Malachi 3.1-5; Psalm 24; Hebrews 2.14-end; Luke 2.22-40
MOST reflections on the Presentation of Christ in the Temple (also called Candlemas) focus on Simeon and Anna. Through this baby — among all the babies who must have undergone the same rituals — first Simeon and then Anna dramatically recognise the unique something, someone, that they have been hoping for.
What are often missed (at least, I have not previously thought much about them) are the actions that begin and end the episode: “They brought him up to Jerusalem” (v. 22); and “They returned to Galilee” (v. 39).
These movements enable the “Lord’s Messiah” (v. 26) to be found in Jerusalem, where Simeon is awaiting him. Jesus grows up in Nazareth; so Luke makes it clear that this visit to the holy city is just that: a fleeting sojourn, not somewhere to “rest and stay”.
In the church year, Candlemas marks the end of Christmas. After it, Christian thinking shifts towards Lent, Holy Week, and Easter. But the framing device of the journey and return is more reminiscent of how we treat the nativity than the Passion. Travelling is associated with our tradition — which is also a desire and an instinct — to be with loved ones at Christmas. Once the religious observances (and the not-so-religious ones) have been completed, it is time to make the return home.
This pattern of travel and return is mirrored on a larger scale in the life of every Christian. Even before our legal existence as individuals begins, it is there in the journeys that our parents undertake on our behalf: to hospital for scans, check-ups, and other procedures; or to imperial censuses. Later, parents may journey with us to church, to pledge faith on our behalf until we can confirm it for ourselves.
A similar pattern is there in other repeated journeys that pattern our lives: to school, to university, to work, and back. And — on the largest scale by which we have tools for measuring our lives — it is there in our conception and our dissolution, as we are formed from dust and return to dust. As Qoheleth, the Preacher, puts it, “Then shall the dust return to the earth as it was: and the spirit shall return unto God who gave it” (12.7 AV).
Within that frame of leaving and returning, human lives begin to differentiate into variants of the overall pattern, according to our individual talents and to the choices that we make, or that are made for us. This could mean a focus on life in the public eye, or the privacy of non-celebrity. It could mean choices to be married or single, and for parenthood or non-parenthood. Jesus did not choose to be born male, or Jewish, or of mixed heritage, or into what we might call a skilled artisan class. But he did choose to be single, to be a teacher and healer, and to acknowledge and honour his Father and our Father, his God and our God.
Luke tells us that “the child grew and became strong, filled with wisdom; and the favour of God was upon him.” Growth is the first stage in what we recognise as the unfolding pattern of a life. It must take place before the closing stage — decay — can happen (not to mention all the stages of transformation, growth, stability, decline, and the like which may follow). Malnutrition and poverty, like sickness, may affect physical growth, but they cannot cancel it — not, at any rate, while life remains.
Two of the characteristics mentioned, “strength” and “wisdom”, are variable. Not everyone grows up strong, or can appropriate the value of wisdom. But the third, “grace” (the Greek word is charis, translated as “favour”), has “dawned upon the world” (Titus 2.11). The favour of God is upon every one of us, just as it was upon Jesus.
In modern times, intelligence is mostly seen as an inborn quality. Wisdom, though, is something else. We can choose to acquire it. It is external to us. In scripture, it is a divine quality, even a divine being. God may choose to bestow wisdom, as he did on Solomon (the supposed author of those words from Ecclesiastes). But human individuals can always seek to acquire it through effort and study, by cultivating and fostering the conditions that favour its increase. Mary and Joseph follow this God-given pattern, working together to fulfil God’s will for their son. Those same characteristics — growth, strength, wisdom, and grace — are open to us, too.
