1 Corinthians 13. 1 – 13
Luke 2. 22 – 40
Fr Alex
By what seems like a bit of a glitch in the Common Worship lectionary, today we’ve just heard the Gospel reading for Candlemas. So you’ll hear it again on Wednesday, if you’re planning to come to either of our masses (which I hope you are! – and don’t worry, I promise there’ll be a different homily to listen to!)
But although it isn’t the feast itself today, our readings of course still have something profound to say to us, on this last Sunday of the Christmas season.
The Presentation of Christ in the Temple – commonly known as Candlemas – brings to an end our Christmas celebrations, and turns our attention towards Lent and Passiontide.
We see this clearly in Simeon’s words to Mary and Joseph: he first summarises the great meaning of the Incarnation in the wonderful words of the Nunc Dimittis. Here is Jesus, the Messiah, the salvation of God; prepared for all peoples; to shine his glorious light on Jews and non-Jews alike. These are the incarnational themes we’ve been exploring over the last few weeks.
But then Simeon makes an abrupt change: what is so obviously present to him in this child, will not be obvious to all. He will be opposed; he is destined to cause division within the people of Israel; he is the cause of great joy for those who believe, but all those who reject him will fall. And a sword will pierce Mary’s own soul, too.
From the Incarnation, to the Passion.
I wonder if, all those months ago when the angel came to her, Mary knew just how much would be encapsulated in her ‘yes’ to God. If she really knew what she was getting herself into.
I remember the total shock to the system when our first child came along. You can read all the books about parenting in the world, but they can’t prepare you for the total change to life that is involved in caring for a baby. In some ways it was an even bigger change when number two came along. I won’t say anything about three, four, or five…
But did Mary know that just before giving birth, she would have to travel for a week in impossible conditions to give birth in a strange place? Only then to find herself in amongst the muck of the animals? And then to flee for her life from the jealous Herod?
And to present her child in the temple, only for this man to foretell her future pain and devastation, on account of her precious child? Did she know that her son would one day be arrested, tortured, and crucified in front of her?
There’s a strong tradition that Mary knew all that God had planned for her son. On the other hand, we heard this morning that she and Joseph were “amazed” at the good things Simeon was saying about Jesus.
In a sense, I don’t think it matters. Because Mary was so in tune with the will of God – so deeply aware of his love for her – and so filled with that love for his Son – her Son – that nothing would’ve stopped her saying ‘yes’ to God.
A clue to understanding Mary’s embrace of this great love is found in our first reading, from St Paul. He says, “If I have prophetic powers, and understand all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have all faith, so as to remove mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing.”
The key to Mary’s ‘yes’ is not in knowing what’s going to happen; not even in having great faith to trust that everything will turn out ok; it’s in surrendering totally to the love of God.
Mary’s love was patient, kind; she did not insist on her own way, an easier way; she was not resentful at all the hardships she endured; through this love, she was able to bear all things, believe all things, hope all things, endure all things. Her love was, and is, unending.
And a most wonderful aspect of the Incarnation is that being able to enter fully into this love, is not something peculiar to Mary. She did not have super-powers of love.
Luke tells the first couple of chapters of his Gospel from Mary’s perspective to bring us into the story of the Incarnation in such an intimate way.
To illustrate the truth that Jesus came to make us his brothers and sisters; to be adopted by God as his own sons and daughters. So that we can call Jesus our brother; we can really call God our Father. Indeed, we can call Mary our mother!
Because the same power of love that Mary embraced so fully, is opened up to us too – thanks to our incorporation into the very family of God.
This is what St Paul is getting at in this part of his epistle. All the things that we think could make us powerful, or capable of doing great things; all of those will come to an end.
Prophecies, tongues, knowledge; all of it is temporary.
But that also means that those things that hold us down – those swords that make wounds in our own lives; all of that is temporary too.
All that remains is love.
The love that gave Mary the power to say ‘yes’, with all that that entailed.
The love that brought Jesus to the cross; and the love that conquered death, and opened the way to eternal life.
The love that sustains us through life, and will carry us through death, like Jesus, into the endless life of God.
All of this love is offered to us. All we have to do, like Mary, is say ‘yes’ to it – and we, too, can overcome whatever is before us. Amen.