Luke 2:22-40
Like many of you, I'm a grandparent.
It's a good life; the grandchildren are usually on their best
behavior when they drop around, because they know their grandmother
and I are easy touches for cookies and soda and a little cash, maybe.
We can sort of pick and choose when we see them, although there is
the occasional baby sitting job or the last minute car ride that
someone needs. And we don't have to worry – at least not as much
as we worried about our own kids. The heavy worrying is the parents
job, not ours. And all in all we enjoy our grandchildren, not all at
once, mind you, but in small doses. During this Christmas season
we've seen all the grandchildren, all nineteen of them, so we've had
an overdose.
But there is one thing about being a
grandparent that comes to mind every now and then. I look at my six
year old granddaughter and realize that I won't be around when she
graduates from college. I see my seven year old grandson and know I
won't be there when he gets married. Seeing the little ones is a
reminder of my own mortality.
Today we see Simeon and Anna, two
elderly people, maybe grandparents in their own right, as they marvel
over the Christ child. Simeon prays the prayer that all the clergy
and religious in the church pray every night, “Now you can dismiss
your servant, O Lord...” Simeon most likely dreamed about the day
when the Messiah would come in triumph and rescue Israel. Maybe he
thought of him as a powerful king, or a great prophet, or the High
Priest who would reign forever – the leading thinkers were not
clear on what role the Messiah would play, but all agreed it would be
prominent and triumphant. But Simeon knows he will never witness the
moment for which he and countless other Jews have waited his whole
life. He must be content with a glimpse of the infant.
And I don't know how my grandchildren
will end up. I can hope that they will have good lives, that they
will stay in the Church, that if they are to get married they will
find good spouses. But we all know that those hopes might be dashed.
We live in a world where drugs and alcohol destroy lives; where a
war may break out and a promising young man or woman will die or be
severely crippled defending our country. And many of us have had
first-hand experience of a child or sibling, someone dear to us,
losing his or her faith.
Simeon had faith, faith that God had a
purpose for the world. And if God has become flesh, if God is
driving the universe toward a goal only He can see, then Simeon can
take comfort in the fact that he himself is caught up in God's
ongoing creative action. We remember Simeon because of the words
recorded in scripture; but we should also remember that even though
Simeon spent a lot of time in the temple, most of his day was taken
up with the usual human activities of working for a living, eating,
sleeping, and all the other things that even here in the 21st
century occupy most people most of the time. But all of that is part
of Simeon's life as well. If Simeon's prophecy and prayer that made
it into the gospels is part of God's plan, then so is the rest of
Simeon's life.
And if I believe that God is at work
in the world, drawing all things to himself, bringing order out of
disorder, gradually building a kingdom that will last forever, a
kingdom where what will be on earth will be as it is in heaven, then
my short little time on this earth takes on infinite importance,
because I am part of God's plan – in fact, a necessary part. God
invites me to be a co-creator of his kingdom, as he does my
grandchildren. And I don't know what that kingdom will look like
when God's work is finished. Sometimes we think our role is very
small and unessential; after all, God will get what he wants, right?
But I think that's the point of the wounds in the body of the Risen
Christ – our imprint will be on God's kingdom, good or bad.
The other thing I know about the
kingdom is that my role in building it doesn't involve some heroic
act; it doesn't involve me founding a religious order or writing a
deathless spiritual classic or converting a nation of pagans. All
the great things we can point to in our church's history are really
works of God through willing individuals. Mother Theresa was
willing, but I suspect you could have found several hundred dedicated
holy religious sisters who would also have been willing. The only
thing I can bring to God's table that is really mine is love. Saint
Therese of Liseaux is a doctor of the Church because of her great
insight that it was not doing great things that brought about God's
kingdom, but doing the little things with great love.
So what I can hope for my
grandchildren is that they will help build up God's kingdom by
learning to do little things with great love, and that they will also
understand that they are not insignificant, that because they are
sons and daughters of God whatever they do is of God, whether it has
to do with doing the dishes or sweeping the floor or running a
business or becoming an entertainer. And in embarking upon life with
great love they bring the kingdom closer.
And as we enter a new year that should
be our resolution; this year we will strive to see that there is
glory in everything we do; that God is close to us when we act out of
love; and that we can act out of love in every action we perform. And
as we practice allowing love to be our motivator, instead of greed or
anger or envy or fear, we gradually become love, and then we are on
the right side of history – because in the end, Love wins.
