OK, now I’m really confused. Last Sunday we worshiped in the dark and cold (no power in the church and single digit temperatures – but by golly we had church!) Now this weekend it is mid-60's temperature-wise. What is wrong with this picture? If I was of an apocalyptic bent then I might start predicting the end of everything we know because this must be a sign of something!
OK, maybe it isn’t the end of everything, but it is the end of something. We now sit on the brink of a new year. We face the end of the Christmas celebrations. My dad is checking around the house to make sure that he won’t forget anything when they get on the road tomorrow to head back home (thankful for the heat wave that removed the ice - that Tennessee blood is a little thinner). But it means that their visit is coming to an end. My sister flies back to California on Monday after escorting my parents back home to Tennessee. And then we are back to normal. (Well, if you knew my family you would know nothing is normal when we are together - sorry, couldn’t resist.)
While there is some kind of relief in getting back to normal, I’m not sure it is all that wonderful a destination. Why do we need to get back there so quickly. Can’t we stay abnormal a little bit longer? Well, no, sorry. The world beckons. We are called back into "normality." We have responsibilities. We have duties. We have business to do. And we find comfort in that normality. We find relief and release in the routines of our living, in the life we have chosen.
That is the sweet dimension of our parting. No so much, "boy I’m glad they are gone" (though there have been times...), but in the getting back to the life we’ve carved out for ourselves. However fun the abnormal is, however much we love our family, we are glad to get back to what we know best. We are glad to get our house back, our beds, the bathroom. We are glad to get back to cooking for the gang we’re are used to cooking for. Life settles back into a comfort zone, into a more predictable pattern (or at least predictable in its unpredictability!) It is sweet.
We will miss them when they are gone. No matter how sweet there is also sorrow. Saying goodbye is never an easy thing to do. Many of us avoid it. We hide our heads until we think the leave-taking is over and then we rise up and say "Oh, are they gone?" Saying goodbye is hard, because something has come to an end. We are not good at endings. That is the sorrow part of parting.
Yet, we are different because of what we shared, because of the encounter that has come to an end. We are changed by the visit, by the sharing – maybe for the better, maybe not, maybe in some small seemingly insignificant way or maybe in a world changing, perspective altering way that makes us a new person. Maybe the routine we return to isn’t routine at all because of the visitors who have dwelt among us for a time. Maybe the familiar paths have changed and that GPS we got for Christmas will have to find all new roads to travel. If we pay attention, we might just discover that the ending we dread is really a beginning that will make all the difference.
At least that is what Simeon discovered. Our gospel reading for this Sunday after Christmas is the Presentation in the Temple. We sometimes rush away from the Christmas story so fast that we forget to listen to the rest of the story. Maybe that is symptomatic of our reluctance to face endings. But we need to listen to Simeon. We need to pay heed to Anna. Listen again:
Luke 2:22-40 When the time came for their purification according to the law of Moses, they brought him up to Jerusalem to present him to the Lord 23 (as it is written in the law of the Lord, "Every firstborn male shall be designated as holy to the Lord"), 24 and they offered a sacrifice according to what is stated in the law of the Lord, "a pair of turtledoves or two young pigeons." 25 Now there was a man in Jerusalem whose name was Simeon; this man was righteous and devout, looking forward to the consolation of Israel, and the Holy Spirit rested on him. 26 It had been revealed to him by the Holy Spirit that he would not see death before he had seen the Lord's Messiah. 27 Guided by the Spirit, Simeon came into the temple; and when the parents brought in the child Jesus, to do for him what was customary under the law, 28 Simeon took him in his arms and praised God, saying, 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 for glory to your people Israel." 33 And the child's father and mother were amazed at what was being said about him. 34 Then Simeon blessed them and said to his mother Mary, "This child is destined for the falling and the 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." 36 There was also a prophet, Anna the daughter of Phanuel, of the tribe of Asher. She was of a great age, having lived with her husband seven years after her marriage, 37 then as a widow to the age of eighty-four. She never left the temple but worshiped there with fasting and prayer night and day. 38 At that moment she came, and began to praise God and to speak about the child to all who were looking for the redemption of Jerusalem. 39 When they had finished everything required by the law of the Lord, they returned to Galilee, to their own town of Nazareth. 40 The child grew and became strong, filled with wisdom; and the favor of God was upon him.
Simeon is someone who knows how to say goodbye. His farewell is called the "Nunc Dimittis" from the first too words of the speech in Latin – Now let... I’m ready to go, he says. I’ve seen all that I have wanted to see. He’s been hanging on and hanging around, waiting. His life was one long Advent. Watching and waiting. And now he has seen and so he can go.
But what did he see? He saw a beginning. He saw something launched, the new world begun, the future held in tiny wrinkled hands. You would think he wound want to stick around and see how it all played out. But he didn’t need to. He trusted in that future. He had faith in the end of the story. Even though he wouldn’t see what would happen next, he knew Who was directing the play.
When we say goodbye, we are really saying "God be with you." We are putting our friends, our family into the hands of God trusting that God will care for them, God will hold them no matter what, God will claim them in their living, and yes, even in their dying. Holding two funerals this weekend for long time members of the faith and the family of Aldersgate makes us think even more about how we say goodbye. Do we really trust in God’s future? Can we really say goodbye to friends and family trusting that no matter what happens they will always be wrapped in love, our love and God’s love both?
That doesn’t mean the end of sorrow, unfortunately. It will always be hard to say goodbye - not matter how temporarily. It doesn’t mean the end to grief, our vision is too limited. We can only see into eternity with faith, not our eyes. The faith that allowed Anna the prophetess to run from person to person and bubble over with joy in what God has begun in her seeing. The faith that allowed Simeon to say, "Ah, I have seen the unseeable. I have seen the future in the face of a child. And that is enough."
So travel well, those who travel. Remember this moment, these moments we have shared. They were moments of love and joy and we have changed, grown because of them. And though parting is hard, it remains a sweet, sweet sorrow.
Shalom,
Derek
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