THE PRESENTATION

Sunday, February 2, 2025

Saints Matthew and Mark, Barrington, R. I.

 

St. Luke 2:22-40

 

The Presentation of our Lord in the Temple, also known as the Purification of Saint Mary the Virgin, or Candlemas, concludes the annual Christmas cycle of holy days. This Christmas cycle begins on March 25th, with the Annunciation, nine months before Christ’s birth; and it concludes today, February 2nd, forty days after his birth. Along the way, we celebrate the Visitation of Mary to Elizabeth on May 31st, the birth of John the Baptist on June 24th, the Nativity on December 25th, and the Epiphany on January 6th. 

 

Each of these days highlights a different aspect of the mystery of the Incarnation. At the heart of the Christian faith is the good news that “the Word became flesh and dwelt among us”—that is, that God the Son came down from heaven and took our flesh to share in our human life, so that we in turn might come to share in his divine life.

 

At the Lord’s Presentation in the Temple, two figures stand out as representing Israel’s hopes and longings for the coming Messiah: Simeon and Anna. Simeon has received the promise that he shall see the Lord’s Anointed before he dies. When Mary and Joseph bring the infant Jesus into the Temple, Simeon immediately recognizes by divine inspiration that this is the one.

 

In response to this revelation, Simeon sings the song we know as the Nunc Dimittis: “Master, now you are dismissing your servant in peace, according to your word, for my eyes have seen your salvation …” (I must admit how much I prefer the old translation: “Lord, now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace, according to thy word, for mine eyes have seen thy salvation.”) In any case, Simeon proclaims that Jesus is the glory of God’s people Israel and God’s light to lighten the nations. These words give today’s celebration its essential character as a celebration of divine light and glory.

 

But there’s a dark side to what Simeon says next: “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 …” Some translations render “a sign that will be opposed” as “a sign of contradiction.” Either way, Christ’s coming into the world is not all sweetness and light.

 

To understand what Simeon is saying, we can do no better than turn to the twentieth-century Swiss theologian Karl Barth. In his Commentary on Romans, published in 1919, Barth set forth what became known as the theology of crisis, and, more broadly, as neo-orthodoxy. Over and against the optimism of nineteenth-century liberal Protestantism, which cheerfully affirmed an innate human capacity to build the kingdom of God on earth by means of progress in education, medicine, science, and technology, Barth and his associates uttered an emphatic “No!” (In German, “Nein!”)

 

Following the devastation and slaughter of the First World War, Barth insisted on God’s utter remoteness from a fallen world, estranged by sin and rebellion. This infinite chasm between God and fallen humanity could never be bridged from the human side. But the good news was that God himself had bridged this unbridgeable gap by his Word, his Self-Revelation, given first in the Law and the Prophets, and then finally and definitively in Jesus Christ, the Word-made-flesh.

 

Confronted with the light of God’s Word, however, human beings are apt to experience a profound crisis. For God’s word initially seems a word of judgment and condemnation. This encounter with the Word exposes our sin, wickedness, and rebellion so that we’re forced to decide whether to come to the light by confessing our sins, or to retreat further into the darkness by insisting on our own worthiness and self-sufficiency.

 

When we confess our sins and cast ourselves on God’s mercy, however, his word of judgment is miraculously transformed into a word of mercy, forgiveness, and affirmation. The paradox is that the more we insist on our own inherent worthiness, the deeper we dig ourselves into the mire and separate ourselves from God; but when we confess our unworthiness and cast ourselves on God’s mercy, God himself makes us worthy, and welcomes us home.

 

So, to return to Simeon in today’s Gospel, many are unable to bear the divine light that Jesus brings into the world. The Incarnate Word stands as a sign of contradiction set for the falling and rising of many. Those who prefer the darkness reject the light which exposes the world’s sins. His Word thus confronts each of us with the choice whether to accept the truth about God and ourselves. In so deciding, we become our own judges, laying bare the secret thoughts of our inmost hearts.

 

Even more disturbing are Simeon’s words to Mary, “A sword will pierce your own soul too.” This saying anticipates the sorrow and anguish that Mary will undergo as she witnesses her son dying on the cross as the result of the human rejection of the light. The light and glory that Jesus brings into the world comes at a price: one that he himself pays in his own blood, and one in which the Blessed Virgin Mary shares by her sorrow and desolation at the foot of the cross. It’s fitting that Candlemas comes a few weeks before Ash Wednesday and Lent. Even as we recapitulate the joy and light of Christ’s Nativity, we glance ahead along the road towards Calvary.

 

So, as we join in today’s joyful celebration, we remember the price Jesus pays to bring us his light and glory. His coming into the world confronts each of us with a decision. Simeon and Anna exemplify those who recognize and welcome him as the world’s salvation. We do well to pray for the grace likewise to receive him joyfully, in repentance and faith, as the light who lightens the nations and the glory of God’s people Israel.