Month: February 2014

A Sermon for the Seventh Sunday after the Epiphany

 Year A – February 23, 2014

David Hathaway Knight, Priest Associate

 Send your spirit, God, to open our hearts and our minds to your Word, and strengthen us to live according to your will, in Jesus Name, Amen.

The noted author and historian, David Mc Cullough, in his book, Brave Companions, writes in the opening sentences of Chapter 15, titled “Extraordinary Times,

“The span of years since 1936 has been the most troubled, unsettling, costly, adventurous, and surprising time ever.  There is no period to compare to it. More has changed, and faster, more has been destroyed, more accomplished than in any comparable interval in the five thousand years since recorded history began.

To a very large degree it has been a time of horror, of war after war, wars to stop wars, religious wars, wars of “liberation,” many more than fifty wars in fifty years, including the worst war of all time, the shadow of which is still with us.  Terror and atrocity have been made political policy and carried to hideous extremes.  But it has also been a time of marvels and unprecedented material progress for much of humanity.  To many areas of the world it has brought the exhilarating awareness that change is actually possible, that things don’t have to say the same.”

These last few words leapt off the page and grabbed my attention when he writes,  “…the exhilarating awareness that change is actually possible, that things don’t have to stay the same.”  In the spirit that for us things don’t have to stay the same, Jesus, in today’s gospel reading calls us to examine our lives, that you and I might be open to seeing things in a different light, and that when necessary, our actions can actually change.  My dear friend and colleague from Winchester days, Tom Joyce, used to say how so often we live unexamined lives, and how we miss so much by doing so.

In today’s gospel reading we hear,

“You have heard that it was said, ‘An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth’; but I say to you, Do not resist an evil doer.”  And, “. . . .but if anyone strikes you on the right cheek, turn the other also.” This Sunday’s stern words follow on the heels of last Sunday’s equally stern words from Jesus. “You have heard it was said to those of ancient times, ‘You shall not murder’… but I say to you that if you are angry with a brother or sister, you will be liable to judgment…”  How easily we forget how demanding the words that Jesus says to us are when he calls you and me to a radical examination of our actions and thoughts many of which we take for granted because we have not thought otherwise nor examined them.  Our natural inclination is to avoid these words of Jesus much as we avoid a root canal. We develop strategies to avoid taking seriously to heart Jesus’ commands especially when they make us uncomfortable.   In an attempt make these words palatable, we have come up with such things as the notion that these are simply spiritual admonitions directed at our souls that they are figurative and not really meant as actual requirements for the way we think and live.  After all, life may require that we hoard our stuff and keep our riches to ourselves, that we bomb our enemies, that  we use weapons of human destruction to protect ourselves and our homes, or that we stand our ground, that last about which we are hearing much these days after the killings of Trayvon Martin and Jordon Davis.  Our temptation is to boil down the hard sayings of Jesus into a mushy, vaguely deistic faith suitable for publication on a Hallmark card.  Jesus would have none of this, nor should we.

 As we look at Scripture, we note that killing and death are mentioned frequently in the Bible: Cain and Abel, Noah and the Ark when everybody that didn’t get on the boat died.  We hear of Samson and the Philistines, of David and Goliath, of John the Baptist who lost his head when it was served on a platter to Herod’s wife at her request.  There is Stephen, who was stoned for standing up for what he believed, and then there was Herod himself, bless his heart, who was struck down by God and eaten by worms. (Eaten by worms—isn’t that crazy?) Indeed, our Christian Faith is based on what happened following a legal execution, the killing of Jesus. That ignominious death, however, was followed by his Resurrection from the dead, an act of God’s grace that has changed the world.  If we are to follow Jesus, then as Christians, are we not called to make a difference in this world?  If so, then Jesus has some things to say to us.  We ignore his words to us at our own peril as people of God.

“You have heard that it was said, ‘An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth’ but I say to you, Do not resist and evil doer.”  The notion of eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth has for so long been the clarion call to justify retaliation.  It begins early in life for most of us.  You know how it goes in the school yard, Billy and Johnny are in the playground at recess and they get into fisticuffs.  Called into the principal’s office, it’s “Johnny hit me first, so I had to hit him back.”  My wife Jeannie, who teaches four and five year olds often will say in her calm voice as teachers so often are called to do, “Now hitting and hitting back are never OK. Remember, use your words.”  As we get older, the stakes get higher and retaliation can take on horrific consequences.  Jesus was well aware of that natural tendency in human nature to retaliate.  He knew, for example, that defined justice in his time was that retaliation was part of the legal system and he called for a new order.  To this day, this mindset of retaliation is part of the rationale for the justification of the death penalty.  Jesus called people then to a radical shift in their thinking and in their behavior.  His words are no less compelling to us in our day.

As one of you reminded me over lunch just the other day, the most famous, if not notorious execution in human history was the execution of Jesus.  Jesus was tried and convicted in a legal trial because he was seen as a threat to society.  After due process of the law, he was found guilty.  His death was a violent execution by being nailed on a cross as was the custom of the day.  The crucifixion of Jesus, however, is the only execution in human history out of which came some good.  We observe the horror of the day of his execution on Good Friday where in many churches, in addition to the Good Friday Liturgy, there is the service of the Way of the Cross, a service in which we recall Jesus’ painful steps toCalvary. We observe but we do not celebrate his execution. It was too horrible.  The good that came out of his execution was that God raised Jesus from the dead giving hope to the world, hope that evil will not prevail and that retaliation is not the answer.  

There are times, especially during this time of year in the Knight family, when the memories of January 30, 1997, and what has followed for our family, have been the occasion for some very special conversations. These can be holy times for us.  As in any family, each one of us is dealing with Jamie’s murder in different ways.  We try to keep in touch and share our memories and our thoughts as they continue to evolve over time.   Recently, our oldest son, David, and I had a conversation in which he was recalling his journey regarding his beliefs about the death penalty.  He said again how he was glad that his brother’s killers did not receive the death penalty but instead were sentenced to life behind bars.  As I reflected upon what he said, I asked if I could share some of his insights about his journey with you this morning as the gospel reading about which I would be preaching would be dealing with Jesus’ words about retaliation, “eye for an eye, and tooth for a tooth.”  It had struck me profoundly during our conversation that son David was speaking to the very matter that Jesus is addressing in today’s tough gospel reading.  With his full knowledge of what I am about to say, and with his permission, I share with you as best I can what he shared with me.  He said that if even one person could be helped in his or her struggle with this matter, he would be grateful.  David had spoken about how he and his wife Heather used to have discussions about capital punishment even before January 30, 1997, asking themselves if there could possibly be any circumstance in which the death penalty could be justified.  He said how they were specifically using the argument, “What if someone killed someone we loved such as a family member?  Would it be justified then?”  They couldn’t come up with a single justification. They recounted that it is not a deterrent to crime, that use of the death penalty is racially imbalanced, that it costs more to keep someone on death row than in life imprisonment and in the end, that it is final and there is no way to take it back if the person executed is later found to be innocent, as has happened.  You can’t dig up someone who has been executed in error and say, “Oops…sorry.” And in the end, it can never bring back the person taken from us.

 Heather and David had concluded that there is no sane rationale for the death penalty, but it had always been an academic discussion.  But on January 31, 1997 when Jamie’s killers were apprehended and the trials began shortly thereafter, it was no longer academic. It became intensely personal.  Their conviction that the death penalty is wrong only became stronger.  David then voiced what we have heard so many people say across this land when families face the possibility of seeing the killer of their loved one executed—that executing Jamie’s killer would bring no closure, no peace.  He went on—“Dad, it’s very personal for me; I don’t want somebody else killed in the name of my brother.  Would it bring Jamie back?  No, it wouldn’t.”  Then, David said, “Dad, if it’s eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth, to use a line from ‘Fiddler on the Roof,’ the world would be blind and toothless.  He also offered this when he said, “We are called to examine and re-examine what we think and believe and if we no longer are willing to reexamine our views, what’s the point of going on.”  I share his thoughts with you this morning because my son, in his wisdom and from his journey in walking the walk has said it better than I could hope to say it. Characteristic of David’s emails is the quotation under his signature, words of Martin Luther King Jr who said, “Returning violence for violence multiplies violence, adding deeper darkness to a night already void of stars.”

We are reminded that over a half century ago, the Episcopal Church, in its call for Justice, adopted as its official position at General Convention of 1958 its opposition to the death penalty.  It has remained the church’s position ever since.  The Diocese of Virginia has adopted the same policy.  As one of you pointed out this week, while the death penalty still exists, application of it is diminishing and there can only be hope that change is actually possible.

Today’s gospel reading confronts you and me with the command to examine our lives in every way we can, and on any matter that has an impact upon our relationships with one another.  If you and I belong to the God of grace, which we do, we must become willing to be a person transformed by God’s grace.  I think once again of the words of the author David McCullough when he speaks of the exhilarating awareness that change is actually possible, that things don’t have to stay the same.  As you and I seek the truth, come whence it may, cost what it will, we might well find inspiration in words found in the Cadet Prayer of the United States Military Academy at West Point.  From that prayer come these words:

O God, our Father, Thou Searcher of human hearts, help us to draw near to Thee in sincerity and truth.  May our religion be filled with gladness and may our worship of Thee be natural.

…Encourage us in our endeavor to live above the common level of life. Make us to choose the harder right instead of the easier wrong and never be content with a half truth when the whole can be won.  Endow us with courage that is born of loyalty to all that is noble and worthy, that scorns to compromise with vice and injustice and knows no fear when truth and right are in jeopardy.” 

Send your spirit, God, to open our hearts and our minds to your Word, and strengthen us to live according to your will, in Jesus Name, Amen. 

A Sermon for the Fifth Sunday after the Epiphany

February 9, 2014

Eleanor Lee Wellford,  Associate Rector

         Thus says the high and lofty one who inhabits eternity, whose name is Holy:
Shout out, do not hold back! Lift up your voice like a trumpet!
Announce to my people their rebellion, to the house of Jacob their sins.
Yet day after day they seek me and delight to know my ways, as if they were a nation that practiced righteousness and did not forsake the ordinance of their God;
they ask of me righteous judgments, they delight to draw near to God.
“Why do we fast, but you do not see?
Why humble ourselves, but you do not notice?”
Look, you serve your own interest on your fast day, and oppress all your workers.
Look, you fast only to quarrel and to fight and to strike with a wicked fist.
Such fasting as you do today will not make your voice heard on high.
Is such the fast that I choose, a day to humble oneself?
Is it to bow down the head like a bulrush, and to lie in sackcloth and ashes?
Will you call this a fast, a day acceptable to the LORD?
Is not this the fast that I choose: to loose the bonds of injustice,
to undo the thongs of the yoke, to let the oppressed go free, and to break every yoke?
Is it not to share your bread with the hungry, and bring the homeless poor into your house;
when you see the naked, to cover them, and not to hide yourself from your own kin?
Then your light shall break forth like the dawn, and your healing shall spring up quickly;
 your vindicator shall go before you, the glory of the LORD shall be your rear guard.
Then you shall call, and the LORD will answer; you shall cry for help, and he will say,
Here I am.
                                                                                                                         -Isaiah 58:1-9a

 How many times have we done something to get God’s attention?  How many times do we want God to sit up and take notice of how often we come to church, or pray or give our time and energy to worthy causes?  How many times do we want God to tally up our acts of faith, pat us on the head and proclaim: “Oh, what good people are we!” 

It’s only natural that we want to be noticed for the good things that we do.  We learn that early on as children – what gets smiles and hugs from our parents and what gets us into trouble.        

So, now that we’re adults, what does it mean to be “good”?  Apparently the Israelites thought they knew.  They had spent a generation in exile feeling as if they were being punished for bad behavior.  Now that they had been released to return to their beloved Jerusalem, they were intent on showing God that they could be good again. 

But that was the problem.  It was all for show.  They worked hard using bricks and mortar to rebuild the life they once had there.  They neglected, however, to rebuild themselves.    

Working on what’s outside of ourselves is always easier than working on the inside.  That’s why many of us are so careful about the image we project.  And more often than not, it’s an image we hide our true selves behind.

The Wizard of Oz was an extreme example of this.  He worked really hard at projecting an image that was fearsome to anyone encountering it: oversized head and scowling face, and a loud thunderous voice.  Yet behind all that bluster and trumped up authority was just a small, quite ordinary man, fearful and full of insecurities.     

Even though the Israelites had come back home, they had not taken time to process their experience of being in exile, to learn anything about themselves and their relationship to God.  They were remembering and trying to recreate an image of what it meant to be God’s people– which is why they were still miserable.  They were poor and oppressed and there was plenty of infighting among the different groups of people.  Besides that, their city and their Temple were still in ruins. 

Where was the relief to their suffering that God had promised them through the comforting words of the prophets, especially Isaiah?  Why had they not returned to God’s good graces?  “Why do we fast but you do not see?” they complained to God.  “Why (do we) humble ourselves, but you do not notice?” (Isaiah 58:3). 

God’s response to them, in effect, was: “When and how have you humbled yourselves?”  If the exile experience had humbled the Israelites at all, they somehow lost that feeling by the time they returned to Jerusalem.  In fairness to them, that’s so easy to do.  The best of our intentions can be sidetracked by our own fierce independence and overwhelming need to be in control.  It usually takes running out of options for us to be humbled enough to petition God for help.  And even then it’s usually only a quick fix that we want.

When I was a freshman in college, I became really sick with the flu and had to spend time in the dreaded infirmary.  I was miserable and lonely and did something that I didn’t do very often.  I prayed which did make me feel better but then I made a bargain with God.  I promised God that if I could get well – and preferably in time for the fraternity party that weekend – then I would pray and go to church more often than I was doing. 

As you might imagine, I forgot about keeping my end of the bargain as soon as I had recovered.  All I really wanted was a quick fix which was classic immaturity on my part without even a hint of humility.     

Perhaps the Israelites used the practice of fasting that we heard about this morning in Isaiah as the same quick fix or empty bargain that I had wanted.  Fasting was supposed to be a discipline that was offered to God as penance for sin.   But the problem was that the Israelites seemed to be expecting something specific as a result of that discipline – some payback from God for being “good”; and they weren’t getting it which is why we heard them complaining.  

Apparently all that complaining did get God’s attention.  And it wasn’t positive attention, either.  I think God was tired of their neediness as he tried to point out to them the difference between fasting merely as a show of piety and fasting as a discipline of authentic atonement and renewal of faithfulness to God. 

 From what God could observe, their fast was empty.  It didn’t seem to have anything to do with their desire to take care of the hungry, the homeless, the widow or the orphan and everything to do with the sake of appearances or image.   Perhaps if they could have spent more time acting out of the goodness of their hearts and less time appearing to be good, then, as Isaiah told them: “(their light) shall break forth like the dawn” (Isaiah 58:8).

As you know, Lent is fast approaching – that time in our lives where many of us give up something as an act of penance or as an attempt to be good or better than we have been.  Lent begins with Ash Wednesday when many people have ashes imposed on their foreheads.  It’s not our tradition to do so here at St. Mary’s but it is the tradition at other churches. 

We ascribe to the words that Jesus said in Matthew: “Beware of practicing your piety before others in order to be seen by them for then you have no reward from your Father in heaven” (Matthew 6:1). 

Ashes during the time that Isaiah wrote were a significant part of being penitent as was the practice of fasting; so was wearing sackcloth.  Someone who felt humbled by a change in heart would often wear scratchy, coarse sack cloth; put ashes on top of his head and fast. 

Ashes were supposed to be an outward, visible sign of an inward change.  And as we heard from Isaiah, it’s not the act itself that God appreciates but the humility that precedes that act and leads to service to the marginalized – the down and out.  “Is not this the fast that I choose” asked God of the Israelites.  “Is it not to share your bread with the hungry, and bring the homeless poor into your house…?” (Isaiah 58:6-7)

This past week St. Mary’s provided food and shelter to 40 homeless men in the C.A.R.I.T.A.S. program.  Every year I am struck by the sincere gratitude that our guests feel for what we do for them.  And I can’t help but believe that what we do for them flows directly from the authentically humble hearts of all the volunteers involved in this Outreach ministry and that they have no expectation whatsoever of any kind of payback for their goodness. 

Whether or not we feed the hungry, wear sackcloth, have ashes on our foreheads or whether or not we fast or do any other public act of piety, it needs to be done for the right reason which is something only God can determine because only God knows what we do for show or for the sake of appearances and what pours forth from the humility in our hearts.

So, what, then, does it mean to be “good”?  It’s not so much doing a certain thing as it is being a certain way.  The prophet Micah, one of Isaiah’s contemporaries, perhaps said it best:  “…(to) act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God” (Micah 6:8).  “Then” as Isaiah wrote “you shall call, and the Lord will answer; you shall cry for help and he will say, Here I am” (Isaiah 58:8-9).  And that, I would think, is about as “good” as it gets. 

 A Sermon for the Presentation of Our Lord

Year A – 2 February 2014

John Edward Miller,  Rector

When the time came for their purification according to the law of Moses, the parents of Jesus 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.

When they had finished everything required by the law of the Lord, they returned to Galilee, to their own town of Nazareth. The child grew and became strong, filled with wisdom; and the favor of God was upon him.(Luke 2:22-40)

The Collect

Watch John’s sermon here.

 Almighty and everliving God, we humbly pray that, as your only-begotten Son was this day presented in the temple, so we may be presented to you with pure and clean hearts by Jesus Christ our Lord; who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever. Amen.

Forty days after the birth of Jesus, Mary and Joseph were on the road again. Last time their trek took them to Bethlehem, Joseph’s birthplace, to register in a Roman census. That’s where Mary delivered her baby in a stable – an unusual place, to say the least, to welcome “God with us.”[1]  This time the little family fromNazareth was traveling toJerusalem to fulfill the requirements of Jewish Law, rather than Caesar’s. Luke’s gospel says that, “when the time came for their purification according to the Law of Moses, they brought [Jesus] up to Jerusalem to present him to the Lord . . .” It took three days for them to walk the 65 miles from Nazareth to Jerusalem, but Mary and Joseph did so willingly. Their sacred duty beckoned them toward the holy city, and so they went.

However, the reference to “their purification” is curious. Apparently Luke is referring to the purification of both Jesus and Mary when the Law required only Mary’s.[2] According to Leviticus, the new mother was to present herself to a priest “in the tent of meeting.” In this case, Mary’s destination was the Temple itself – the best place possible to complete her task. She was to bring a lamb for a burnt offering, and a turtledove or pigeon to serve as a sin offering. If the mother was unable to furnish a lamb due to her poverty, two birds would suffice – one for a burnt offering and one for a sin offering. In the Law of Moses that was the path to atonement, for making things right to be in God’s presence.

The newborn child needed no purification rite. What the parents were pursuing for him was another ritual – the dedication of their infant son to the Lord their God. The presentation of Jesus in the Temple was also in keeping with the Law. It was required that all firstborn children be so designated. In the Exodus-Passover tradition, it was a remembrance that the Lord passed over the houses of the Israelites, sparing their firstborn children, even while the Egyptian firstborn fell victim to an awful plague. Because that tragedy was the last straw for Pharaoh, he released the Israelites from slavery and let them go. Thereafter, out of gratitude for God’s mercy, Hebrew families were required to dedicate their firstborn to the Lord.[3] Jesus’ dedication was in line with that tradition, but it upped the ante to an unprecedented value.

It has been said that Luke combined these two rites of passage out of ignorance. Because he was a Gentile who did not fully understand the Law of Moses, some contend that he simply lumped the rituals together. That simplistic view does Luke an injustice. What Luke did was a masterstroke. He deliberately treated the two rituals as one, thereby emphasizing the purity of Mary’s sacrifice. She had not only brought her firstborn son for dedication to God, but in Jesus, she had also brought the sacrificial lamb who would take away the sins of the world. Her baby, the infant Messiah, had come to the Temple as a pure offering for everyone’s sake, Jews and Gentiles alike. That kind of dedication is unlike any other.

As important as these developments were, there is something else in this scene that is even more significant. When Mary carried Jesus into the Temple, her baby’s entry into that sacred space filled what had been, in the mind of the people, a spiritual vacuum there for hundreds of years. And this is why:

In the 6^th century B.C.E., the Babylonian imperial army destroyed the city of Jerusalem, killed many thousands of citizens, hauled off many others into exile, and razed the great Temple of Solomon to a heap of ashes. For the survivors that level of loss was devastating. But the destruction and desecration of the Temple cut out the heart of the covenant people. Everything was gone. The Ark of the Covenant was captured, the altar and mercy seat were reduced to rubble, holy vessels and scrolls were taken as spoils by the conquerors. Both people and prophets believed that God had departed from their midst. In short, all was lost,

Fifty years later, when the exiles returned to Jerusalem in the period of Ezra and Nehemiah, the Temple was rebuilt on the foundations of the former house of God. Some of the people rejoiced at this, but others – especially the priests and the elderly who had beheld the glory of the first Temple– openly wept.[4] They cried in anguish because of what they had lost, and they also cried because, without the Ark, they thought that new sanctuary would be lacking the presence of God. To them the rebuilt structure, despite its grandeur, would only be a building. It would be a taunting reminder of bygone times when the glory of the Lord resided there and made theTemple the people’s sacred center.

The rebuilt Temple is the one that little Jesus entered in the arms of his mother. And the importance of that entry was not lost on at least two elders who had long awaited the redemption of Israel. One was a godly old man named Simeon who lived every day expecting a glimpse of the Lord’s Messiah. His hope was not based on wishful thinking; it had been revealed to him by the Holy Spirit, who promised that Simeon would not die before he beheld the Messiah. Luke makes it clear that the Spirit drew him to the Temple on the day that the holy family arrived.

Mary sensed the eagerness in Simeon’s eyes as she drew close. In an act of pure trust she placed Jesus in Simeon’s outstretched arms. He gazed at the child, and his immediate response was to extol the vision he was beholding. Simeon expressed his life’s fulfillment and satisfaction; it’s as if he knew that he was standing at the conclusion of things. The benedictory thought running through his head was, “Now my life is complete, I can rest in peace.” We have read Luke’s version of Simeon’s exclamation, and at the offertory today we shall hear the Prayer Book’s rendering of the same verses. We know it as the Nunc dimittis, or Song of Simeon, the canticle most associated with the service of Evening Prayer. These are the traditional words of that beloved canticle:

Lord, now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace*
according to thy word;

For mine eyes have seen thy salvation,*
which thou hast prepared before the face of all people,

To be a light to lighten the Gentiles,*
and to be the glory of thy people Israel.[5]

The Song of Simeon says a great deal in a single sentence. There is a beautiful finality about the old man’s words. For him the child’s presence made certain that God is with us – there and then in the Temple, in Jerusalem, and in the world. With the Spirit’s guidance, Simeon knew that the precious life he was holding was God’s ultimate revelation, the disclosure by which all other glimpses of God would be understood. Here was the truth; nothing more need be added to this.

In the Episcopal Church Simeon’s song is often the last prayer offered in the burial service. Whether said or sung, the canticle’s petition, “Lord, now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace,” always seems just right. It sums up a lifetime of seeking and serving Christ in all people, of loving the neighbor as oneself. A Christian life is a life of service, and that ministry is never easy. It can be a struggle, involving personal sacrifice and hardship. Such a life makes sense when a person knows in Christ that God is with us. Giving runs counter to our instinct of survival at all costs. But that is God’s nature; that is what God reveals as the way, the truth, and the life. One can lose one’s life in serving others, even though that is how finally one finds the life God intends. So it is fitting and proper for us to ask God to let the faithful depart, and rest, in peace.

That was old Simeon’s testimony to the truth. His words endure because they help us say final things about loved ones and about the Lord they loved. But he was not alone in the Temple when Mary and Joseph came to present Jesus. Another elder, the prophetess Anna, was there as well. Anna, Luke tells us, was 84 years old. Widowed after a seven-year marriage, she proceeded to devote the next 77 years of her life to awaiting God’s presence in the Temple. In her vigilance Anna came upon the scene of the presentation, and with her eyes of faith recognized the significance of what she was seeing and hearing. Her response was to offer aloud a thanksgiving to God, and to exclaim that God’s redemption finally had come. She too experienced the ultimate blessing of God’s peace.

Both Simeon and Anna were searching for the presence of God in their midst. They were paying attention to the world, and to the people they encountered. Their sights were trained on the Temple, the place where the tradition told them they should look for God. But their focus was not on the building, with its fine appointments and grand architecture. Simeon and Anna were focused on people, creatures made in God’s image. That’s where they expected God to reveal himself – in people exactly like us. And their reward was a great Epiphany. Simeon and Anna were old, but God gave them clarity of sight for the greatest moment of their life. They looked at a humble family from Nazareth bringing their new baby to the house of God for dedication. They saw Jesus, and they knew him as he was, and is, and shall always be – God’s pure gift of salvation for them and for all people. For Simeon and Anna no sight would ever surpass that instant of recognition.

But what about us? If we had been there, would we have seen God’s presence in that little child? Would we have recognized the human face of God? That is our question; that is our challenge, because God is present in and among his people. The Christian’s task is to be attentive, as we serve, and respect, and support our neighbors for God’s sake. Whether they are members of our family, children in our care, co-workers and friends, the homeless whom we shelter, the beggar on the street corner, the unlovable, or the enemy, all are God’s children, and we are called to treat them with care, and to value their human dignity. God is present in them and with them. Let us pay attention, and be mindful of what is most important. Let us avoid the blinders of distraction, self-absorption, and hardness of heart that prevent us from seeing what God regularly offers – epiphanies of truth and goodness, grace and redemption. And then, like Christ, may we grow and become strong, filled with wisdom, and with God’s favor. Let us pray:

O Lord, support us all the day long, until the shadows lengthen, and the evening comes, and the busy world is hushed, and the fever of life is over, and our work is done. Then in thy mercy, grant us a safe lodging, and a holy rest, and peace at the last. Amen.[6]