Candlemas

Today is the Feast of the Presentation of Jesus in the Temple, also known as the Feast of the Purification, also known as Candlemas. Also known as Groundhog Day. And yes, there is a connection. Sort of. More on that later.

We observe the Feast of the Presentation every year on February 2—but don’t worry too much if you don’t know much about it. The feast day only falls on a Sunday once or twice each decade.

And that’s a shame. Because the traditions and appointed readings are wonderful.

Forty days after Jesus’s birth, his parents bring him to the Temple in Jerusalem in keeping with Jewish tradition. A wealthy family would offer a lamb to be sacrificed, but new parents who couldn’t afford a lamb could offer instead a pair of turtledoves or two young pigeons. And that’s what Mary and Joseph do. And so we learn that Jesus’s family was relatively poor.

Their visit to the Temple wouldn’t have attracted much attention. There was nothing special about their appearance. No fanfare to their visit. No sign to indicate that anything remarkable was taking place.

But still a man named Simeon greets them. Luke tells us that Simeon was “righteous and devout” and that “it had been revealed to him by the Holy Spirit that he would not see death before he had seen the Lord’s Messiah.” When Simeon sees the six-week-old baby in Mary’s arms, he recognizes him at once and knows that God’s promise has been fulfilled. He takes the baby into his arms and praises God in words that have become part of the night prayers of the Church:

“Lord, you now have set your servant free *
to go in peace as you have promised;
For these eyes of mine have seen the Savior, *
whom you have prepared for all the world to see:
A Light to enlighten the nations, *
and the glory of your people Israel.”

And then the prophet Anna arrives. She’s eighty-four years old and has lived in the temple for probably more than sixty years, worshipping God with fasting and prayer. She too recognizes Jesus for who he is and gives praise to God.

If Anna also sang a song, Luke didn’t record it, but I like to think of the 84th Psalm as at least one of Anna’s songs. It’s a fitting prayer for a woman who spent her life in God’s temple.

“How dear to me is your dwelling, O Lord of hosts! *
My soul has a desire and longing for the courts of the Lord; my heart and my flesh rejoice in the living God.
The sparrow has found her a house and the swallow a nest where she may lay her young; *
by the side of your altars, O Lord of hosts, my King and my God.
Happy are they who dwell in your house! *
they will always be praising you.”

So much of a life of faith is about the quiet moments. As someone with responsibility for this building, I’ll admit that I don’t want swallows and sparrows nesting in our church’s walls. But isn’t it a beautiful image? “The sparrow has found her a house and the swallow a nest where she may lay her young; by the side of your altars, O Lord of hosts, my King and my God.” An image of safety and peace, shelter and new life. Anna must have watched the swallows and sparrows come and go through the years. And she must have known this psalm.

The Feast of the Presentation is a day that celebrates patience and faithfulness: Simeon’s lifelong wait for the fulfilment of the promise that he would see the Messiah; Anna’s many decades of prayer.

Because often that’s what a life of faith looks like. Waiting. Trusting in God’s promise. But not yet seeing fully or clearly what is to come. Maybe for weeks. Maybe for years. Maybe for a lifetime.

The Feast of the Presentation is a day that reminds us to wait, as Anna and Simeon did. It’s a day that reminds us to look for God in the ordinary—not only in great moments of revelation, but also (and maybe especially) in a six-week-old baby in his mother’s arms.

The Feast of the Presentation is also a day that reminds us that the end of one person’s story doesn’t mark the end of God’s story. For Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, the Presentation marked a beginning. They would go home and wait for a child to grow up. Simeon and Anna would have known as they held Mary’s baby in the Temple that they wouldn’t live to see Jesus’s public ministry. But still they were able to see in his presence the fulfilment of all their hopes.

So that’s the story of the Feast of the Presentation. A story of faith and patience and God’s promise fulfilled. An ending and a new beginning.

Ok. But where do the candles and groundhogs come in?

Well, by the seventh century, the Church had started using the Feast of the Presentation as a time to bless candles that would be used throughout the year. The midpoint of winter must have seemed a good time to remember that light would one day return. An unlit candle holds within it a promise of light. And Simeon of course called Jesus “A Light to enlighten the nations.” Candles were lit and blessed, and this day came to be known as Candlemas.

And then another tradition developed—a tradition that said that clear weather on Candlemas meant that the remaining winter would be long. In the country of Hungary, people watched to see if a bear would see its shadow. In Germany, it was a badger. And in the United States, a groundhog took the place of honor.

And so, as it turns out, whether you knew it or not, we still do celebrate the Feast of the Presentation every year. On this Candlemas morning, what I ask of you is this: In years to come, whenever you hear talk of Punxsutawney Phil and his shadow, light a candle and remember Anna and Simeon and Simeon’s song.

“Lord, you now have set your servant free *
to go in peace as you have promised;
For these eyes of mine have seen the Savior, *
whom you have prepared for all the world to see:
A Light to enlighten the nations, *
and the glory of your people Israel.”

Happy Candlemas!