A Fourth Church Sermon by Victoria G. Curtiss

December 28, 2008 | 6:30 p.m. Vespers

Let Nothing You Dismay

Victoria G. Curtiss
Associate Pastor, Fourth Presbyterian Church

Psalm 148:7–14
Isaiah 52:7–10
Luke 2:22–40

We just heard the last scene in Luke’s story of the birth of Jesus. The ending of the story parallels its beginning: both feature two elderly persons. At the beginning of Luke’s story, Elizabeth and Zechariah, who had not been able to have children, are joyfully surprised to learn they will be expecting a baby boy whose name is John, John the Baptist, who heralds the coming of Jesus into the world. Now, at the end of the story of Jesus’ birth, we encounter Simeon and Anna. They have spent their lifetimes expecting a baby boy, not as a biological son but as the Messiah, the Savior of the world

Simeon and Anna were not a married couple, but both were in the temple constantly. They spent their days and nights worshiping, fasting and praying, watching and waiting upon God. Old man Simeon is in the temple because he is expecting the Messiah. In the Hebrew Scriptures of Malachi (3:1–2), it is prophesied that when the Messiah comes, he will come “suddenly to the temple.” So every morning Simeon gets up and goes to the temple, because the Holy Spirit had disclosed to him that before he died he would see the Messiah.

In the temple, the men and women were in separate places. Simeon must have been standing either in the court of the women or at the entrance to the temple, looking for the Messiah. He’s been there for years, waiting, watching. He even checks out babies. He sees Mary, Joseph, and the baby come up the steps. Simeon holds out his arms to embrace the baby Jesus. The original language for “embrace” literally means “to receive.” Simeon later became known as the “God-Receiver.”

“Let me see the baby.” Mary lets him. There is an instant recognition. “The aged Simeon at the end of his life holds in his arms a child that is just beginning his life. Simeon’s eyes have peered into the distance and seen the salvation that this child will bring to the Gentiles and Israel alike” (Raymond Brown, The Birth of the Messiah, p. 460). And Simeon sings, “Now, let your servant depart in peace. For my eyes have seen your salvation.” Translation: “The Messiah has come. I can die now; the reason I’ve been holding on for so long has now come.” Simeon may depart in peace not because he has finished his task but because God has now fulfilled God’s word (Brown, p. 455). Simeon’s song is one of thanksgiving to God for the gift of this child, “a light to the Gentiles, glory to the Jews.” This child is a savior for all peoples.

But Simeon’s song does not stop there. True prophet that he is, he not only sees that Jesus brings salvation to all people; he also sees rejection and catastrophe. Simeon announces, “This child is destined for the falling and rising of many,” which means this child is going to be controversial. There’s going to be division because of him. Jesus himself is quoted later in Luke as saying, “I have not come to bring peace but rather division” (Luke 12:51–53).

Simeon addresses his tragic second vision to the mother of the child, Mary. He says, “A sword will pierce your own soul, too.” Mary, the first to receive the good news about Jesus, would face the challenge that the claims of Jesus’ heavenly Father would outrank any human attachments between her son and her. She would also encounter in her own soul the tragedy of the rejection of Jesus by many in Israel whom he came to help (Brown, p. 466).

The story of the birth of Jesus doesn’t gloss over the pain of life. Already Luke has sketched in the shadow of a cross beam. But, wait—there’s something more. Right after naming the challenge Mary would face, Luke introduces us to the prophet Anna.

Anna, like Simeon, is another expert authority on the Messiah. She, too, was well on in years and devoted herself daily to worship, prayer, and fasting. Anna agreed with Simeon. This baby is what we have been looking for. And what’s more, Anna told that to anybody who would listen: “This is the Messiah.” She is corroborating witness.

When Simeon says, “This is the Messiah,” it means something. It’s an authority speaking. He’s a Messianic scholar. He knows all the scripture texts. He knows who to look for and where to look. He’s an authority.

Anna has been a widow for most of her eighty-four years. Widows were dependent on other people’s charity in that time, often poor and treated unjustly. Anna knew suffering. When Anna says, “This is the Messiah”, she, too, is an expert. She is from the university of life, the school of hard knocks. She’s among the company of those who suffer in this world and among those who create space in their hearts to pray, to praise God in the midst of what life brings. When she says, “This is the Messiah,” it means something (see Mark Trotter’s sermon “Let Nothing You Dismay,” 26 December 26 1993).

Luke wanted to make it perfectly clear that the Messiah had come. So he subpoenas authorities, because it wasn’t all that clear. The day after Jesus was born, the sun rose on the world the way it had the previous day. The Romans still occupied the land; that hadn’t changed. They still ruled with an iron hand. Taxes continued to rise. The gap between the rich and poor got bigger. The sick didn’t get well. The problems that plagued people before Jesus’ birth were still there to greet them afterwards.

We know this, too. The world faces us with some harsh realities: unending wars and racial strife, the memory of someone from whom you are alienated, babies who die prematurely, the beloved husband or wife now gone, a dreaded diagnosis, children who have wandered away, a job that’s no longer satisfying but you must keep doing it because others depend upon you.

Such conditions are why actress Meryl Streep doesn’t find consolation in faith. She grew up Presbyterian, but she says, “I really don’t believe in the power of prayer, or things would have been avoided that have happened, that are awful. . . . It’s a horrible position as an intelligent, emotional, yearning human being to sit outside of the available comfort there. But I just can’t go there” (The Week, 26 December 2008, p. 10).

I do believe in the power of prayer, but not because I’ve seen the realities of our world change dramatically because of it. Rather, prayer changes me. Listening and talking to God, being attentive to God, deepens our awareness that God is in our midst, sharing our brokenness. Prayer strengthens our hope and our capacity for love and opens our eyes to recognize that God is, indeed, with us.

Perhaps Simeon and Anna were able to recognize the Messiah in the form of baby Jesus precisely because they spent so much time in prayer looking for, yearning for, and expecting him to show up.

Simeon and Anna say to us that the Messiah has come to this world. In spite of the persistence of problems, this is it. The witnesses have testified. There will be no additional Messiahs. So if the world is going to change, if you are going to change, then you must realize that it is trust itself that makes life abundant —trust that God is sharing our brokenness and our joy.

The world doesn’t have to be perfect for us to know its goodness. When we pause and reflect on our blessings, we see how full our lives are as recipients of all God promises: love, peace, joy, hope, forgiveness, reconciliation, and new life. Even Meryl Streep doesn’t rule out the possibility that God exists. She says, “I do have a sense of trying to make things better. Where does that come from?”

We must become God-Receivers like Simeon. Spiritual director Loretta Ross wrote,

The church commences at the manger, a scene fraught with human messiness and hardly engaging at first glance. Yet this is the dawn of the church: transcendence indwelling the most ordinary of human events; a birth; a love-struck God going to great ends to get in on life with us in the most intimate way possible; a family driven to a shabby stable by the demand of emerging life; a newborn’s wail; mystery in the night sky; wise people looking beyond their wealth, power, and knowledge for something more.

Simeon and Anna in their old age jumping with joy like little children . . .

Every one of them [is] struck by wonder, knocked to their knees by Holiness that takes their breath away. . . . Transcendent Power breaks into our agendas with audacious vulnerability, needing shelter, human love, nurture, and reverence. And miracle of miracles, through revealing its need of us, we are the ones transformed. (Loretta Ross, Making Haqqodesh, a newsletter of the Sanctuary).

There’s a wonderful verse in the hymn “It Came Upon the Midnight Clear,” which we are going to sing shortly. It could be written about Anna, about you and me. It goes like this:

And ye, beneath life’s crushing load,
Whose forms are bending low,
Who toil along the climbing way
With painful steps and slow,
Look now! for glad and golden hours
Come swiftly on the wing.
O rest beside the weary road,
And hear the angels sing!