Presentation of Christ in the Temple - Candlemas

Malachi 3:1-4
Hebrews 2:14-18
Luke 2:22-40

+ In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.

At the reception following Fr Meisel's funeral yesterday, several people reminisced about him to me. I was told about a time he got a new pair of shoes, certainly a rarer experience for him than for any of us. He didn't exactly lavish money upon himself. In the excitement of his purchase, at mass on Sunday morning he lifted up his cassock slightly to show off his new footwear and announced that the parish had grown to include two new souls. Then he added, "That, of course, means the parish also has two new heels."

Yesterday was a very emotional day for our parish family. We prayed and laughed and cried and said goodbye to an exceptional man, our beloved priest, without whose work and passion and love, we would not be here this morning. Perhaps you've noticed that in recent months, a couple of my sermons have reviewed some parish history. Our history reminds us who we are, the variety and the splendor of the ways we've served and sacrificed for Christ in the past. We're part of a very special and dear place, and Fr Fred is essential to our story, a great burst of light and joy and faith and hope and love in our story.

In meditating over our past, I had not yet reached the Fr Meisel years. You may be assured that I will in the coming months. We today are so much of what he was, and I'm proud of that, I rejoice in that. It's a great strength for me. This morning, I just have a small, personal vignette about Fr Meisel. It has everything to do with today's gospel, but I still need your indulgence.

I will always cherish a beautiful spring Sunday in May 2002. By then, of course, Fr. Fred couldn't get to church frequently. His mobility was limited, but he made it this sparkling day. After mass, and after people had dispersed, I caught him out front and told him not to go anywhere. I was a sleep deprived, but ecstatic new father. I ran next door to the rectory, grabbed my six week old son, and took him out to Fr Meisel, who was standing in front of the church. Father burst into that glorious smile, full of authentic love and joy – the way so many of us will remember him, and I asked him to bless my child. I bent down, and our shoulders touched, both of us sort of looming over the child and grinning excitedly – almost like mad doctors. He raised his hand in blessing, and launched into a lengthy blessing, the center of which included all of Simeon's song, the Nunc dimittis –

Lord, now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace, according to thy word.
For mine eyes have seen thy salvation.
Which thou hast prepared before the face of all people;
To be a light to lighten the Gentiles, and to be the glory of thy people Israel.

The image for me is of wise, faithful, prayerful Simeon bidding peace, blessing, and farewell. Fr. Meisel was also a bit like Anna as well, never departing the Temple. He loved this building, which he had done so much to beautify and maintain. It gave him enormous happiness and joy, and he filled it with prayer and music and worship. Of course, on that sunny morning Fr Meisel was not welcoming his Lord and Savior. But he was blessing and rejoicing in life, new life, a new generation, innocence, vulnerability, potential, hope, all of the wholesome things a baby is. He was also preparing himself for his departure, for a new beginning, for the fulfillment of his life, for the realization of his hope. His life had been full and precious. He was satisfied and ready to meet God face to face.

Simeon and Anna were devout and righteous. Both were waiting their turn to die, but they were not satisfied. They were living in expectation for something greater. They lived in patient hope, eagerly awaiting the messianic age, and moved by the Holy Spirit they both perceived that in the apparently ordinary baby brought to the Temple by S. Mary, God was acting to glorify Israel. Here was his Christ! At last, their expectation was fulfilled. They were satisfied.

When he took the child in his arms, Simeon sang. His joy burst forth in music. His song, the Nunc Dimittis, describes God's coming salvation. One of the things that strikes us is that Simeon saw this salvation. God's salvation is not a thing, not an idea, not a doctrine, not a moral code; God's salvation is a person, flesh and blood, a person that our senses can see, hear, feel, even smell. In fact, this person is a baby, a new, vulnerable life that encapsulates and fulfils history and allows for our sanctification, our renewal.

In the Nunc dimittis, S. Luke explains to us that all of the Old Testament history is about God preparing the Jews for the coming of the messiah, and once the messiah has come, once Israel's history has reached its goal, then the light of God will break through the darkness of the whole world. This baby, the glory of Israel, the hope of humanity, is the means of salvation for all people, Jew and Gentile.

But this gift of God is not forced upon us. We don't have to accept. When the light of Jesus shines on people, when his truth confronts people, they face the crisis of decision: am I going to move toward God, or am I going to move away from God? As we reflect on how people answer this question, we ought to have two prayers. First, we pray for all those who outright reject God or who run away from the decision, that their hearts and minds will stay open, that they will turn and come to know the Lord. Second, we pray in thanksgiving that, through no deserving of our own, we have received the joy of life in Christ, that we have the certain hope of the ultimate satisfaction. With that hope, then we, too, will be able to depart in peace.

+ In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.