February 3, 2013 | 8:00 a.m.

Seeing Our Salvation

John W. Vest
Associate Pastor, Fourth Presbyterian Church

Psalm 27
Luke 2:21–40

Now, master, let your servant go in peace according to your word,
     because my eyes have seen your salvation.
You prepared this salvation in the presence of all peoples.
It’s a light for revelation to the Gentiles
     and a glory for your people Israel.
     Luke 2:29–32 (CEB)

According to the Torah of ancient Israel—what we would call the Old Testament law—in addition to circumcision and a ceremonial naming eight days after birth, male children were to be brought to the temple when they were forty days old for their parents to perform a rite known as the redemption of the firstborn. Originally the firstborn son of every Israelite family was to be dedicated to the service of God. Eventually the priesthood was consolidated into a single family line, the Levites, which essentially got the firstborn sons of all the other tribes off the hook. Built into the rituals of ancient Israel was a ceremony that acknowledged this relief of service. Each firstborn son was “redeemed” from dedication by making an offering in exchange for the substitutional service of the Levites. (There are also older meanings for this rite associated with ancient Israel’s sacrificial system.) For families that could afford it, the offering was a lamb or a substantial financial contribution. For the poor, all that was required was two small birds.

Forty days after the birth of Jesus, in accordance with these traditions, Joseph and Mary performed this rite of redemption for their newborn son. Following our celebration of Jesus’ birth on December 25, we recognize this presentation of Jesus in the temple on February 2 and often celebrate it on the Sunday which falls closest to that date. So this morning we will read the story of Jesus’ temple presentation as it is recorded in the Gospel of Luke.

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I got the biblical and historical explanations of this story out of the way before reading it, because hearing it actually always reminds me of something a little different. Do you remember that classic Disney movie, The Lion King? It begins with an epic introduction to the African landscapes and animal inhabitants that are the focus of the story. The king of all animals is the lion Mufasa, whose wife, Sarabi has just given birth to a son named Simba. In a ritual not unlike the traditions of the Bible, a shamanistic monkey named Rafiki marks the newborn Simba—it actually looks like some of the things we do when we baptize infants—and presents him to the gathered animals by climbing up on a tall rock overlooking the plains and lifting him on high in dramatic fashion. The image of Rafiki holding up the newborn lion cub has become an iconic symbol of pride at the birth of a new baby.

Some of you may know that my wife gave birth to our second son just six weeks ago. In fact, today is my first official day back from paternity leave. Knowing that I would find myself this morning climbing up on a tall rock pulpit overlooking a congregation gathered below, I was tempted to bring Elijah up here with me and give you my best Lion King pose.

So I can certainly identify this morning with the pride Joseph and Mary must have felt presenting their newborn son in the temple. Of course, if we are to believe the familiar stories of Jesus’ birth that we shared six weeks ago at Christmastime, Mary and Joseph had even more reason for pride—or perhaps wonder—at the baby boy they had welcomed into the world. With shepherds watching and angels singing and wise men bringing gifts, they must have known that there was something special about this child. Every parent of course thinks that their child is special, but not many are announced with a choir of the heavenly host.

Yet if you find yourself wondering if perhaps those incredible Christmas stories were enhanced with the kind of embellishments that often accompany the stories we tell of great and important people, then today’s story of Jesus’ presentation at the temple just might feel more grounded in the simple realities of life. Like every firstborn son of his day, Jesus was brought to the temple for the ritual ceremony of redemption. Anyone who has witnessed parents bringing a child for baptism understands what that day was like for them. It was special, no doubt, yet also part of the regular rhythm of life for their community. Just as we baptize babies in a regular pattern on the second Sunday of every month, you can be sure that baby boys were brought to the temple nearly every day for the rite of redemption. In this respect, Jesus wasn’t really different from the rest of the newborn babies of first-century Judah.

Yet he was different, wasn’t he? On the day that he was born, then forty days later, and throughout his childhood people recognized that there was something special about this little boy. As an adolescent, it seems that he demonstrated a profound wisdom beyond his years. Yet even as we find him in today’s story, just shy of six weeks old, there is something that sets him apart.

This was apparent to a holy man named Simeon and a prophet named Anna. They were both the kind of people that spent an awful lot of time hanging around the temple. We know people like that, people that are always at church. We have a tendency to write off those people as having nothing better to do. But perhaps they have more wisdom than we think. Perhaps they too have some kind of insight that the majority of us don’t. Perhaps they are the ones most likely to recognize the presence of God in a little baby brought forward for dedication.

Like so many women of our patriarchal Bible, Anna is not given a voice, even though she is identified as a prophet. We know that she praised God and shared what she saw in Jesus with anyone who would listen. But sadly, we don’t have any of her words recorded.

For this, we must turn to Simeon, the righteous and devout man who eagerly anticipated the restoration of Israel. Somehow he convinced Mary to let him hold her newborn son. (I can guarantee you that my wife will not be so generous with our son Elijah.) Holding this baby in his arms, he utters a beautiful poem known as the Canticle (or Song) of Simeon, or by the first words of the Latin translation, Nunc Dimittis. This morning our choir will sing a setting of this ancient hymn during our celebration of communion.

Now, master, let your servant go in peace according to your word,
because my eyes have seen your salvation.
You prepared this salvation in the presence of all peoples.
It’s a light for revelation to the Gentiles
and a glory for your people Israel.
Luke 2:29–32 (CEB)

What do you think Simeon saw in baby Jesus that prompted such a response? What vision of salvation do you think he had in mind?

This is going to take some work on our part, because salvation is not a word that flows freely from Presbyterian lips.

Of course, for many Christians in this country and around the world, this isn’t the case. Salvation—more specifically, personal salvation—is the primary goal of Christianity. According to this popular understanding of Christianity, every person will one day be judged and sent for all eternity to one of two places: heaven for the righteous and hell for the wicked. But, as the story goes, each of us is so corrupt from birth that we all rightly deserve eternal punishment in hell. It is only the sacrificial death of Jesus that redeems us from this punishment, appeasing God’s righteous anger, making us right with God and therefore welcomed into heaven.

Let’s be honest: we don’t hear Presbyterians talking about this very much. Judging by what we choose to preach on Sunday mornings and how we typically talk about our faith, I’d say that this is not the operative theology of most Presbyterians. In fact, I’d say that many people sitting in the pews of Presbyterian churches this morning have serious doubts about the old understanding of heaven and hell. While there may be much hope for some kind of heaven, we’re not so sure about hell anymore. While “sinners in the hands of an angry God” worked for our Reformed predecessors like Jonathan Edwards and those who attended his revivals during what is known as the Great Awakening of the eighteenth century, it doesn’t preach so well in progressive Presbyterian churches today. Our primary motivation doesn’t seem to be salvation from eternal damnation.

Yet we don’t really have a good articulation of an alternative understanding of salvation. In fact, we don’t typically use that word at all. Each year before we confirm our eighth-grade youth, I meet with each of them individually and ask them a series of questions about faith. When I ask what salvation means to them, what I mostly get in return is blank stares or confusion. My hunch is that the same would happen if I were to quiz the adults of our congregation.

This is, I think, a major deficiency in contemporary mainline Protestantism, especially those churches that identify as progressive. I’m convinced that this is one reason (of many) for the dramatic decline in the membership of these churches over the past half century or so. To the average American—now a post-Christendom American who is no longer raised in a culture shaped by traditional Christianity—we don’t really have a compelling story, certainly nothing as seemingly urgent as the old threat of hell. There doesn’t seem to be much at stake in our gospel. At worst we offer nothing more than a generic feel-good spirituality of being nice to people. And it seems that often the best we can muster is a humanistic plea for social justice that really doesn’t have much to do with Jesus.

We need a better story to tell, a better gospel to share. We need to believe in our hearts that something important is at stake, and we need to speak and act accordingly. I’m not saying that we need to go back to a simplistic and fundamentalist understanding of salvation as escape from the threat of hell. In fact, in today’s postmodern and increasingly disenchanted world, this story is becoming less and less compelling to more and more people. But the best response to fundamentalism is not silence; the best response to fundamentalism is a better story.

Holding baby Jesus in his arms, Simeon had a vision of salvation. In this six-week-old infant he sees God’s salvation. What did he see?

Both Simeon and Anna speak of the restoration or redemption of Israel. I don’t believe that they were thinking about personal salvation from hell through substitutionary atonement. I don’t believe that they looked at this baby and saw only that he would grow up to suffer a violent and brutal death that would somehow appease the anger of the God they were in the temple to praise. Even though Jesus’ parents were there to fulfill the remnants of an archaic and perhaps even savage practice of blood redemption, I don’t believe that this is the salvation that Simeon and Anna saw in baby Jesus.

Rather, I believe that they saw in this newborn baby the seeds of the most radical revolution the world has ever known. In this six-week-old child they saw the potential of the God-inspired transformation of the world as we know it.

They lived in a world in which the powerful few exercised dominion through oppression and violence. They lived in a world in which limited resources were not evenly distributed and shared. They lived in a world in which what we consider fundamental human rights were not granted to everyone as an equal child of God. They lived in a world in which the richness of their religious and cultural traditions were threatened by the dehumanizing assimilation of empire.

In six-week-old Jesus, they saw all of that coming to an end. They saw in him a challenge to the status quo that would shake the very foundations of the world they lived in—the world we still live in.

In a city in which young children are murdered through senseless gun violence, we need a vision of salvation. In a city in which impoverished young adults see no other way to improve their situation than through a life of crime, we need a vision of salvation. In a city in which thousands of people—men, women, and children—are without homes or food, we need a vision of salvation. In a city in which racial and economic divisions are as deep as ever, we need a vision of salvation.

Friends, there is much at stake in the gospel Jesus invites us to proclaim and live out. It’s much more than being nice for the sake of goodness. It’s recognizing that each person of this world, from the most powerful to the poorest, is created in the precious image of God. Simeon and Anna saw the face of God in a six-week-old baby, and so should we—every single time we look in the face of another.

It’s easy for us to become complacent in the comforts of our privileged lives. Without the threat of hell looming over our heads, it’s easy for us to think that all God really wants from us is to be happy and be nice to people. But the suffering of our sisters and brothers, a profound suffering that we all too easily ignore, ought to compel us out of complacency and into action.

Two thousand years after Mary and Joseph brought six-week-old Jesus to the temple, we’re still a long way from the salvation Simeon and Anna saw in that little baby. But if we lose sight of that salvation, either through complacency or lack of faithful imagination, everything that baby would grow to live and die for is for naught.

Old man Simeon prayed that God would let him go in peace now that he had seen salvation. We’re not there yet. We need to not only see a vision of God’s salvation of the world, we need to go out in faith to be a part of this radical transformation, the emergence of God’s kingdom.

“Now is the time!” says Jesus. “Now is the time!”

Amen.