Rev Angie's Message for Candlemas
3 Feb 2025 • From our Priest-in-Charge
Candlemas: I think it’s such a lovely word, but what is it? In Luke’s Gospel chapter 2, we find Jesus being presented at the temple when he was 40 days old. We join with Mary and Joseph to meet two old souls who are patiently waiting, prayerful, hopeful. Simeon, a man of considerable faith on whom the Holy Spirit rested; and Anna, prophet, widow, devoted to God’s praise.
They recognised immediately who this small baby was when Mary and Joseph presented him, and taking him in his arms Simeon declared Jesus to be the light of the whole world.
It is Simeon’s declaration that gives us the Candlemas theme: the blessing of candles in the hope and expectation that this outward visible sign will enable us to recognise the light of Christ which dwells within us, and encourage us to share that light of Christ with everyone, without prejudice.
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Candlemas falls halfway between the winter solstice and the spring equinox. The days are getting longer, the light is getting stronger, and the spring flowers are starting to appear in the hedgerows. This week I have seen daffodils, primroses, snowdrops and crocuses.
Candlemas also marks the turning point of the Christian Year. It is the point where we pause, looking back on the celebrations of Jesus’ coming at Christmas, and looking forward, moving towards Jesus’ passion. We turn from birth towards death and resurrection.
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Simeon and Anna, for me, are two of the most positive role models we have in the gospels. They radiate with hope and faithfulness.
I want to contrast Simeon and Anna with two other characters you will probably all know of. It’s not an entirely fair comparison and certainly not water-tight, but it will serve our purpose here.
We meet these other characters not in a gospel but in a Beatles song, the titular Eleanor Rigby, along with her priest, Father McKenzie.
Let me remind you about Eleanor: cleaning the church after a wedding; lost in a dream; wearing a face that she keeps in a jar by the door for somebody who never comes.
Then there’s Fr Mackenzie, writing sermons no one will hear, resigned, beaten down. Eleanor dies and is buried by Fr Mackenzie, un-mourned, forgotten. And then that chilling line: ‘no-one was saved’.
Two individuals doing the work of the church, but we’re given the impression that the light of hope flickered out for them long, long ago. I’m sometimes stirred to tears by this beautiful sad song with its gentle lilting melody, for Eleanor, for Father Mackenzie, for all the lonely people without the light of hope.
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It’s unlikely that most of us here are at either of the extreme ends of the imagined spectrum of Eleanor and Anna, Fr Mackenzie and Simeon. But maybe for an uncomfortable moment we could ponder whereabouts on that sliding scale we sit now.
If we’re completely honest with ourselves, do we sometimes feel a little closer to Eleanor and Fr Mackenzie? These are challenging times. Does our experience of church commitment ever, just occasionally, feel a little bit like fruitless endeavour, disconnected from a society that isn’t interested and doesn’t care, difficult to see the point anymore?
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I wonder if some of the difference we see between our two lonely Liverpool souls and our two rejoicing prophets can be accounted for by thinking about anticipation, expectation.
Fr Mackenzie, probably despondent and wearied by years of dwindling attendance, never quite finding that magic formula that would bring everyone rushing back on a Sunday morning: well it seems his heart just isn’t in it anymore.
I wonder: Did he expect God to show up? Had he stopped eagerly seeking the presence of Christ years ago?
Simeon, too, could have become very despondent, and maybe sometimes he did. He had lived long enough to see Jerusalem fall to the conquering and oppressive superpower that was the Roman Empire. Surely there were times when he questioned his faith, moments of despair and doubt, hanging on just by a fingernail.
But we know that he was, to all intents and purposes, a faithful man, and that day at the temple, he waited expectantly for the Messiah to show up, and he was overjoyed.
How many of us go to church expecting God to show up?
How many of us get excited about an encounter with Jesus Christ?
Because he is here, right now, with us. We can be joyful, not because he might show up, but because he’s already here.
I invite you to pause and take a moment of quiet to ponder your expectation and experience of encounter with God.
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Candlemas is the day we realise that eternity can enter time and touch us in the form of a tiny child; not as a bolshy autocrat, but as a vulnerable pilgrim, coming in his love to walk the road of life alongside us, whatever our circumstances.