Feast of the Presentation
5 February 2012
Saint Faith’s Anglican Church
Vancouver BC
Propers: Malachi 3.1-4; Psalm 84; Hebrews 2.11-14;
Luke 2.22-40
On
the 20th of July 1969 the eyes of most of humanity were directed
towards the moon. Apollo 11 had dispatched
the lunar excursion module to the surface of the moon and we all waited to
learn whether Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin would be the first human beings to
set foot on another celestial body. Many
of us will remember exactly where we were on that day or night. We may well remember Armstrong’s words when
he stepped on the surface: “That’s one
small step for [a] man, one giant leap for mankind.”
I
was sixteen that year and the landing occurred at around 8.00 p.m. Mountain
Time. I remember thinking that my
grandparents had all been born before the Wright brothers made their historic
flight on the beach in North Carolina.
In their lifetime humanity had moved from the age of steam into the age
of space as well as experienced the trauma of two world wars and the
Holocaust. I do not remember whether I
ever spoke of this to them.
Now
I am fairly sure that most of us who remember the first landing on the moon
probably remember where we were on that day or night. I am absolutely sure that few if any of us
here today remember a perhaps more miraculous occurrence that happened the same
day that Armstrong stepped onto the lunar surface.
On
the 20th of July 1969 Gaylord Perry, future Hall of Fame pitcher for
the San Francisco Giants, hit the first home run of his then ten-year-long career. Perry, like most baseball pitchers, was not
known for his hitting ability. In fact
Alvin Dark, Perry’s manager in 1963, said, ‘They’ll put a man on the moon
before Gaylord will hit a home run.’
While there is some uncertainty as to the timing, whether the home run
came first or the lunar landing, the fact remains that the same day witnessed
these two events: a historic landing
that had been long planned and carefully executed, a home run that had never
been hoped-for but unexpected.
Have
you ever waited and waited for something to happen? Have you ever hoped in the depths of your
heart that you would witness an event that you knew would change the world as
you know it? Have you ever begun to lose
that hope when the years pass and nothing has happened? I have waited and hoped. I have also experienced the twilight of those
hopes and the creeping despair that replaces the expectation.
Think
of the prophet whom we know as Malachi.
He and the people of Judah had returned to the land of their ancestors
and begun to rebuild after the catastrophe of the Babylonian exile. True, they were vassals of the Persian
empire, but they enjoyed a certain autonomy.
The Temple had been rebuilt, but the hoped-for restoration of God’s
reign of justice and peace had not occurred.
Injustice and economic oppression were widespread. Many among the people had begun to wonder if
their hopes were in vain and God’s promises were empty. To them Malachi directed words of assurance;
the day will come, Malachi says, when God’s reign will come among us. Wait.
So
the people did wait. They waited for
centuries. They endured dynastic wars
and foreign invasions. They witnessed
the restoration of an independent Judean state under the Maccabees and lived
through its decline and incorporation into the Roman empire. But still they waited. From time to time there would be glimpses of
God’s reign, like the beacon of light that occurs at night when a window
curtain is opened for a brief moment and light shines into the darkness. But then darkness is restored.
Among
those who waited were Simeon and Anna.
Given their ages as described in Luke, these two elders had lived
through the collapse of the Maccabean state and the ascendancy of Rome. As they worshipped in the Temple, they need
only glance to the north to see the towers of the Antonia, the fortress from
which the Romans kept a weather eye on the Temple precincts and its
worshippers. As they went about their
daily business, they surely ran into the soldiers of the Tenth Legion whose
regimental insignia was a boar, a wild pig, an affront to the sensibilities of
the Jewish people. I am certain that
there were moments when either or both of them prayed, “How long, O Lord, how
long before you restore the fortunes of Zion?”
Then
that day came, a day that they hoped to see, but perhaps had begun to doubt
would ever occur. A young couple whose
clothes identified them as poor and from the Galilee came into the Temple
bearing an infant. And Simeon and Anna
knew in an instant what they were seeing:
the fulfillment of their hopes, the embodiment of God’s promises to
Israel. Their joy was tempered by
reality; Simeon’s words remind us that God’s good news to all of humanity is
always bad news to those who seek power and personal gain. But it is good news.
So,
a light has come to reveal God to the Gentiles and for the glory of God’s
people, Israel. But it sometimes feels
as if that light is fleeting and the darkness has overcome it. The twenty-first century has dawned and, to
be frank, does not seem to be any more enlightened than the centuries that have
come before it. Technology advances, but
the poor do not. People overturn
dictatorships only to have new forms of oppression replace the old ones. Stewardship of God’s creation is lauded, but
consumerism abounds. In place of
religious faith we see fundamentalisms of the left and the right. “How long, O Lord, how long before you
restore the fortunes of Zion?”
I
remember the bishop who ordained me, Bishop Bill Frey of Colorado, once
attended a meeting of the committee planning the diocesan renewal
conference. The members of the planning
committee were committed to allowing the Holy Spirit to guide them and Bill
discovered, to his dismay, that there were a number of important aspects of the
conference that had not been planned.
Bill asked about these details only to have the chair respond, “We’re
depending upon the spontaneity of the Spirit.”
“Well,” Bill responded, “it’s been my experience that the spontaneity of
the Spirit requires considerable preparation.”
We
do not know when our hopes will be realized and God’s promises revealed. Despite all contemporary efforts to foretell
when things will happen, it is my observation that God is extraordinarily
spontaneous. What is necessary to
maintain hope and to live expectantly for the realization of God’s purpose is
the discipline of waiting, an act of preparation for what is to come.
And
how shall we wait? Malachi, Simeon and
Anna show us how to wait, even in the darkest times.
- We wait by participating in the life of the community of faith as it cares for one another, celebrates the sacraments and deepens its understanding of the mystery of God.
- We wait by being people of reconciliation who seek to break down the sin which burdens ourselves and others.
- We wait by sharing with others the good news that God has given to each one of us.
- We wait by seeking out those who are in any need or trouble and by working to overcome those obstacles which hinder the glorious liberty promised to every human being.
- We wait by working for justice and peace at home and abroad.
But we wait. From time to time, just like a hoped-for but
unexpected home runs, God’s promises come to pass in our lives and in the lives
of those whom we love and for whom we care.
From time to time, just like the arrival of a hope-for but unexpected
child, we realize that God is indeed at work in our world and the darkness is
not really darkness but fertile ground awaiting the sprouting of seeds long
planted. And then, we may join Malachi,
Simeon and Anna in their prayer of thanksgiving:
"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." (Luke 2.29-32)
Amen.
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