Looking back and looking forwards
Readings: Malachi 3. 1-5 and Luke 2. 22-40
The Gospel is full of twists and turns, God is always acting, but often not how we might predict. As Simeon recognises in Jesus the first of these twists, he points ahead to another, that the crib is for the cross.
Malachi in our first reading is speaking at a time when the Ancient Israelites have returned from exile but they’re still being ruled over by another more powerful nation. The Temple is rebuilt but the Ark of the Covenant is noticeably still missing from the Most Holy Place. Things are better than they were, but they’re not how the prophets foretold.
And that almost makes it worse.
It would be ok if they were still in exile and the Temple still in ruins, it would be better than this halfway house, this no-man’s land. It’s been 100 years since they have returned and a malaise has come upon the people as generation after generation die without seeing the fulfilment of the prophecies which were meant to accompany the return from exile. There’s this profound sense of God’s absence.
In some ways its understandable. You see the completion of the original Temple happened under Solomon in the midst of Israel’s golden age. It was a place of great splendour and as it was dedicated God’s presence descended upon the Temple. You can read about it in 2 Chronicles 7. As the Ark was placed in the most holy place, fire fell from heaven to consume the offerings made and God’s presence came upon the Temple in such thick cloud that none of the priests could enter to continue their duties. As this first Temple, is dedicated the glory of the Lord comes upon it to fill it. There’s the tangible sense of God’s presence.
Which is part of why there’s this sense that God has forgotten his people, that he is somehow absent. Because this first Temple was destroyed when the people were taken into exile. And upon their return they rebuilt it, but it’s smaller than the first, less grand than the first, and, more importantly, as it is dedicated, there’s no sign of God, no fire, no cloud, no sense of God’s presence. Instead uncomfortable silence. And, as I say, the Ark of the Covenant, the visible sign of God’s presence in the Holy of Holies, upon which his presence would descend above the cherubim carved on its lid, is missing. The most holy place stands empty. The prophecies of the completion of the Temple and of God’s glory filling it lay unfulfilled.
And into this haze of discontentment God speaks through Malachi. The people accuse God, that he doesn’t care, that he’s forgotten them, abandoned them, when God accuses them of their wicked ways they deny it. It’s all God’s fault. And to this people God speaks, speaks through Malachi, that suddenly he will appear in his Temple, his presence return.
And yet it doesn’t happen how they might have expected. We’re ready and expectant, fire and smoke, drama and spectacle. And yet that’s not how God appears in his Temple this second time around. Rather as the Lord appears in his Temple it’s far more subtle, and yet far more profound. For as the infant Jesus is carried in his mothers arms into the Temple courts, it is God at last coming into his Temple. Here he is. He is present in His Temple, amongst his people, but in a whole new way. The Holy of Holies stands empty, and yet the Lord has taken on our flesh, no longer hidden behind the curtain he walks amongst us.
It’s not what we might have expected, and yet it is far more than we could ever have hoped for. Sometimes when we want God to act we hope he’ll do something dramatic, something big, something undeniably supernatural. And perhaps we’re looking for that for some reassurance for ourselves, perhaps as some sort of vindication for ourselves, perhaps even because it would just be amazing if it happened. And yet so often God is at work much more subtly, but in that more subtle moving of his Spirit something far more profound is happening, something far deeper. Let us be alert and attentive to the moving of his Spirit, and not despise the day of small things, for with God they can be the greatest thing ever.
A seemingly ordinary family arrive at the Temple to fulfil what the Law required, like every other young family, and yet in this coming, the Lord himself has appeared once more in his Temple.
But there’s another twist to come. Candlemas acts as a sort of turning point in the church year. Christmas seems long gone, Advent, Christmas and Epiphany wither their focus on the Incarnation, of God come among us, is almost over, Lent will soon be here. And so as Epiphany reaches its crescendo, as the incarnation cycle which began back at the start of December reaches it’s climax, it points us forwards, because the crib is for the cross.
The 20th century German theologian Helmut Thielicke wrote ‘The crib and the cross are made from the same wood’. Now, he’s not making a statement about the ecological hardiness of first century timber in the holy land, or their ahead of their time recycling practices, rather he’s making a theological point. The two key moments of Jesus’ life are bound up together. And nowhere is that clearer than on Candlemas.
God has come to us in Jesus not just to be present in our midst, not just to reveal what he is like, show us his face in the face of Jesus, he has come as Saviour and liberator to die our death so that we can live. And it’s a road that will mean suffering and pain. We often focus on those words to Mary; ‘a sword will pierce your own soul too’, we think of what it will cost Mary, and rightly so, but hidden behind those words is what it will cost Jesus, who is wrapped in her arms; ‘your own soul too’.
We’re sometimes perhaps tempted to treat Christmas and Easter as two separate things. Christmas is all about the baby, it’s safe, unchallenging. Easter is almost about someone else, a Jesus who bleeds and dies, a Jesus who then steps out of the tomb. And yet the two are linked. The crib is for the cross. God has taken on our flesh so that it can be pierced. Become flesh and blood so that that same flesh and blood can be broken and poured out. God is here on a rescue mission which will take him down into death and out the other side. Simeon sees it. He recognises in Jesus God’s saving work, the plan of salvation coming into reality. He speaks of Jesus as a light for all nations, and that light has come to take on all our darkness, our sin and mess and rebellion, to take it all to the grave with him, so that he might shine there too, cause the darkness to flee by his brilliance. This light will shine more brightly when it goes down into the depths of our darkness, to draw us all to himself.
The crib is for the cross, the Messiah of the manger has come is here not just to reveal, but to ransom and redeem and restore.
So what of us in all of this? Well there’s the hope at the heart of the Gospel; God come to not just to be with us, but to save us and forgive us, to restore and heal us. To die for our sins and rise again that we might live with him forever. But there’s also the challenge. For Simeon and Anna, when they recognised who Jesus was, they spoke about him to all, this encounter changed them, gave them new life, new energy, even in their old age. Will we allow ourselves to encounter Jesus, to allow ourselves to be changed, to discover in his presence new life and energy and hope.
As our eyes turn from the crib to the cross, will we encounter him afresh as the one who has come to give everything for us, who becomes human precisely so that he can die for us. The light of the glory of God shines out in the face of Jesus, both newborn infant and crucified Saviour. In our lives will we reveal his glory? Will his reflected light shine from us, that when others see us they can see that we have been with Jesus?
My brothers and sisters, our eyes have seen God’s salvation, we have seen him and know him for ourselves. May our lives reflect his glory, that more and more may know him too. And when our eyes close for the final time in this life may we say with Simeon ‘Lord, now you are dismissing your servant in peace, according to your word; for my eyes have seen your salvation’ as at last he brings us home.
Amen.