Commonplace Light?
Presentation of Christ in the Temple (Candlemas)
Luke 2.22-40
Think of this as commonplace, this presentation of the
Christ-child in the Temple. Something in these circumstances done by everyone; a simple ritual observed by every faithful family. Perhaps there were other families in the precincts that day doing the same. It’s probably that most people doing other things in the Temple that day hardly noticed Mary and Joseph
and their little one. And if they did notice them, they probably didn’t give them a second thought. This was just what people did when they had a new baby son – commonplace.
The tradition was that a first-born male child was presented to the Lord in the Temple forty days after his birth. Certainly journeying and inconvenience might be involved, but these were small trials to a faithful couple. The Temple system was at the very heart of the people’s religion so no doubt new parents were glad to have their part in it.
The purpose of the presentation was to purchase back the child from God since a first-born son was a special gift from God. All the things of heritage, continuity, property, ethnicity and family were summed up in this child. This was a sign of freedom under God that could not be over-emphasised. Since God long ago had saved in Egypt every first-born Hebrew son from Pharaoh’s wrath through the blood of a lamb, so in the generations since every first son was purchased from God through the offering of a lamb. Those couples, who couldn’t afford a lamb, brought instead two pigeons. This was the offering of the poor – this was the offering of Mary and Joseph.
So this is a commonplace Jewish ceremony and, in the case of the couple from Nazareth, a ceremony of the poor. Not the most obvious of things for Christians to celebrate perhaps and yet this has been marked in the church since the fourth century. Indeed it is one of those festival days that traditionally are always kept, even when they fall on a Sunday – like today. We keep today not the Fourth Sunday of Epiphany but the Presentation of Christ in
the Temple. Our Christian forebears thought is right to mark the fortieth day of Christ-child’s life – just as Moses had prescribed such a marking for the Jewish people. So our thoughts are directed to a sense of continuity with the Jewish people. The liberation and belonging that the Temple ceremony meant for them is a thing for Christians to honour. We have something to learn from their devotion.
And then there is something to think seriously on in what this day concludes. Here we mark the conclusion of our celebration of Christ’s nativity. For the first-born Jewish son, the fortieth day meant the traumas and risks of birth were firmly past; a new life had been established and should by now be thriving at the breast; all those anxieties of the first days now done with. It was an easy step for Christians to apply the same thought to the
Christ-child – we conclude our marking of the birth of Jesus and turn towards the consequences of that birth. So this became the day on which the church blessed its candles for use through the coming days – each flickering light declaring that Christ is the Light of the World for everyday.
In the Eastern Church this day was first called ‘The Meeting’ and that suggests the third reason for holding it as special. We commemorate, as Luke tells the story, the godly Simeon and Anna meeting the Christ-child. They had been watching and waiting, and in this baby they saw the fulfilment of their longings. These two saw in the baby something that all those in the bustle around about them failed to see. Simeon prays, ‘God, you can now
dismiss me in peace. You have allowed me, your servant, to see for myself the salvation you promised. Here is the God-revealing light for everyone, the very glory of your people Israel.’ And his words echoes through the centuries – shared by millions who have have seen the same light in Christ.
The Presentation stirs us in heart and mind that we too might watch and wait like Simeon and Anna. And that we too with them might have the grace to name the Christ-light amongst – lovingly, reverently and joyfully. The light is always Christ’s but we prayer that we may reflect it ourselves and recognise its' reflection in other people.
I can’t remember who told me this story but it stays with me: The man took from his wallet a small round mirror, no bigger than a coin. He explained that as the child of a poor family living in a remote part of Greece during World War II he found broken mirror fragments on the road one day. At that spot a German military motorcycle had been wrecked. He tried to put the fragments of glass together but he couldn’t. So he kept the largest fragment –
the one he had now produced from his wallet. As a child he had scrapped it on rock until it had become circular.
It became a treasured toy. He was fascinated by the way he could shine light into dark places with it. Indeed it became a game for him to find the most difficult places he could to shine light into with his tiny mirror. As he became an adult, he said, he grew to realise it wasn’t just a child’s game but it was also a metaphor for what he could do with his life. He
came to realise that he wasn’t the light but that by what he did or said he could reflect light in dark places.
He concluded, ‘I am a fragment of a mirror whose whole design and shape I do not know. Nevertheless with what I have, I can reflect light into the dark places of this world. I can change for good some things for some people, and I hope that seeing this, other people will do the same: a tiny mirror for truth, understanding, or care.’
A light for revelation – let’s make it commonplace.
Christ-child in the Temple. Something in these circumstances done by everyone; a simple ritual observed by every faithful family. Perhaps there were other families in the precincts that day doing the same. It’s probably that most people doing other things in the Temple that day hardly noticed Mary and Joseph
and their little one. And if they did notice them, they probably didn’t give them a second thought. This was just what people did when they had a new baby son – commonplace.
The tradition was that a first-born male child was presented to the Lord in the Temple forty days after his birth. Certainly journeying and inconvenience might be involved, but these were small trials to a faithful couple. The Temple system was at the very heart of the people’s religion so no doubt new parents were glad to have their part in it.
The purpose of the presentation was to purchase back the child from God since a first-born son was a special gift from God. All the things of heritage, continuity, property, ethnicity and family were summed up in this child. This was a sign of freedom under God that could not be over-emphasised. Since God long ago had saved in Egypt every first-born Hebrew son from Pharaoh’s wrath through the blood of a lamb, so in the generations since every first son was purchased from God through the offering of a lamb. Those couples, who couldn’t afford a lamb, brought instead two pigeons. This was the offering of the poor – this was the offering of Mary and Joseph.
So this is a commonplace Jewish ceremony and, in the case of the couple from Nazareth, a ceremony of the poor. Not the most obvious of things for Christians to celebrate perhaps and yet this has been marked in the church since the fourth century. Indeed it is one of those festival days that traditionally are always kept, even when they fall on a Sunday – like today. We keep today not the Fourth Sunday of Epiphany but the Presentation of Christ in
the Temple. Our Christian forebears thought is right to mark the fortieth day of Christ-child’s life – just as Moses had prescribed such a marking for the Jewish people. So our thoughts are directed to a sense of continuity with the Jewish people. The liberation and belonging that the Temple ceremony meant for them is a thing for Christians to honour. We have something to learn from their devotion.
And then there is something to think seriously on in what this day concludes. Here we mark the conclusion of our celebration of Christ’s nativity. For the first-born Jewish son, the fortieth day meant the traumas and risks of birth were firmly past; a new life had been established and should by now be thriving at the breast; all those anxieties of the first days now done with. It was an easy step for Christians to apply the same thought to the
Christ-child – we conclude our marking of the birth of Jesus and turn towards the consequences of that birth. So this became the day on which the church blessed its candles for use through the coming days – each flickering light declaring that Christ is the Light of the World for everyday.
In the Eastern Church this day was first called ‘The Meeting’ and that suggests the third reason for holding it as special. We commemorate, as Luke tells the story, the godly Simeon and Anna meeting the Christ-child. They had been watching and waiting, and in this baby they saw the fulfilment of their longings. These two saw in the baby something that all those in the bustle around about them failed to see. Simeon prays, ‘God, you can now
dismiss me in peace. You have allowed me, your servant, to see for myself the salvation you promised. Here is the God-revealing light for everyone, the very glory of your people Israel.’ And his words echoes through the centuries – shared by millions who have have seen the same light in Christ.
The Presentation stirs us in heart and mind that we too might watch and wait like Simeon and Anna. And that we too with them might have the grace to name the Christ-light amongst – lovingly, reverently and joyfully. The light is always Christ’s but we prayer that we may reflect it ourselves and recognise its' reflection in other people.
I can’t remember who told me this story but it stays with me: The man took from his wallet a small round mirror, no bigger than a coin. He explained that as the child of a poor family living in a remote part of Greece during World War II he found broken mirror fragments on the road one day. At that spot a German military motorcycle had been wrecked. He tried to put the fragments of glass together but he couldn’t. So he kept the largest fragment –
the one he had now produced from his wallet. As a child he had scrapped it on rock until it had become circular.
It became a treasured toy. He was fascinated by the way he could shine light into dark places with it. Indeed it became a game for him to find the most difficult places he could to shine light into with his tiny mirror. As he became an adult, he said, he grew to realise it wasn’t just a child’s game but it was also a metaphor for what he could do with his life. He
came to realise that he wasn’t the light but that by what he did or said he could reflect light in dark places.
He concluded, ‘I am a fragment of a mirror whose whole design and shape I do not know. Nevertheless with what I have, I can reflect light into the dark places of this world. I can change for good some things for some people, and I hope that seeing this, other people will do the same: a tiny mirror for truth, understanding, or care.’
A light for revelation – let’s make it commonplace.
