Not so Fast
Luke 2:22-38
Rev. Dr. Mary Alice Mulligan
What a great Christmas Eve we had. Sally, the choir, and 13 members of Strings Con Brio at 6:00, then Lessons and Carols at 7. Friends, family, and first-time visitors celebrating the birth of Jesus together. Then later, after we all got home, perhaps we watched midnight mass or a Christmas movie, only to be assailed with commercials, advertising what? After Christmas sales! Christmas Day had not even dawned, and society was already done with it. Similarly, many of us are tempted to put away the tree the minute the presents are opened. We have a long weekend. Might as well make the best of it. Jesus is born – yippee! Now let’s put away the manger. But wait. Instead, let’s say, “Not so fast.” If the birth of Christ changes the world, let’s not clear the Table so quickly. Let’s linger with the Holy Family and their new baby as long as we can. From the 2nd chapter of the Gospel of Luke, listen for the Word of God.
When the time came for their purification according to the law of Moses, they brought him up to Jerusalem to present him to the Lord (as it is written in the law of the Lord, “Every firstborn male shall be designated as holy to the Lord”), and they offered a sacrifice according to what is stated in the law of the Lord, “a pair of turtledoves or two young pigeons.”
Now there was a man in Jerusalem whose name was Simeon; this man was righteous and devout, looking forward to the consolation of Israel, and the Holy Spirit rested on him. It had been revealed to him by the Holy Spirit that he would not see death before he had seen the Lord’s Messiah. Guided by the Spirit, Simeon came into the temple; and when the parents brought in the child Jesus, to do for him what was customary under the law, Simeon took him in his arms and praised God, saying, “Master, now you are dismissing your servant in peace, according to your word; for my eyes have seen your salvation, which you have prepared in the presence of all peoples, a light for revelation to the Gentiles and for glory to your people Israel.” And the child’s father and mother were amazed at what was being said about him. Then Simeon blessed them and said to his mother Mary, “This child is destined for the falling and the rising of many in Israel, and to be a sign that will be opposed so that the inner thoughts of many will be revealed—and a sword will pierce your own soul too.” There was also a prophet, Anna the daughter of Phanuel, of the tribe of Asher. She was of a great age, having lived with her husband seven years after her marriage, then as a widow to the age of eighty-four. She never left the temple but worshiped there with fasting and prayer night and day. At that moment she came, and began to praise God and to speak about the child to all who were looking for the redemption of Jerusalem.
If you belong to Amnesty International, you know they once took up the cause of a man locked away in a prison cell in Latin America, a pacifist who had spoken out. The only daylight that came into his cell was through a small opening at the top of one wall. He felt no one knew where he was, or even if he were still alive. All hope had been snuffed out. One day, his cell door opened; a guard tossed in a crumpled piece of paper. It said simply, “Constantino, do not be discouraged; we know you are alive.” It was signed with a name and the Amnesty International logo, a lighted candle. The prisoner admits the words saved his life and his sanity. Although it was months before he was freed, he testifies he was actually saved the day the note landed in his cell. Those brief words of hope saved his life. When hope is gone, life is no longer possible. On the other hand, as long as a person has some tiny spark of hope, nothing can extinguish it.
Israel had waited centuries for salvation. Generation after generation of Hebrew people had heard Word of Yahweh’s promised salvation. “The LORD God treasures Israel,” the prophets claimed, “as a priceless jewel in the sacred crown.” How joyous the people must have felt, believing God delighted in drawing all of them into the divine family as beloved children. Think how powerful those words were for Israel during the 600 years between the prophets and the census of Caesar Augustus. During those centuries, the people of Israel rejoiced in the completion of the Temple of Jerusalem, only to have heathen armies overrun and conquer them. But God’s promises accompanied them into exile. When they returned to Israel, they had to rebuild a less glorious Temple. They remained an occupied people. Foreign powers dominated their land; a foreign government collected taxes from them at will and stockpiled arms against them. Rome ruled over struggling, fragile Israel. Yet scripture still told these most powerless people that they are God’s precious possession, faithfully adored forever, and promised Yahweh’s power will free them from foreign occupation. A savior will come, establishing an eternal jubilation.
How must it have felt to be told: you are God’s most precious? God Almighty holds you, Israel, in the divine hand, turns you, drinks in your being, takes infinite pleasure in your company. Year after year, in the midst of Roman oppression, the people repeated the holy words of scripture. They were words too precious to dare to believe. We might say they were words too good to be true. Exactly. After how many centuries would it seem too good to be true? To most of the Israelites would it not eventually sound like pie in the sky? And year after year, more unbelievable? “We are so precious that God will deliver us from bondage and alienation?” Only a religious fanatic could believe God would raise up a Messiah to save Israel. After centuries of waiting, who expected Israel’s redemption? Those prophetic words grew dusty; no wonder belief in them was fading. Israel’s promise of salvation was ancient history.
But faithful waiting pays off. Those who wait, believing, will receive God’s blessing. When God is the guarantor, the wait is worth it. Did you ever notice the moment at weddings when the waiting is over? The moment happens, not with the rings or the pronouncement or the kiss. The moment when the waiting is done and the promise accomplished is at the beginning of the ceremony, when each of the couple first spots the other. There the marriage is made. The nervous, scattered, childishness of the last hours vanishes. It is miraculously replaced by a calmer, anchored, and joyous participation. Although not yet married, somehow exchanging the first glance with the beloved solidifies the moment – makes the marriage real.
Simeon and Anna have been waiting like faithful brides. They know the imagery from Scripture, the giddy excitement over the preparation of Yahweh for Israel. Simeon and Anna believe they will see it – God’s redemption of Israel, even though they don’t know what it will look like. But then, when they see the little family, come for purification, they know. He’s the one; he’s the one. Anna goes to everyone she knows who is waiting for Israel’s release, this time from Roman occupation, and tells them about the baby Jesus.
It's amazing. For their liberation, no one would expect a baby story. Faithful Israelites may think God will bless a zealot overthrow of the Romans, but no baby. A national strike, yes. Or a warrior king, probably. But not a baby! But like others on their wedding day, when Anna’s eyes behold the bridegroom, she knows. When Simeon holds the child, he knows.
Rome still rules. Israel is not free. Yet for Anna, and Simeon, and all the faithful watchers, everything is different. Redemption may not be here in its fullness, but the faithful have seen the Redeemer! So nothing Caesar or all the powers of hell can do, will stop God’s will. The ones who are watching, see the day. Their faithful waiting pays off.
The Savior has come. Here is born the one who saves Israel. In fact, we are told he is savior of the world. Yet, if we are honest, we find we struggle to make sense of the idea of a savior of the whole world. Couldn’t a savior do better than this? God is supposed to love us and prepare the best for us. But some of us still become widowed (as Anna did) too early; some of us have painful illnesses; some of our children get sick; some die. If the Savior can’t fix all the wrongs of the world, why call him a Savior? What difference does our faith make?
One theologian who tussles with these questions, comes up with this metaphor: When our car slides off the road into a snowbank in subzero weather and dies, we discover that ours is not a God who throws down a lightning bolt to strike the electrical system. Jesus does not perform miraculous jumpstarts. Rather, the theologian concludes, ours is a God more like the guy who comes trudging down the snowy road, who stops to offer help, helps dry off the distributor, holds open the breather, pushes, shovels, and when all else fails, ours is a God who is willing to die with us in the snowbank.[1]
This is not a magnificent idea of God incarnate. Not what we expect. Or hope for. We want a conquering, lightning bolt-hurtling, Caesar-god, and we get instead a baby, shuddering in the cold. For the stable in Bethlehem, shudders in the shadow of a cross. Scripture tells us when Christ becomes like us, suffering and giving all, then he is able to save us. In our bleakest moments, here he is. The Savior is born.
So, listen, waiting bride of Christ. God has come to earth in human flesh to save us, save us from self-centered materialism, from meaninglessness; save us from hopelessness. Humanity is so precious that God comes, not on majestic transport but almost hidden, veiled in flesh, fragile human flesh, a defenseless baby, the incarnation of God who loves us enough to live and die with us.
[1] This comes from Robert Farrar Capon, perhaps from The Third Peacock.