Presentation of the
Lord in the Temple (trans)
Malachi 3.1-4; Ps 84; Heb 2.14-18; Lk 2.22-40
Imagine,
if you will...
You're a new couple, and a new mother. You've beaten
the odds of infant and maternal mortality, and are coming to praise God and
celebrate your growing family with the worshipping community. You're following
the rules - bless! - and... things get... well, weird. VERY weird.
Entering
into the Temple is not a comfortable journey - just getting there - admittedly
this is only about 10 miles, but it's an era before Uber. Mary and Joseph are
carrying the child, their food and water, likely a change of clothes... for 10
miles. In the dust and dirt. And when they *do* get there, they have to cough
up some cash to purchase the Levitican turtledoves or pigeons, so that they can
make the "proper" blood sacrifice. At the altar. Yes, head out
somewhere you don't really know, to celebrate new life by killing.
Weird,
right?
Well,
not yet. Because this was a common reality - this was what made sense. It was a
part of the culture that was rooted in the scriptures, a faith-filled
understanding of the giftedness and frailty of life.
It's
this structure which houses the teachings that we have in our first reading,
where we understand that God's people are not promised a perfect earthly life.
We will be tested, we will be tried - like fuller's soap or refiner's fire -
and through these challenges we will in fact grow stronger in our faith. The
refining process, taking away our spiritual impurities, helps us to have a
cleaner faith with which to encounter the world.
The
Psalm this morning also highlights the beauty of the Lord's Temple - not the
building, obviously, but of being part of the community of the faithful. Better to have one day with
that community than a thousand elsewhere; to respond to the longing of the soul
to be present before God.
And
thus the Presentation in the Temple - a ritual which informs our modern
"Thanksgiving for the Birth of a Child" (once called the
"Churching of Women") - was normal. Not weird at all.
So,
then, you may be asking. If that part is normal, where does it get weird?
The
Gospel passage today takes us right into that weirdness. Because what one
*might* expect at such a joyful and auspicious occasion is to hear about the
encounter with the high priest... the Temple assistants... with other young
families...
But
instead, we meet Anna - an old beggar woman who has been relying on the
kindness of strangers for most of her life. And we meet Simeon - an old man who
says "What a beautiful baby! Okay, I can die now."
It's
weird. I'd be willing to bet that it was quite awkward and uncomfortable for
Mary and Joseph. But still: the evangelist makes sure that we all, for
generations and generations, hear the truth of Anna and Simeon. Because the
evangelist knew that these were prophets: and prophets, of course, are understood
to be inspired teachers who proclaim the word of God.
So here
we have these two prophets. Weird, indeed.
And yet
not weird. For the gifts that they
offer are what the world needed: their truth, their faith, their witness. They went
to the heart of the community and waited - knowing that their gift, their
offering, would be of benefit. They didn't know when, but they trusted God
enough that they eschewed what society deemed 'normal'... they went to the
Temple, so they would not miss the presentation of the Messiah.
This
weirdness is, after all, what prophets do. The late Rachel Held Evans, in her
last book "Inspired", writes this:
"Biblically
speaking, a prophet isn't a fortune-teller or sooth-sayer who predicts the
future, but rather a truth-teller who sees things as they really are - past,
present, and future - and who challenges their community to both accept that
reality and imagine a better one." (pg. 119)
Later
she sums up her thoughts on the impressive and pervasive actions of prophets
with this:
"What
I love about the Bible is that the story isn't over. There are still prophets
in our midst. There are still dragons and beasts. It might not look like it,
but the Resistence is winning. The Light is breaking through." (pg. 130)
Prophets
are indeed, important - and we are called to listen to them - even in the
weirdest of circumstances. Our scriptures today speak to this weirdness.
For
after so long, Malachi's question about who can stand straight in the presence
of God is answered - by a 40-day-old babe in the arms of a very old man. After
so long, the psalmist's assurance that those who trust in God are happy is seen
- by young and tired parents who are still overwhelmed. The promise of a
personal and relational God, form the letter to the Hebrews, is embodied - in
the everyday conversations of strangers who have gathered in a common place to
praise God.
And -
the prophets speak. And God's people listen. And they believe.
And
then, the evangelist invites us - US! - to do the same.
Thus,
we begin to open ourselves to the weirdness. To the voices of ones calling from
the margins, in unanticipated ways and at unexpected times: but with undeniable
truths. We recognise that some misfits are speaking prophetic truths, calling:
softly, persistently, faithfully - and inviting us to be fully present - and
presented - in the household of God.
So we
open ourselves to offering what we have, presenting ourselves to the Temple of
God in a way that honours our traditions while looking to the future.
We present
ourselves - our souls and bodies, our energies and passions, our time and
talents - to the service of God. We present ourselves to the Temple - not the
building, but the family of God. We offer ourselves that the community may
benefit, that the faith may increase, that the presence of the Christ may be
celebrated.
Thank
God for the misfits, the weird moments, the unexpected prophets: for in the
weirdness the word of God is proclaimed.
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