Faith, hope, and a brown blazer

It was a long day, I guess, or a long couple of days.

Six services in two days.

Followed by dinner and presents with family.

Followed the next day by family pictures in Cheshire and then quality time spent with my wife, brother, and sister-in-law along with my son for part of the day.

We were here and there and tither and yon.

It wasn’t until Christmas night, after the family left for the evening when I got to rest, to just sit.

And I was then able to reflect on the past few days, on the holy beauty we all shared together, the anticipation in the morning as we celebrated Advent IV and then transitioned into Christmas Eve.

The organ blast announced Christ’s arrival three times on Christmas Eve.

Some traditions were new to me, others more routine; my family ate dinner just down the street after the 6 o’clock service, the same place we ate just last year.

Even our waiter was the same.

It was a busy, chaotic, wonderful day made beautiful by that sense of anticipation turning into something real, something tangible, the vibrations I felt were sourced from somewhere other than the organ peeling out its lower notes.

I arrived home at five minutes past midnight.

I woke up five hours later.

It was hard to sleep; lots to still think about, lots to keep in front of me.

Church went well, then family time, just the four of us, in front of the tree.

We opened our presents and smiled and joked and laughed as some families do.

Next was cooking dinner, then more family arrived and more presents were opened and then dinner was served.

Toward the end of the night we sat outside by a fire in the firepit.

Memories and wants floated with the smoke as we talked, all nine of us, just sat and talked and enjoyed each other as some families do when they are outside around a fire pit on Christmas night.

Years from now, I will not remember if the stars were out or the clouds masked the moon.

But I will know, that beginning that evening and later into the week, I began to feel a sense of peace, a sense of calm that had eluded me for most of this month; calmness even though I preached about finding rest throughout Advent.

Soon enough, routine returns though and I will hold onto this very busy week as something beautiful, something rather freeing.

“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.”

Simeon was a holy man, a righteous man.

He was one of the people in the synagogue who was always there.

I’d like you to pick your brain a bit.

Go back to your childhood and back to when you went to church with your parents or grandparents if indeed you did go to church with your parents or grandparents, and think back to that older gentleman who might have some memory of World War I.

Or think back to the women in the church who were older than your grandparents.

That couple who celebrated the anniversary of a marriage that lasted longer than your parents were alive.

Those stalwarts, those folks who seemed to have been there forever.

Indeed, as time passes by, we might have memories of such people and while we age together, we find ourselves becoming those people.

Can you picture them?

Do you see them?

I can see him.

I can see him in his brown blazer and wide tie, it must have been the early eighties.

He is standing on the other side of the church, partially silhouetted by stained glass behind him.

I am young and he was not.

And he was always there, always faithful.

He was a holy man, and a righteous one too.

That is who Simeon was.

His faith told him he would not depart this earth without having witnessed the Messiah.

Yet faith is not always easy and though he could have held some doubt, perhaps Simeon held none, for he was righteous and devout.

Still, imagine the relief, the absolute joy created by the confirmation of seeing his saviour before him.

In the words of a different translation, Simeon says, “Lord, you now have set your servant free

to go in peace as you have promised.”

Faith confirmed can be just as restful, just as relieving as sitting by the fireside on a late December evening, surrounded by family, and knowing you are loved.

And I do hope you are able to find such peace in a place such as this; to know that you are part of a line from Simeon to today.

The continuity of faith connects us to each other in ways that are sometimes indescribable, somewhat incomprehensible, too.

For we find in each other similarities, the memories of differences coalesce around a certain experience, translated into a certain language, formed by familiar experiences and expressions of faith.

That man by the stained glass in the church of my youth is as much a part of our common live together in this church with no stained glass as he is a part of a foggy recollection that only I experienced.

He is indeed a part of my cloud of memories, his influence, his faithfulness continues on long after his death.

So too does Simeon.

Though we read about him many times throughout the years, Simeon’s story is our story.

His relief in witnessing the Messiah is just as palpable today as it was then when we experience our own confirmations of faith.

When we are at our best, we share our common dreams; we rejoice in our common faith.

And when there are lulls in our faithfulness, when we read these stories of miracles and wonder if any of this could have really happened, we have each other whose faith will witness to us on our behalf.

We are a community brought together by love; we share our faith as one people loving and striving for a God who loves us and sets us free.

Still, even Simeon’s joy, his pronouncement at seeing our savior in the flesh was tempered just seconds later: “This child is destined for the falling and the rising of many in Israel, and to be a sign that will be opposed so that the inner thoughts of many will be revealed—and a sword will pierce your own soul too.”

Faith is hard.

In this age of science and reason, where skepticism in all things, religion included, is redolent of ages past when so-called enlightenment was in vogue, people still searched for faith, but it was not easy.

Thomas Jefferson created something called the Jefferson Bible, where he cut out all the miracle stories and stories of healing in the gospels and kept only the sayings of Jesus.

Sometimes the ones who rely most on rationality are the ones searching for faith as well.

Sometimes those most inured to skepticism are the ones looking most for community.

Sometimes, the one preaching before you this morning was an atheist and still the call to community was felt so strongly, that it took God to intervene and bring him back home.

The line from Simeon to that older gentleman in church is a straight one and it is unbroken, for they both had faith.

They were both righteous, just as all the innumerable amount of Simeons and church elders in between were righteous and full of faith.

~ Pause ~

So, we’re talking about Simeon and we’re talking about the busy worship season that Christmas brings.

Why?

What is the connection here?

The connection is our faith can bring us joy.

The connection is our faith can cause us to be in the temple or the synagogue, the cathedral or the church, and we can be rather busy, we can be rushing to green the church in the limited hours between Advent and Christmas Eve.

We might have to rush out to some game or practice.

We might have to visit a loved one once vibrant, now homebound.

All of this can be exhausting and hard and not easy.

Yet all of this too can lead to rest, a sense of calm when our faith is confirmed by the holiness that is family enveloped in the arms of Christ who loves us.

The moon that shines on us all illuminates our love for each other and for God.

Find those moments.

Seek out community.

Reach for a hand that will steady you when you fall.

In the words of the Nunc Dimittis otherwise known as the Song of Simeon:

Lord, you now have set your servant free

to go in peace as you have promised;

For these eyes of mine have seen the Savior,

whom you have prepared for all the world to see;

A Light to enlighten the nations,

and the glory of your people Israel.

Glory to the Father, and to the Son,

and to the Holy Spirit:

As it was in the beginning, is now,

and will be for ever.

Friends, find freedom in your faith confirmed.

See that God has joined us all together, in faith and with hope.

Amen.