because he wants to go to work, rather, there is something which draws him to work and drives him away from work at the right times. That is works meaning. Most see the day job as something which allows the real interests to blossom, the watercolours, the dirt bike riding, or even the dog showing. Everything points to something else, and that something else transcends all. For even those leisure pursuits drive us on to something else.
Realised eschatology appears when there is no something else to anticipate. Realised eschatology is when Christ is real in our lives, just as Christ was there in Simeon’s arms all those centuries ago. We all know what that psychologist is telling us again, that we live for Christ, the meaning in our lives, when we confess our faith. That psychologist has not told us anything new, but he has focussed our attention on something other than dreams, hasn’t he?
We all know that Christ is the reason for our being here and now, in this place. Christ has called us, whether it be the clarion call or a still small voice. Christ has called us beyond our limited existence and made us realise our purpose, our “end,” what the philosophers call our final cause. Like Simeon, we must say, “I have seen my saviour. Now I may rest in peace because the light to enlighten the peoples has been seen in the child. I bear witness to what will be done in the Name of God in the future through the strength of body, will or mind, that strength of the soul, given to us.”