Advent Calendar – 22 December
Nativity Stories: Simeon
I’ve been ready to go for a long time. There comes a point when you wake up and feel your bones ache, and you’re not sure if you’ll make the pot in time, and you can’t get clear no matter how often you cough, and everything seems fuzzier than it did the day before, and your ears hardly work even though you scraped the wax out just last week, and you think of the day to come and all it seems is full of tiredness and stupidities. And you think, my life has been lived, why have I not been taken in the night, and let someone else breathe this air and sleep in my scrap of ground? But then I remember I have been spared for a reason. One day it came to me, straight into my mind like an axe splitting logs, that I would not die till I had seen the Messiah. I’d recited Torah all my life; I’d heard the prophets, Isaiah, Daniel, Ezekiel, Micah; I’d sung the Psalms. I knew the Lord was coming to his Temple, to reign himself a King among us; that one would be anointed to rule, to judge, to bring all people together under his banner, to deliver, to bring peace. And so I was ready to go with that hope to sustain me, but I couldn’t yet – I’d seen charlatans and frauds, false Messiahs on the take, but not the promised one.
I woke early that day, troubled in dreams. I felt worse than ever, a pain in my belly which did not ease with my breakfast, a little of last night’s bread soaked in milk. It seemed I was not long for this world and for Jerusalem my home. Simeon, you old fool, I told myself, if it’s not today, then when. You’ve precious few days left. Go to the Temple – it may be your last chance. So, after a cup of wine to ease the pain, I hauled myself up there, my first day out in weeks. People were peering at me on the street – maybe they’d thought I was already dead. Peace, I said to all, though my belly was far from peaceful.
They all knew me at the Temple; they ragged me every time: There’s three newborns in! Who are you going to choose? Today they said just one boy was being presented, an offering of two pigeons, a family of modest means. “Northern accents,” they said. “A joiner from Nazareth. You can rest easy, Simeon.” But when I shuffled in and saw the baby I knew he was the one, just as I’d known I’d see him before I died. It was as if a shaft of light shone down from heaven on his face.
“What’s he called?” I asked.
“Jesus,” said his mother, just a tiny thing, so young.
I asked if I could hold him. I could see they feared I’d drop him from my ancient arms but I held him close and said, “Lord, I’m ready now to go. Your promise is fulfilled. These dodgy eyes have seen today deliverance for all in this tiny one, a light to shine on everybody.”
As I handed him back and offered blessings from on high I’d share with any child, I caught his mother’s eyes, so innocent, but I knew she needed to be strong. I’ve lived long enough to know what happens when someone good makes their way through the world. It frightens the weak; it brings forth cruelty. No use hiding this – she had better know. “Your child will live the truth and some will follow, but are you prepared for bitter opposition? There’s pain coming for you, sharp in your marrow. Are you ready?”
I hope it was courage I saw in her smooth, small face.
My time has come; soon I will turn my face to the wall, but I will rest in peace.
Andrea Mantegna, Presentation at the Temple