2018-01-05
Brooke Strong
Scripture: Luke 2:22-40
As many of you know, I spent about 17 years of my adult spiritual journey as a Catholic. Those of you who are familiar with the Catholic faith know that there are many prayers, celebrations and devotions to Mary, the mother of Jesus, in that tradition. Tomorrow, in fact, Catholics everywhere will be celebrating the Solemnity of Mary, a feast that takes place yearly on January first. And while I stop short of proposing that we have a service here tomorrow specifically to honor Mary, I do respect the admiration Catholics have for the mother of our Savior. She was the first Christian, the first to hear and believe the word proclaiming that the Messiah would be born through her. She was the first to proclaim that good news to her cousin Elizabeth when she was newly pregnant. In reading about her and reflecting on her, I have grown to admire Mary as a strong woman, a faithful believer, and a devoted mother, who knew both ecstatic joy and profound heartbreak throughout her life as a whole-hearted servant of God.
As I think of the Christmas story from the time the angel Gabriel appeared to Mary, her life was some roller coaster ride of events and emotions. First, she willingly accepted the call to bear the child of God. This decision made her vulnerable to all kinds of consequences – from whispered gossip about her pregnancy before her marriage, to the very real possibility of death by stoning if Joseph had decided to press adultery charges against her. How many anguished nights did Mary endure before Joseph told her that he had received a message from an angel, and that he would follow through with his marriage to her, that she was safe?
Just as she was getting over those worries, when she was many months along in her pregnancy, she and Joseph received news that they had to travel to Bethlehem to register for the census. Really? Now? Could the timing possibly have been any worse? Even in today’s society, a woman on the brink of delivering a child would not want to be traveling far from home, especially not on a donkey, to a crowded city, without any overnight reservations. What if she delivered the baby while there? And, of course, this is exactly what happened – she delivered her child in an unsterile environment without the benefit of any medical professionals – only she and her husband, a few animals and some random shepherds.
But she managed to get through that. And once she settled back home with her devoted husband and precious child, she was most likely optimistic that she would now go through just the normal ups and downs that all parenting entails. Joyce Rupp, in her book Your Sorrow Is My Sorrow imagines Mary speaking these words before the event of the presentation of Jesus in the temple: “I thought the worst was behind me – the struggles with Joseph before our marriage, the strenuous, hurried journey to help my cousin Elizabeth when I wasn’t feeling very well myself, and that terrifying day when my contractions began while Joseph and I were traveling. How I had hoped that life would grow calm and serene when I beheld that beautiful child of ours at his birth. It did seem to be that way for a while.”1
But on the day of the presentation in the temple, that calmness and serenity that Mary had hoped for would be shattered. Upon waking that day – Mary was most likely excited and joyful. It should have been a wonderful day – much like baptisms are for many of us. We go to a worship service, celebrate a beautiful sacrament in the presence of our church family, and then go home for a festive meal. This event for Mary and Joseph did start out beautifully. Upon arriving at the temple, the met a man named Simeon - a life-long righteous and devout elder. With his face radiating joy, he takes Jesus from Mary and holds him in his arms, lovingly gazing at him in awe and reverence, and praising God saying, "Now you O God 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." What a wonderful prophecy for Mary and Joseph to witness. It affirms everything Mary had heard from the angel Gabriel when she first consented to God’s will for her.
But then why, oh why couldn’t Simeon have stopped right there? Why did he have to go on with the rest of his prophecy, saying to Mary: “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." Mary’s heart breaks as she hears what she would have given anything not to hear, as she now knows what she would have given anything not to know. Every time she looks at her precious baby from now on, she won’t be able to get out of her mind that his life will be wrought with pain and suffering.
Whether or not we have had children, we have all probably experienced these “Simeon” type announcements in our lives. It’s the bad news that comes abruptly and shatters our peace, or it may be news that we had sensed intuitively, but now we’re confronted with its reality. Maybe it’s a dire medical prognosis, or a company lay-off. Perhaps it’s the announcement that a spouse is having an affair, or wants a divorce, or maybe it’s a teenage child saying they are addicted to substances, or are depressed or suicidal. It could be notification of losing a home in foreclosure, or someone we dearly love dying and leaving our lives forever. We know that upon receiving these kind of messages – we feel like we’ve been landed a sucker punch – right to the gut. We know what it feels like to have our heart pierced through, know what Mary felt at that moment.
Hearing that prophecy from Simeon and believing it to be true, Mary could have protected herself, could have emotionally distanced herself from her child Jesus, could have said to God, “OK, I’ve done what you’ve asked, but now I’m finished. You take it from here!” But she did not. Scripture tells us that she stayed devoted to Jesus, throughout his childhood, throughout his ministry, through his passion, crucifixion and death. Even though she knew her heart would break, she was willing to risk that for the sake of love.
All of us who have loved deeply know that when we love someone, as wonderful and joyful as that love is, it will also be painful and heart-breaking. Simeon speaks about all loving relationships when he says, “A sword will pierce your soul.” Because the reality is that love is a double edged sword. Love opens and stretches our hearts, giving our lives purpose and meaning, wonder and joy. And yet, at the same time, love is what breaks our hearts in two. Because when those we love hurt, we hurt too. Their pain is our pain, their sorrow is our sorrow. The more we love, the more we will know joy, but also the more we will know pain.
There are those who think that by being faithful to God, and seeking to follow God’s will, that they will somehow receive a kind of magic cloak – or protection – that will keep them and their loved ones from being hurt, shield them from illness and struggle, shelter them from any and all danger. But our scriptures tell us that simply isn’t true. We need only look at the lives of Mary, of the disciples, of Jesus himself, to know that it is not protection or freedom from struggle and pain that God promises, but something else. God promises to us what God promised to those long ago prophets Simeon and Anna. God promises redemption and consolation.
When they saw Jesus, Simeon and Anna recognized him as the one to bring redemption to all people. Jesus came so that nothing, absolutely nothing we have said, thought, or done – nothing in all creation can keep us from the love and mercy of God.
They also knew Jesus was their consolation. He is the one bringing us comfort and solace in the face of all sorrows. This consolation comes through the holy spirit. In the beautiful song that Beth sang, “Breath of Heaven” – the writer pictures Mary seeking wisdom, strength and assurance from the Spirit of God, from the Breath of Heaven. Mary sings, “Hold me together, be forever near me. Lighten my darkness, pour over me your holiness, . . . Breath of heaven.” She goes on to pray, “I offer all I am for the mercy of your plan. Help me be strong. Help me be. Help me.”2
Before and after Jesus’ birth, Mary trusted that throughout all her ordeals she would not be alone, she would be guided and upheld always by God’s spirit. That same spirit is promised to us – to enfold us, to guide us, to hold us, to comfort us.
The word “consolation” comes from the Latin consolari, from con-‘with’ + solari ‘soothe.’ Jesus has come to be our consolation, to be with us, to soothe us. And sometimes it is enough to be consoled by the spirit – we feel that consolation deep within. But other times, just as Jesus came in the flesh, we need our consolation to come in the flesh, in a tangible way as well. Anna in our story felt the Holy Spirit promising that her hope to see the Messiah would be fulfilled. And when she greeted Mary, she felt prompted by that same spirit to praise God, to offer consolation to her after she has heard Simeon’s prophecy.
We’ve probably all been on both sides of this incarnate consolation – both offering consolation to others, and receiving it from others. This morning, as we stand on the brink of a new year, I will be offering a tangible sign of consolation. For anyone who desires it, I invite you to come forward after the service to receive anointing with oil. Anointing is an ancient ritual that offers healing and strength. And oil was the balm of choice for healing wounds and for soothing pain.
We are invited to receive the gift of Jesus – the gift of redemption and consolation. As Rev. Greg Smith-Young says: “Consolation is help: help that relieves, help that rescues, help that stands beside us. Consolation relieves the pained, rescues the despairing, and stands with the weeping: . . . [C]onsolation repairs the wrong, forgives the sin, lifts the guilt, remakes the heart, and gives us life again. Consolation stands beside the Sin-full, [saying] “You are not alone, I am with you. I am delivering you.” 3
What greater gift can we ask for? May we, like Simeon, and Anna and Mary, open our hearts to receive the salvation and consolation offered by Christ. Amen.
1 Rupp, Joyce. Your Sorrow Is My Sorrow. Crossroad Publishing Co. Tucson, AZ. 1999. p. 27.
2 Eaton, Chris and Grant, Amy. Song: Breath of Heaven
3http://elorauc.org/wp-content/uploads/2016/12/2016-12-18-Singing-after-Consolation.pdf