As for you, little child ...
By Rev. Dr. Jason Byassee
Sunday, December 28, 2025
Reading: Luke 2:25-35
I find the story you just heard deeply moving. We call it “the presentation in the temple.” Simeon and Anna are fixtures in the temple, never leaving the place. Simeon has been promised he will not die until he sees the messiah with his own eyes. They wait, day after day, watching and praying. They’re a glimpse of what Israel is supposed to be, what church is supposed to be: hopeful, though the odds seem against us. Full of anticipation, though we have considered all the facts.
And Mary and Joseph walk in with their child. They are here to do what is commanded according to the law. This story is showing several things. One, Jesus is a faithful Jew as he will remain throughout his life. Judaism is a faith of the home, the sabbath table. We Christians focus more on the church as the place that makes us Christian, while our Jewish neighbours focus on the home as the place where Judaism is passed on. Both are good places to learn faith. But this child in this building opens new horizons. The maker of the temple is carried into his temple. God is physically brought into his own house. For us Christians, Christ is the temple in person, the very embodiment of God in the world. So, the temple in miniature enters the temple in maximum. Marvels overflow.
I think this is the hardest thing for us to get our heads around with Jesus. He is God-come-close. We can never again think of God as distant, unreachable—God is as close as a child in utero to her mother. We didn’t get this idea from nowhere. On Christmas Eve we were honoured to have five rabbis worship with us. They were here to thank our church for showing up for the Jewish community the past two years when they’ve been short of friends. To be Jewish is to be God’s own body in the world, the walking manifestation of the almighty. It’s a big responsibility, and a big privilege, bless them. The temple is God’s very home in the world. God lives at One Temple Way in Jerusalem. When the temple is destroyed, God is homeless in a sense. So, when Mary is told she has God in her womb that’s not a new idea from scratch. It’s the culmination of a God who is always coming close: in every Jew, in the temple. One sage says this: every Jewish mom tells their child ‘you might be the messiah.’ Mary is so convincing that Jesus believes it.
Simeon and Anna remind me of a cathedral in Uganda I got to visit once. It was a shrine to the Uganda martyrs, two dozen young pages of the king of Buganda killed for not renouncing their faith. This was only the late 19th century, and the martyrs were both Protestant and Catholic, showing ecumenism in their martyrdom. The shrine is enormous, like the temple once was. And there are older folks praying there day and night. I asked, and apparently, they never leave, they live there, to pray. So too Simeon and Anna, never leave, they pray constantly. We tend not to have this in Protestantism, the building is open when church is happening, during office hours, otherwise the alarm goes off, the police come. Maybe we too need some folks in here 24/7 in prayer. That way, whenever we’re worried, afraid, uncertain, we can think okay, at least there are some folks praying right now at my church. In truth—there already are. All the angels and saints are in here all the time. We can’t lock them out. There are always Christians praying at every hour around the world in places we’ll never visit ourselves. Israel knew she had elders like Simeon and Anna standing guard for them in God’s house. And now God himself enters God’s house in a new way.
And Simeon says something remarkable.
This child is destined for the falling and rising of many in Israel and to be a sign that will be opposed 35 so that the inner thoughts of many will be revealed—and a sword will pierce your own soul, too.
Israel itself is going to be reoriented around this child. Recalibrated based on its reaction to the infant in Mary’s arms. Pastor Dayle pointed out that it’s harder to be a rabbi in a Christian church than it is for us Christians to appreciate worship in a shul. We can sing the psalms with our elder siblings in faith, immerse ourselves in the story we share. But for our beloved neighbours, Christianity is a departure from the faith of Israel. And one that’s often done great harm to Jewish people. For we reorient all the symbols of Israel around Jesus. He is the temple personified. He’s the incarnate fleshy God. And folks’ reaction to him is their reaction to God. Simeon says he will be a sign that will be opposed. The reaction to God coming in flesh will not be universal praise. In fact, we human beings will gang up against our God and murder him.
And Simeon promises Mary, “a sword will pierce your own soul too.” Mary is important beyond just getting Jesus born. Her ongoing life matters, her sorrow significant in God’s register. We Protestants don’t often dwell on Mary after Christmas, but this story suggests we may. Her sorrow is our sorrow. No one can look at the Mother of God and say, ‘actually I’ve suffered worse.’ No one has. She understands, and maybe even, I dunno, prays for us?
Now I know that’s strange to Protestant ears, music to Catholic ones. But why stop there? Simeon has been promised by God he won’t die until he sees the messiah. This is also something not encouraged among us Protestants. It’s not encouraged among Catholics. Private messages from God, not accessible to anyone else, make us all nervous. It’s slightly more encouraged among Pentecostals and other charismatics, but even then it’s considered a short step to being bonkers. And yet there it is in the Bible in black and white. God had apparently promised this man, off the books, off stage, that he’d hold heaven in his hands. We sometimes refer to this sort of thing as private revelation, and it’s, well, let’s not make a habit of it, shall we?
Our faith is more Jewish, more Catholic, and more Pentecostal, than we realize. What it means to call ourselves United is that we notice wherever God is at work.
So, Simeon has prepared for this moment his whole life. And now it’s here. What does he say? I’ve gotten to meet some of the people I’ve most admired before and, I regret to say, I mostly embarrass myself. Hey, you, you’re the best. Remember when you did that thing? That was awesome. What are they supposed to say? Thanks? My brother was with a friend in Nashville when they saw John Prine at another table. My brother’s friend said, ‘I have to do something.’ No, you don’t. Yes, I do, this is my one chance. So, he devised a plot to buy Prine a beer, leave it on his table, say nothing, just leave it for him as a sort of offering. He went to the bar, got that beer, set it down, and, oh no, he’s talking to Prine. This wasn’t in the plan. He came back looking shaken. What’d you say? I bought the beer, set it down, looked at him and said, “I love you.” What did he say? He said “thanks.” More than a little awkward! The beer was left untouched; I didn’t have to tell you that did I? Prine’s a great artist of blessed memory but how much more impressive is it to meet God? Simeon’s ready though. Those hours in the temple have not been wasted. He has so digested the songs and sighs of Israel he knows what to say. And his prayer has been beloved throughout the church.
29 Master, now you are dismissing your servant in peace,
according to your word,
30 for my eyes have seen your salvation,
31 which you have prepared in the presence of all peoples,
32 a light for revelation to the gentiles,
and glory to your people Israel.
We call it the Nunc Dimittis for the first two words in Latin: now you dismiss. You heard a version of it from our choir. The reason I know it is the monks I’ve gone on retreats with sing it in the last service before bed. Bedtime is practice for death, so when the real thing comes, we’re not afraid. Simeon knows there is now nothing between him and his own death, God has made good on his promise. Simeon has seen and held salvation itself. I love depictions of Simeon in which he looks nearly sightless, as we all will be if we’re blessed to live long enough. He whose eyes have worn out sees what no one has ever seen before. God in frail flesh. The hope of Israel. Light for the nations. All the good news there is.
I hope you got to see our Christmas pageant. This building was full twice, with folks sitting on the side balcony at 3:00, I’d never seen that before. Apparently, parking stretched nearly to the 401, sorry about that. My favourite character is not the innkeeper I play, or even Herod, Eric Wood in our funniest role, nor even my kid as one of the wise men. It’s baby Jesus. We had two actors play the newborn king this year, mighty Robbie and Sunny, one for each pageant. And they were awesome, awake, serene, not even crying, their moms were impressed. We have 36 years of baby Jesuses now, including a mom and daughter who have both played the role. That’s kind of what being a Christian is—acting like Jesus till it’s second nature. It’s amazing isn’t it, with a baby, even a stranger’s baby, you can get right in their face and coo and tell them how beautiful they are. If they’re just a smidge older this is frowned upon. But for an infant it’s still okay. This is another thing it means to be a Christian—we practice adoring Christ until we adore everyone in his image. Simeon and Anna get to do this with the baby who is also the Lord of all. And now they’re ready for death. Having held all the life there is.
A few words of wisdom from this. One, the whole point of life, is to respond to Jesus. To receive him in our arms like Simeon does and sing praises to him. Evangelicals are good at insisting we do that once: accept Jesus as Lord and saviour. That’s good. Now, we gotta do it again and again. Daily. Open our arms and receive the Lord. Catholics are good at saying we do it when we take communion—that bread and that wine are Christ’s body and blood. Good. We try to do that as often as we can too. Now, do we also receive Christ in the form of his beloved poor? The neighbour or enemy we can’t stand? Simeon is a model for all of us how to live every moment. Receiving Christ and singing praise over him.
As a pastor, I think the question people most often ask of me is a version of this: what should I do with my life? What am I here for? In our age of celebrity lots of us pine for that. I remember one woman at another church who’d had a hard turn health wise. She was convinced she could get better and then go around speaking to encourage others facing what she faced. I couldn’t figure out how to tell her: ordinary life is good enough. God coming among us as a human means just being human is tinged with divinity. GK Chesterton said: ‘there is nothing more extraordinary than an ordinary man, and ordinary woman, their ordinary children.’ One of you told me before you’re working on coveting the life you have. That’s good! No need for a celebrity tour. Just love the life you have and live it like a Christian.
I imagine Simeon must have drawn disapproval from others in his life. You’re going to live in the temple? Because God “told you” you’d hold the messiah and you don’t want to miss him? Sort of like Noah. That great theologian Garth Brooks pointed out the absurdity of Noah:
Noah took much ridicule for building his old arc,
But after 40 days and 40 nights he was looking pretty smart.
I just wonder if our hope might make us look ridiculous, but turn out to be true? Simeon: I’m gonna live in the temple to make sure I don’t miss the saviour. Noah: I’m gonna build a boat here in the desert because a flood is going to fill the world. What about you and me? How do we live in a way that looks odd, but turns out to be ... right?
I went to a college called Davidson in North Carolina. It was not much heard of until Steph Curry attended, put us on the international basketball map. When I went it was known for the hardest workload in the country and the worst food. There was an ancient man wandering around the library named Chalmers Davidson, related to the Revolutionary War era founder. I was involved in InterVarsity, a Christian fellowship group. One year we printed T-shirts that said “Life is short. Pray hard.” Yeah, we didn’t get invited to a lot of parties. Anyway Dr. Davidson saw one of us with the shirt in the library. And he approached him. In that halting way the really aged can have. And he said “your saying is true. But you really feel it when you turn 90.” That life is short. We should pray hard. Now both halves in that conversation were strange: the 18-year-old in the shirt claiming life is short. The 90-year-old approaching a stranger college kid with wisdom. But somewhere I see a glimpse of Simeon and Anna and Jesus. What’s life for? To receive Jesus. What do we long for as we age? To hold him in our arms.
Dorothy Day was a bohemian writer in early 20th century New York. A socialist, committed to the poor. But she noticed something. Secular socialists talked about the poor. But what actually attracted poor people? The church. They went to mass no matter how often they were told religion was the opiate of the masses. So, she started a newspaper called The Catholic Worker. It was a riposte to the communist Daily Worker claiming the real revolution is the church, not Marx’s dream. That paper still prints for a penny a day to this day. Poor people started showing up at the printing press saying ‘you claim to love the poor. Well, here we are.’ Someone put on a pot of soup and a new ministry was born: Catholic Worker houses still serve in the world’s poorest neighbourhoods, right there with the Salvation Army. Day was asked to write about her life once, and she failed. She wrote this.
I try to think back; I try to remember this life that the Lord gave me; the other day I wrote down the words ‘a life remembered’ and I was going to try to make a summary for myself, but I couldn’t do it. I just sat there and thought of our Lord, and I said to myself that my great luck was to have him on my mind for so long in my life.
I just wonder what would it take for our life to be remembered in such a way? I tried to think of myself but all I could think of was Jesus. Maybe we get there best by serving the poor, noticing those of whom the world takes no notice. Dorothy Day said not to call her a saint—she didn’t want to be dismissed so easily.
Simeon and Anna show us something else: our culture is really terrible with our elderly people. If you have no more utility as a worker, what good are you? Other cultures prize their aged folks as special sources of wisdom. Even if they can’t remember who they are, the community remembers and honours them. Maybe this is one reason the church stays perpetually old. We value older people in here in a way that they’re often not out there. One of our oldest members is 106, she remembers when the United Church united in 1925, bless her. Her parents told her she’d been going to a Methodist Church, now it was going to be called United, here’s why this was a good idea. She says, ‘I don’t remember what happened yesterday but I remember that.’ There aren’t a whole lot of people drawing breath who remember events from the mid 1920s, but we got one. Now, by virtue of the church’s connection, her story is yours. And since she prays for you, your story is hers, we’re made a new us because we hold Jesus together. And you can trust, hey, if I make 106, someone will come and listen to my stories, hold my hand, send the choir school to sing for me and my friends, and honour me. We’ll hold Christ together. That’s what it means to be human.
Will you pray with me? Great God of Simeon and Anna. God in infant flesh held in aged arms. We worship you. Open our eyes to see your light and grant your light to all people one day soon. Amen.