I think it’s safe to say, that to describe the past 10 days or so, a relevant word choice would be: “Weird”
We’re in uncertain times.
We’re watching the news come in, overwhelmed, wondering “What next” – and there’s no end of weirdness in sight.
So we look for some calm; some consistency, some stability:
We come to our faith.
And – as always – we are not disappointed.
Because our faith gives us grace to look for the light. To seek out the good news. To swim through the weirdness and know that this isn’t it: God’s story is not over.
Today especially – as we celebrate Candlemas – we are celebrating the light.
February 2nd marks the mid-point between the darkness of winter solstice and the light of spring equinox.
In pre-electricity days, families would bring put their candles in home windows or carry them to church; a visible demonstration of light overcoming darkness. During the worship service (the Candle Mass) the priest would bless all the candles that the church would use during the year – a reminder that the light is always there, a blessing and gift from God – all we need to do is look for it.
The date is significant, as the pre-Christian festival of light was also used to predict the weather - a tradition not unlike our dependence on Groundhogs (though, I suspect, equally unreliable!)
And hey: a rodent looking for its shadow is about as weird as weather predictions can get – yet as a society we’ve become comfortable with that level of weird.
The scriptures given to us for Candlemas are themselves a celebration of light, being seen and shared – in unexpected, even weird, ways.
The presentation of a child in the Temple was a normal rite - It took place after childbirth (40 days for a boy, 60 for a girl) where the mother was ‘purified’ (or re-welcomed into the worshipping community). This delay offered a time of healing for mother and child, especially in a time of high infant and maternal mortality. So here families introduced their child with the wider worshipping community, and gave thanks to God for the health of both child and mother.
And this tradition was well-known within the culture: 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, but that our steadfastness through the challenges of this world’s weirdness will help us to grow stronger in our faith and in our sense of community. And into the Temple, the Lord will come: that light that shines in the darkness and will not be overcome. It’s a comfort.
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.
The epistle reminds the community of God’s presence with us – in the earthly confusion, in the weird happenings, in the endurance of all that life throws at us. God has been a companion, walking alongside us – not some elitist ruler avoiding life’s difficulties. A strange concept for the Roman society that epitomised privilege and prestige.
Right from the beginning, God has been with us: going through what we go through.
The person of Jesus – as an infant – with his earthly parents - embraces the weirdness of life.
Jesus, and Mary, and Joseph – they come to the Temple, to celebrate this Presentation ritual. A ceremony that we continue today: for this ritual informs our modern "Thanksgiving for the Birth of a Child" (once called the "Churching of Women").
Though, the Presentation may strike us as weird, as Mary and Joseph have trekked some 10 miles through dust and dirt, with their newborn, to make a pricey 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.
I’m glad we’ve changed THAT weird feature.
But even for the folks who were expecting that, the lovelies in the Gospel passage today have their own weird experience: the Presentation of a child was normally a joyful time to gather, to pray and praise, and then to go home and live as a faithful young family,
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 guess 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. They see the light that is before us: and they boldly proclaim it.
So here we have these two prophets. Offering the world truth, faith, and witness: showing the world that the light had come.
In a weird, unexpected way: for the people were expecting a strong warrior; and God presented a small, precious baby.
But the prophets trusted that God sometimes comes to us through the weirdness: and they celebrated the light.
Anna in declaring that her 84 years of waiting was not too long – and using whatever time she had left to share that she had seen the Light of the Christ.
And Simeon: that delightful man, whose words actually declared that he knew the weirdness was in fact, over: for the light was present. His song rejoiced in the completeness of creation – manifest before him in that unlikely presence of the child.
Weirdness is, after all, what prophets do. The late Rachel Held Evans, in her 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 by saying:
"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 Resistance is winning. The Light is breaking through." (pg. 130)
The prophets speak: and God’s people listen.
And this is the good news of the prophets: the ones we hear in our scriptures, the truths we see in our traditions, the ones we recognise through their actions in our world today: the ones bearing light – the light of God – even through the weirdness.
So let us hear the invitation that comes to us today: to be open to and through the weirdness, to the voices of ones calling from the margins, in unanticipated ways and at unexpected times: but with undeniable truths. For in these voices, the light is the peace-giving constant: calling softly, persistently, faithfully - and inviting us to be fully present - and presented - in the household of God.
Thank God for the faith which gives us the certainty to face the world’s weirdness – and to be comforted, together, knowing we will see the light that is always there.
We’re in uncertain times.
We’re watching the news come in, overwhelmed, wondering “What next” – and there’s no end of weirdness in sight.
So we look for some calm; some consistency, some stability:
We come to our faith.
And – as always – we are not disappointed.
Because our faith gives us grace to look for the light. To seek out the good news. To swim through the weirdness and know that this isn’t it: God’s story is not over.
Today especially – as we celebrate Candlemas – we are celebrating the light.
February 2nd marks the mid-point between the darkness of winter solstice and the light of spring equinox.
In pre-electricity days, families would bring put their candles in home windows or carry them to church; a visible demonstration of light overcoming darkness. During the worship service (the Candle Mass) the priest would bless all the candles that the church would use during the year – a reminder that the light is always there, a blessing and gift from God – all we need to do is look for it.
The date is significant, as the pre-Christian festival of light was also used to predict the weather - a tradition not unlike our dependence on Groundhogs (though, I suspect, equally unreliable!)
And hey: a rodent looking for its shadow is about as weird as weather predictions can get – yet as a society we’ve become comfortable with that level of weird.
The scriptures given to us for Candlemas are themselves a celebration of light, being seen and shared – in unexpected, even weird, ways.
The presentation of a child in the Temple was a normal rite - It took place after childbirth (40 days for a boy, 60 for a girl) where the mother was ‘purified’ (or re-welcomed into the worshipping community). This delay offered a time of healing for mother and child, especially in a time of high infant and maternal mortality. So here families introduced their child with the wider worshipping community, and gave thanks to God for the health of both child and mother.
And this tradition was well-known within the culture: 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, but that our steadfastness through the challenges of this world’s weirdness will help us to grow stronger in our faith and in our sense of community. And into the Temple, the Lord will come: that light that shines in the darkness and will not be overcome. It’s a comfort.
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.
The epistle reminds the community of God’s presence with us – in the earthly confusion, in the weird happenings, in the endurance of all that life throws at us. God has been a companion, walking alongside us – not some elitist ruler avoiding life’s difficulties. A strange concept for the Roman society that epitomised privilege and prestige.
Right from the beginning, God has been with us: going through what we go through.
The person of Jesus – as an infant – with his earthly parents - embraces the weirdness of life.
Jesus, and Mary, and Joseph – they come to the Temple, to celebrate this Presentation ritual. A ceremony that we continue today: for this ritual informs our modern "Thanksgiving for the Birth of a Child" (once called the "Churching of Women").
Though, the Presentation may strike us as weird, as Mary and Joseph have trekked some 10 miles through dust and dirt, with their newborn, to make a pricey 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.
I’m glad we’ve changed THAT weird feature.
But even for the folks who were expecting that, the lovelies in the Gospel passage today have their own weird experience: the Presentation of a child was normally a joyful time to gather, to pray and praise, and then to go home and live as a faithful young family,
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 guess 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. They see the light that is before us: and they boldly proclaim it.
So here we have these two prophets. Offering the world truth, faith, and witness: showing the world that the light had come.
In a weird, unexpected way: for the people were expecting a strong warrior; and God presented a small, precious baby.
But the prophets trusted that God sometimes comes to us through the weirdness: and they celebrated the light.
Anna in declaring that her 84 years of waiting was not too long – and using whatever time she had left to share that she had seen the Light of the Christ.
And Simeon: that delightful man, whose words actually declared that he knew the weirdness was in fact, over: for the light was present. His song rejoiced in the completeness of creation – manifest before him in that unlikely presence of the child.
Weirdness is, after all, what prophets do. The late Rachel Held Evans, in her 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 by saying:
"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 Resistance is winning. The Light is breaking through." (pg. 130)
The prophets speak: and God’s people listen.
And this is the good news of the prophets: the ones we hear in our scriptures, the truths we see in our traditions, the ones we recognise through their actions in our world today: the ones bearing light – the light of God – even through the weirdness.
So let us hear the invitation that comes to us today: to be open to and through the weirdness, to the voices of ones calling from the margins, in unanticipated ways and at unexpected times: but with undeniable truths. For in these voices, the light is the peace-giving constant: calling softly, persistently, faithfully - and inviting us to be fully present - and presented - in the household of God.
Thank God for the faith which gives us the certainty to face the world’s weirdness – and to be comforted, together, knowing we will see the light that is always there.
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