Simeon’s Story Part 2

Luke 2

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.  It had been revealed to him by the Holy Spirit that he would not see death before he had seen the Lord’s Messiah. 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, Simeon took him in his arms and praised God, saying,

‘Master, now you are dismissing your servant in peace,
    according to your word;
 for my eyes have seen your salvation,
     which you have prepared in the presence of all peoples,
 a light for revelation to the Gentiles
    and for glory to your people Israel.’

 And the child’s father and mother were amazed at what was being said about him.  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 so that the inner thoughts of many will be revealed—and a sword will pierce your own soul too.’

You may remember the story about Simeon, my father. Your gospel of Luke records his encounter with the baby Jesus. Actually, you might have guessed that I was the source of Luke’s account. I was.

I wrote my first story to you some years ago, with the purpose of explaining and honoring my father’s faith in the prophecy that he was given. Now, in this second letter to you, I want to extend the story a bit, to explain my own journey after my father’s passing. I hope this letter will inspire you as you reflect on your own encounters with God.

First of all, you should know that I am now the same age as my father was when he met the baby Jesus. That means, as you will no doubt deduce, that I am an old man! If you could see me, you’d immediately agree!

So, let me go back in time, to the prophecy given to my father, that he would see the Messiah before he died. I did not mention this in my earlier letter, but I can now admit that I was a bit skeptical. Yes, I did admire my father, and I very much respected his faith. But I have to say that it was his faith, not mine. I mean, his passion for our YHWH God went far beyond my own. In fact, I would say now that my faith was really a thin faith, not nearly so deep as my father’s. And, I had listened to his prophecy for so long, for so many years, that my wonder about it had grown into a serious doubt that it would ever come true.

Simeon's Song of Praise (also showing Anna)

Aert de Gelder, around 1700–1710

All that I can say in defense of my skepticism is that I was young. And as we elders all know, patience is not a virtue of the young.

But then, as you remember, after waiting for years, the prophecy given to my father did come to pass. At least, he was convinced that it did. But did it?

As for me, my doubts lingered. Was the baby Jesus really the Messiah that we had been hoping for? To me, it just didn’t add up.

I made the mistake of applying rational thinking to the actions of God. What does that mean? It means that I questioned the factual details of the birth of the Messiah. I mean, why was Jesus born to such a poor family? Why not to a family of prominence? And why was he not given a welcome fit for the Son of God? Why was his birth so obscure, almost totally hidden from public view? I wanted proof!

I should have reminded myself of this passage of scripture:

 For my thoughts are not your thoughts, nor are your ways my ways, says the Lord. (Isaiah 55)

 But unfortunately, I did not.

Out of respect, I chose not to argue with my father about my doubts. I mean, he was so convinced, and anyway, I knew that his death was imminent. I loved him too much to tell him what I really thought.

Then, thirty years went by. Over those years, any thought about Jesus fell out of my conscious mind. Life went on, and I had no idea what had happened to Jesus. He had simply disappeared. Perhaps, I imagined, my doubts had been justified. The Jesus of my father’s prophecy couldn’t be the Messiah, the Son of God. He had fallen totally out of sight.

You know what happened next.

Jesus suddenly appeared on the scene, in Galilee, announcing himself as the herald of the kingdom of God. He did not call himself the Messiah, nor did he identify as God’s son, at least, not at first. He taught and preached and performed amazing miracles of healing and feeding multitudes.

We heard about Jesus here, in Jerusalem. And the reports of him made me wonder if this was the same baby my father had visited so long ago, now grown into a man. Of course, there was no way to know for sure.

And there was, really, no way for me to find out, to verify the facts. I mean, Jesus of Nazareth? Jesus is a common name in our time.

I investigated, still hoping for some factual proof. On the occasions when Jesus appeared in Jerusalem, I heard him teach. And once, I traveled to Galilee, just to witness his ministry.

I have to say that Jesus was humble and not at all what I expected of a Messiah, the Son of God. My father’s prophecy was only about the baby and he never offered a thought about what kind of man the baby might grow up to be. I was on my own to watch and listen, and to make up my own mind.

And I have to say that I quickly realized that, though what I observed in Jesus was not at all what I expected of the Messiah, I found that his words spoke deeply to me. There was a truth about him that seemed to peel away layers of doubt in my heart. It was as if Jesus was speaking directly to me. My search for factual proof was slowly fading away.

Now, surprisingly, I could not get Jesus out of my mind. Thoughts of him drove me into a deep inner searching. It lasted for years, and in a way, has never ended. Questions arose that had been asleep for decades, all the way back to my father’s life. And still, even now, questions keep pulling me to a deeper place.

I realized that I had tried to live a life, borrowing my father’s faith. My attempts to honor him were sincere, but his faith and his calling were not mine to own. Instead, I was now feeling a calling of my own, one that would lead me away from my father’s path and onto something new. Something of my own.

It no longer mattered if Jesus the man was the same as the baby Jesus my father visited at the temple so many years ago. What mattered now was the calling that I was feeling, how I was being drawn into something not of my own making.

And now, as I said, I am an old man. Once, I had thought that, when you reach a certain age, there is nothing more to accomplish, that you are just waiting for death, and useful for nothing.

But God seemingly has other plans for me. I am not, as I expected, sitting by the fire and quietly waiting for my death. In fact, God has called me to be anything but quiet.

Perhaps it’s my gray hair, or perhaps my need to use a cane, or perhaps it’s my fading vision. Whatever it is, I seem to, now, in old age, be given a large helping of respect from younger folks. Frankly, that amazes me, and in a way, it amuses me. I mean, have no particular wisdom to share, but some people think that I do. Actually, what I have to share is mostly questions.

Please don’t criticize this, but I confess that I take full advantage of this newfound respect. So, I have been given a platform of sorts, and I use it to speak about the wonders of our YHWH God, and of course, about Jesus, who I am now convinced is God’s Son. I gave up on proof years ago!

So, what do I tell them? What wisdom do I “shower” on them? Well, don’t laugh, but what I mostly do is tell my story. It’s not a dramatic story, with tales of miracles and visions of angels. It’s not a story of a prophecy, like my father’s story. No, that was his story, not mine.

In fact, my story doesn’t even begin with a faith, a faith like my father’s. No, my story begins, as I have written to you, with skepticism, doubt, questions, and a futile attempt to prove something. For years, I tried to think my way into faith. And for years, that didn’t work.

It was only when God intervened, through the life of Jesus, that I began to let go. It was then, that I stopped being the subject of my searching and became the object of God’s love and truth. Allowing myself to receive the truths that I could not earn was hard. But over and over, I found myself surprised by the ways in which our God seeks us and quietly reveals himself to us.

And so, over time, I gradually let God be in charge, something I am sure that he wanted all along. Now, in my old age, I can share, not my faith, which depended on my efforts, but instead, I can share God’s faith in never giving up on me. This new life, in my senior years, is so much more than I could ever expect! I am truly blessed.

So, if you are an elderly person reading this letter, I encourage you to use the wisdom that God has given you. Use it in any way that God chooses, as he opens doors of opportunity for you to express your story. Just don’t be surprised if others, including younger people, give you more credit than you think you deserve!