Rev. Betsy Aldrich Garland
December 28, 2008 – 3rd Sunday in Advent
Luke 2:22-40

Taking the Child in Our Arms

Christmas has come. The babe has been born. Peace and hope and joy and love have been born in our world today. We sing, “Glory to God in the highest,” as we should,

How was your Christmas? Is it what you expected? Or is there a measure of sadness folded in with the joy. No matter how happy we are and how lovely the celebration with family and friends, we are bound to experience some nostalgia. The Ghost of Christmas Past always flickers just on the periphery of my Christmas Present. I can see in my mind’s eye, as if it were yesterday, my father bringing in the tree with my mother baking Christmas cookies in the kitchen; my grandmother playing the piano while my brother and I sing “Silent Night” as if to beam Santa in with our voices; relatives laughing, opening gifts, a fire crackling in the hearth.

How did we get here from there? How could the years fly by so quickly without our knowing, without our being ready? So many of those loved ones are gone now.... and there is the loneliness of loss. It’s no wonder that the clothes of salvation swaddle the Christ child. We would have him save us from our own mortality.

In today’s gospel lesson, Mary and Joseph – devout, law-abiding Jews – have taken their baby to the temple in Jerusalem. They go for three reasons:

First, for Jesus’ circumcision and naming, marking his acceptance into the covenant community and giving him an identity; second, for his redemption, the first-born son, through the offering of a sacrifice – probably two pigeons because they were too poor to afford a sheep; and third, for Mary’s purification after having given birth.

Luke, of course, is writing this birth narrative years after Jesus walked the earth. He includes it, I imagine, to show that the Messiah has come as foretold, that he is subject to the law which now has been fulfilled, and that Jesus is the One they have been waiting for. Luke also is writing for non-Jews, so Luke makes the point that the He has come for all people, Gentiles as well as Jews.

And the writer of Luke gives Simeon the benefit of hindsight: Simeon is an old man, who knows the suffering of his people under Roman occupation. He may remember the old days before Herod put the squeeze on the peasants for his extensive building program. Remember that “all the world was to be taxed” which is why Mary and Joseph had traveled from Nazareth to Bethlehem in the first place.

Simeon has been waiting for this moment: God has promised him he would not die until the Messiah comes. When he hears that a young couple has come, Simeon rushes to the temple and finds Mary and Joseph – poor, unwed parents, far from home – and he sees, in this baby, the Savior of the world. Simeon takes Jesus in his arms and praises God with one of the most beloved canticles of the church,

“Master, now you 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.”

The writer of Luke understands that, to use theologian Marcus Borg’s words, “...the birth stories affirm that Jesus is the fulfillment not only of ancient Israel’s yearning, but of the world’s great yearning.” The prophet Anna has been waiting in the wings, and she too appears with praise.

How do you suppose these two elderly Jews knew that Jesus was the One? Or did Simeon take every child in his arms? In hopes? In great expectation? In self-fulfilling prophesy? Perhaps every child is the Savior in disguise. Perhaps every child is God’s gift to the world. Perhaps every child is the Holy One.

One of my favorite theologians is UCC minister and poet Maren Tirabassi who has written this, “Prayer with Grandparents and Other Aged Blessers:”

We understand Christmas—
we know it better
for having seen it come
so many times,
with its sweet carols
and tinseled festivity,
with joy and hurry
and loneliness,
the unwrapping of gifts
which will soon be forgotten
so quickly, while
the memory of givers
will linger all the year.

We understand children—
we know them better
for having come to an age
when they matter more
and matter less to us.
We know how precious
it is to hold any child.
We care about unrelated children—
caroling on our doorsteps,
offering to shovel our snow,
making noise and fuss
in our nursing homes,
and those hurt or abandoned,
lost or refugeed
on our televisions.

And, ah, grandchildren,
We weekend them
with more pleasure and are content
to send them home.
We can push a swing,
play Go Fish, tell stories,
and eat ice cream
longer than their parents.
We need naps, too.
We don’t mind rock music
in small doses,
orange hair, peculiar
friends wearing
chains and pierced
in amazing places.
We will always bake cookies
or buy cookies
and sit at a kitchen table
and just listen
and listen,
and not judge.

We understand Christmas—
not the children’s holiday
but the moment of hope
that we interpret
because the Holy Spirit
nests in our
gray hair and wrinkles,
replacement joints,
eyes with a trace
of glaucoma, and
wise old hands.
Each child is holy;
all parents need to be blessed
for the wonder and crosses
in their future, and,
because we hear salvation
in every newborn cry, and recognize the
birth of God
in all toddlers and
teenagers,
we can welcome in peace
the someday-coming
of our own death.

If we knew that, in every child, the Savior has come and is coming –

Would we allow children to languish in foster homes?
Would we settle for second-rate schools?
Would we sit by and let our elected officials cut children from health care rolls?

If we knew that, in every child, the Savior has come and is coming –
Would we fail to see the children who mount school buses from homeless shelters?
Would we arrest the parents of toddlers who have come from Mexico to find a better life?
Would we find a way to get guns and drugs off the street?

If we knew that, in every child, the Savior has come and is coming –

Would we drill wells and build schools and clinics in Africa?
Would we negotiate peace in the Middle East?
Would we save the people of India and Pakistan from each other?
If we knew that, in every child, the Savior has come and is coming –

Would we bless all children with our love and attention – as we do ours here at Edgewood Church? Would we treat all children as our children? Would we take every child in our arms?

Then, truly, peace and hope and joy and love would be born in our world today!

Amen.