Preacher: Christopher Green
Readings:
Malachi 3, 1-5
Hebrews 2, 14-18
Luke 2, 22-40
‘Candlemas’… I don't know about you but I have always loved
candles. Perhaps it is to do with the soft light they shed, leaving mysterious
shadows all around. Strange that when we have brighter and more constant lights
available at the flick of a switch, we still want to go back to them for
special occasions, whether it is dinner parties, birthdays, or church festivals
such as today’s.
Candlemas of course is yet another
case of Christians hijacking Pagan Festivals- like Christmas and Easter. The 2nd
Feb is the mid-point between the winter solstice and the spring equinox. Pope
Sergius I invented a festival that would be full of fire, warmth and light,
which was just how the pagans were celebrating. It was originally dedicated to
the Virgin Mary- in Jewish Law, a woman who had given birth to a male child
must wait for forty days before presenting herself in the Temple, with a
sacrifice to atone for her ritual impurity.
Various old traditions attach to
Candlemas- you may have heard the rhyme-
If Candlemas day be fair and
bright, winter will have another fight;
If Candlesmas day bring cloud and rain, winter will not come again.
So let us be glad we are
celebrating it today rather than yesterday!
'Light' and 'dark' are potent
spiritual symbols, for Jews and Christians as much as for pagans. God’s first
word in Genesis is ‘Let there be light’, and light is often identified with God
in the Old Testament. Thus the psalmist “You, O LORD, keep my lamp burning; my
God turns my darkness into light” (Ps 18); and Isaiah “the people walking in
darkness have seen a great light” (Isa 9). We are not just talking about
intellectual understanding here, but something moral and spiritual-
‘enlightenment’ in the widest sense.
This continues in Christian
writing when Christ is called “the light of the world”. And our gospel today
recounts how two prophetic Israelites recognise the dawning of this light - so
let us turn now to this story.
First we meet Simeon. We are told
little about him, except that he was 'righteous and devout, looking for the
consolation of Israel'- and by 'consolation' we should understand the Jewish
idea of the Messiah.
Next we are told that he takes the
baby Jesus in his arms, before uttering his hymn 'Now lettest thou thy servant
depart in peace, according to thy word' (to use the translation I was brought
up with). The words he uses could have been inspired by several passages from
the prophet Isaiah, such as
"I will place salvation in
Zion for Israel my glory." (47 v13)
and "The Gentiles shall come
to thy light, and kings to the brightness of thy rising." (60 v3).
So Simeon is saying- "here is
the Messiah that I and the people of Israel have longed to see- and who will be
the salvation for the Gentiles too- now I can die in peace".
But he has not done yet. He adds:
"Behold, this child is set
for the falling and rising of many in Israel", and to his mother " a
sword will pierce your own heart also". So the hope of Israel is also to
be divisive- and we know these are prophetic words, for the nation of Israel
will turn on this Messiah and kill him, and break his mother's heart.
Simeon's message is reinforced by
the prophetess Anna, who is also cast as a faithful Israelite, waiting for the
salvation of Israel.
There has been much speculation on
the identity of Simeon and Anna, who have this single walk-on part in this one
Gospel. For Luke I think it does not matter- their role is representative. They
stand for the old Israel, waiting in hope for God’s light to shine in their
dark times- and they recognise in Jesus the fulfilment of this hope. They take
their place with Zechariah and Elizabeth, John the Baptist’s parents, who we
meet earlier in the gospel. They, too, are an aged and priestly pair of
Israelites, who prophesy concerning the Messiah[1].
Perhaps through them Luke is saying- the last mission of the ancient Mosaic
faith is to point to the one who was to come- and then its job is done, and it
can depart in peace.
We are now at the end of the
infancy narratives; soon we meet Jesus starting on his ministry, which will end
so fatefully (and of course this year, Lent starts in three days from now). So
we might pause to ask- why did the Messiah fulfil the hopes of some, but not
others? As the fourth Gospel puts it, "In him was life, and that life was the
light of men. The light shines in the darkness, but the darkness has not
understood it." What was so unacceptable, so incomprehensible, about
this Messiah?
I don't think the answer is hard
to find, if we put ourselves into the first century Jewish mind. Jesus was the wrong
Messiah! Much of Israel was waiting for a strong leader who would galvanise
the people and end Roman occupation- so perhaps it is not surprising that they
were slow to catch on. What irony it is to have that passage from Malachi
today. Malachi says "Suddenly the Lord will return to his temple. But who
can endure the day of his coming?" And after four hundred years of
waiting, the Messiah returns to his temple as a baby of a humble family,
passing unnoticed except by two otherwise unimportant Israelites.
And this seems to be the problem
with the illumination provided by God. His ways are not our ways; unlike the
sun, we cannot predict his rising and setting, and unlike the electric light,
we cannot switch him on and off. The Jewish establishment of Jesus’ day thought
they had God all worked out- all they had to do was follow the dictates of
Mosaic Law in order to win eternal life. But as so often in their history, God
appeared to intervene to throw over their assumptions. Jesus may have been the
light of the world, but many proved blind. Rejection of the way of Jesus, the
way of peace, arguably led to destruction and disaster for the Jewish people,
in the Jewish rebellion of AD 67.
Bringing this down to earth for
us, we are currently seeking illumination on our way forward in these
parishes- Rodney Stoke, Draycott and Cheddar.
We are being asked to participate in the selection of our new minister,
who will lead a united benefice- something we have not had before. Ahead of us
is uncertainty- obscurity. What do we want? Someone who will keep things going
just as they have been, as far as possible? Perhaps a leader who get us working
in a more co-ordinated, or event united, way?
Maybe this Candlemas we can find a
useful image for ministry in the candles themselves. When we pass our flame
from one person to another, lighting one candle from another, isn’t this a
wonderful image for the Holy Spirit- we are sharing something that is capable
of living in each one of us. It is not
one great power-source like the sun, but a collective of individual flames. Of
course this may be an alarming image for anyone who wants to control the
process- once started, it takes on a life of its own.
I think that Stanley has shown us
how much can be done by devolving things to lay ministry in the parishes- the
preaching team is one example (and I hope you think it is a positive one). Our
new minister will have less time to get around his patch than we are used to,
and I suspect that if we are not to reduce the presence of our local churches,
we shall need more local leadership. So perhaps the minister we need is one who
will give us greater local autonomy, and encourage local initiative and
ministry- and this is what we should be telling our representatives who are
charged with choosing him- or her.
So there are many things to hope
for this Candlemas. We look forward to the spring, we look to a new vicar and
new fellowship with our fellow parishes, and we look for the mutual
illumination and sustenance we are able to give to each other.
I wish you all a reflective and
holy Lent.
[1] Elizabeth's song- the Magnificat- is generally attributed to Mary, but it is much more probable that it was uttered by Elizabeth, as indicated by a few MSs