Today is the Feast of the Presentation, marking the fortieth day since the birth of Jesus on Christmas Day, and coinciding with the occasion of presenting the first born son in the Temple as was customary. It is alternatively known as the Feast of the Purification, a reference to the somewhat misogynistic tradition of a woman being confined to home for forty days after giving birth before presenting herself for ritual "purification" from the postpartum state arbitrarily determined to be "unclean." (Digression: in modern medicine, we still use the term "Estimated Date of Confinement" to connote the due date of a pregnant woman, suggesting that she would remain confined in the home after that. It is a vestigial term worth moving beyond in my opinion.)
At any rate, Mary and Joseph presented Jesus in the Temple, on the occasion of his fortieth day of life, and as recounted in Luke's gospel (chapter 2, and it is a great read), a couple of old folks were there and promptly noticed something special about this child. Simeon, a sage old man, gives one of the great songs of joy in all the Bible, immortalized in the Nunc Dimittis (Latin for "now let him depart") which is said or sung at Evening Prayer and Night Prayer each day the world over:
Simeon then blesses the baby, and tells his mother that he is destined for greatness and for great suffering, too, which in turn will pierce her own heart. And then Anna, a woman whom we're told is eight-four and a widow who has essentially moved into the Temple where she prays unceasingly day and night, sees the child and breaks into fervent prayer and praise to God that this child has come as redeemer of Jerusalem.
By the Seventh Century, after the Feast of Christmas was situated once for all on December 25, it became the custom to call this Feast of the Presentation by another name--Candlemas, a day set apart on which candles were lit in the darkness of the predawn morning as the accounts of Simeon and Anna's revelations were retold. In the old calendar, February 2nd was situated midway between the winter solstice and the spring equinox, and marked a time when the nights would wane more rapidly, giving way to more sunlight in the Northern Hemisphere. It was an occasion to reflect on the Incarnation and the promise of God having come into the world while also casting our eyes forward, into the lengthening days ahead, with warmth and hopeful expectation for the new year. Such a pivot was primely suited for a major feast in the church calendar. It was also the time to remove all the Christmas ornaments.
There is much in the tradition of this Feast Day to give us pause and invite us to reflect in our time and in our own lives today--the gift of God-with-us and not just "us" but a "light to enlighten the nations" in comprehensive, global love; the profound paradox of God's promise of peace and of a new kingdom coming in the form of a helpless infant; and the remarkable gift of sages in our own lives who are able to see the beauty and potential in us, even before we can begin fathom it for ourselves.
Peace,
Steve
At any rate, Mary and Joseph presented Jesus in the Temple, on the occasion of his fortieth day of life, and as recounted in Luke's gospel (chapter 2, and it is a great read), a couple of old folks were there and promptly noticed something special about this child. Simeon, a sage old man, gives one of the great songs of joy in all the Bible, immortalized in the Nunc Dimittis (Latin for "now let him depart") which is said or sung at Evening Prayer and Night Prayer each day the world over:
Lord, you now have set your servant free *
to go in peace as you have promised;
to go in peace as you have promised;
For these eyes of mine have seen the Savior, *
whom you have prepared for all the world to see:
whom you have prepared for all the world to see:
A Light to enlighten the nations, *
and the glory of your people Israel.
and the glory of your people Israel.
Simeon then blesses the baby, and tells his mother that he is destined for greatness and for great suffering, too, which in turn will pierce her own heart. And then Anna, a woman whom we're told is eight-four and a widow who has essentially moved into the Temple where she prays unceasingly day and night, sees the child and breaks into fervent prayer and praise to God that this child has come as redeemer of Jerusalem.
By the Seventh Century, after the Feast of Christmas was situated once for all on December 25, it became the custom to call this Feast of the Presentation by another name--Candlemas, a day set apart on which candles were lit in the darkness of the predawn morning as the accounts of Simeon and Anna's revelations were retold. In the old calendar, February 2nd was situated midway between the winter solstice and the spring equinox, and marked a time when the nights would wane more rapidly, giving way to more sunlight in the Northern Hemisphere. It was an occasion to reflect on the Incarnation and the promise of God having come into the world while also casting our eyes forward, into the lengthening days ahead, with warmth and hopeful expectation for the new year. Such a pivot was primely suited for a major feast in the church calendar. It was also the time to remove all the Christmas ornaments.
There is much in the tradition of this Feast Day to give us pause and invite us to reflect in our time and in our own lives today--the gift of God-with-us and not just "us" but a "light to enlighten the nations" in comprehensive, global love; the profound paradox of God's promise of peace and of a new kingdom coming in the form of a helpless infant; and the remarkable gift of sages in our own lives who are able to see the beauty and potential in us, even before we can begin fathom it for ourselves.
Peace,
Steve

No comments:
Post a Comment