Sunday After Christmas
Luke 2:22-40
Why are you here today? You people. Why aren’t you like all the rest of
the folks who turned over in bed this morning and said, “I’ve already
been to church once this week. I think I’ll just pass today and go back
to sleep?”
Why aren’t you like those who poured a second cup of coffee
and thought “I don’t want to get dressed just yet” and sure enough
the newspaper was so interesting the time to come to church just passed.
Or maybe like those whose kids had a little sniffle and were sleeping in and
you were so grateful you let sleeping dogs lie.
This is traditionally the second lowest attendance service
of the church year. (The first is of course the Sunday after Easter.) After
all the pageantry and beauty of the Christmas service somehow the Sunday after
Christmas is anti climactic—better to cherish those good feelings of candlelight
and peace a little longer.
So why are you here? The choir members are off today. The Sunday school teachers
are not teaching today. So why are you here. I kind of think that if you weren’t
here today, then Hyea Young and us wouldn’t have to be here today. So why
are you here?
By now you’re probably wondering that yourself. Why am
I here? Trust me, I won’t leave you feeling bad, feeling like a smuck for
showing up when no one else did.
Frankly I think the lesson we have today contains appropriate
rationale for why we should be here, in this place, at this time worshipping
God and giving thanks for the appearance of Jesus Christ as the Savior of the
world.
Consider the players in our little story this morning. First,
there is Mary. She was counting the days since Jesus’ birth. Some mother’s
count the days till their newborns sleep through the night. But for Mary, her
magic number was forty. According to God’s law in Leviticus, that was how
many days she had to wait before she reentered the life of her community. Until
then, she was set apart—not because she was bad but because she had given
birth—and there was a prescribed period of recovery before she could touch
holy things at home or go back to the synagogue on the Sabbath.
It all had to do with blood, which was held in such awe—as
the very substance of life, as the seal of the covenant—that it was surrounded
by a lot of taboos. A mother’s time apart was called her “blood purification,”
and when it was over there was something very specific she had to do. She had
to take a lamb in its first year and a pigeon or a turtledove to a priest who
would offer them to God on her behalf. After that, she would be clean again.
If she did not have enough money for a lamb, which apparently was the case for
Mary and Joseph, the law contained a poverty clause. She could substitute another
bird for the lamb and the results would be the same. Her purification would
be complete and she could return to the full life of her community.
So why was Mary in temple that day? Ritual. Law. Did she want to be there? Probably
not. She would have probably wanted to go back to Nazereth a whole lot sooner,
but no she had to wait. She had to fulfill the law. She had to go through the
proper motions, do the rite thing
If we asked a lot of the kids why they’re here today they’d
probably say, “My parents made me.” Well Mary’s community was
making her. This is what you did, What you had to do, A requirement, a rule,
an obligation. We have no way of knowing but maybe her heart wasn’t in
it. She might not have felt emotionally moved or spiritually fulfilled for being
here at the temple. True her son was also being presented to the Lord. That
also was part of the law and maybe they felt little more pride in bringing their
first born son to be presented, parents often get more warm fuzzies from seeing
their children’s milestones than in passing their own milestones.
Nevertheless, Mary was there to fulfill the law. Mary and Joseph had made the
day trip from Bethlehem to Jerusalem to fulfill the law, to do their duty, meet
their obligations.
And maybe that’s why we’re here today, because it’s
the thing to do. An inner voice of conscience, an old parental tape is saying
of course you’ll go to church, why wouldn’t you. So here you are.
Now Simeon why was he at the temple. According to Luke, going to the temple
had not been on his list of things to do that day. Simeon had been somewhere
else when the Spirit tapped him on the shoulder and guided him there. Maybe
it was something that happened to him all the time, or maybe it was rare, but
in either case Simeon could not afford to ignore it, because that same Spirit
had promised him he would not see death before he got a good look at God’s
chosen one. With a promise like that hovering over his days, Simeon could not
ignore the slightest pressure on his chest the least sense that he should be
here instead of there. He paid attention to things like that, and had gotten
pretty good at following God’s lead.
Now why was Anna here at temple this day? Well, she was always
hanging around. She had nothing better to do. She was old. Ordinary things amused
her. Somewhere along the line she’d convinced herself she was needed here.
She made it a habit.
All these folks here for different reasons. All these paths
converging. Chance encounters escalating to moments of insight and wonder and
joy. Not planned, not prepared for, just happening because all these people
ended up in the same place at the same time.
The ritual had brought them here, habit had brought them, the
nagging of the divine had brought them—whatever it was—this moment
would not have occurred had they not been there. Simeon would not have seen
his hearts desire. Mary and Joseph would not again have been amazed at the reality
of their son’s destiny, Anna’s dedication to her constant vigilance
at the temple would not have found it’s fulfillment.
Somehow it didn’t matter why they were there. What was important is that
they were there. These glorious moments, these life changing , earth shattering
moments don’t happen when we roll over and go back to sleep, or we have
another cup of coffee or we grab for the nearest excuse.
So many people these days contend that they will find there
own way, that they can do better communicating with God tucked away in their
own little private world. It’s just you and me God but this story is here
to tell us differently. Were it not for the ritual, the temple, the community
of faith the paths of these diverse individuals would not have crossed. No doubt
God would have found another way for Simeon to see the light, for Anna’s
service to be affirmed, for Mary and Joseph to have their hopes and dreams acknowledged,
but this moment, this precise opportunity of revelation and joy would not have
happened. Revelation requires people who are looking for God, and better yet
people who are looking for God on some kind of a regular basis. When all of
us put our pieces of the puzzle together we get a much better picture than from
all of us turning our one single piece around and around.
Two Sundays ago was the Christmas program. The place was in
a flurry of activity. Someone called me aside. Look at those two, she said pointing
to two of the smaller children, standing hand in hand discussing their part
in the Christmas play. That’s what it’s all about for me, she said.
And suddenly that’s what it was all about for me too.
Another parishioner leaves churh saying, “That was a beautiful
song the choir had this morning, it gave me goosebumps. Yea, it was a good anthem,
I felt the same way.
Another individual who had been on the prayer list comes out
of church. Hi how are you, it’s god to see you, I say. “I’m just
so thankful to be back here.” And we both mist up.
Maybe not lightening strike revelations like the one for Simeon
and Anna and Mary and Joseph but still real revelations that Christ is here,
in this place, among us.
So, however we get here, God gives us to each other, God shapes
us into a community capable of receiving revelation, and then God is present
to us. We take turns saying what we see.
The point is to keep looking—together –so that we do not miss the light when he comes. For the light has come.
Thanks to William Willimon, Pulpit Resource 1999 for ideas in this sermon.
Amen.