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If you haven’t guessed it yet, candles are a big part of today's celebration. The Presentation of Jesus in the Temple is also known as Candlemas—literally the mass of candles. 40 days ago(ish) we celebrated the birth of Jesus on Christmas—the mass of Christ. These last 40 days have been one long celebration of the Christmas-Epiphany season, the light of Christ appearing in the darkness, the light of Christ coming into the world.

And, because I know you’ve been wondering, today is also the last respectable day to have your Christmas tree up. It’s simply un-Christian to keep it up any longer! 

In many parts of the world, Candlemas is celebrated with big parades. In South America, a statue of Mary—who is known as Our Lady of Light—is carried through the streets commemorating the holy Mother, the original bearer of the Christ light, the one who gave birth to the light of the world. Candlemas also marks the midpoint of winter—half way between the shortest day and the spring equinox. There’s an old farmer’s proverb, which goes:

If Candlemas day be fair and bright

Winter will have another fight

If Candlemas day brings cloud and rain

Winter won’t come again. 

(I'm afraid it's not good news for North Vancouver!)

This morning we spent some time during the children’s talk meditating on a candle and thinking about God’s blessing on all of the candles that appear in our church throughout the year. There's the Christ candle; the sanctuary candle; the altar candles; the prayer candles. For a moment, I want us to imagine a candle that would have been hanging in the temple the day that Jesus was presented by his parents. 

It’s a candle a lot like one we have hanging in our sanctuary. In Jewish temples, it’s called the sanctuary lamp and it hangs in front of the ark, this ornate, old-looking cupboard. Inside the cupboard are the sacred scrolls of the Torah—the Jewish scriptures. Like the candle in our own sanctuary, the sanctuary lamp in a Jewish temple burns forever; it is never extinguished. 

I imagine Jesus and his parents on the day of Jesus’ presentation. There they are, the sanctuary lamp above, the Torah scrolls removed, read, and returned to the cupboard. A man named Simeon, who is well known and respected in the temple, participates in the service. He preaches a sermon about the promises that were made to his ancestors, promises for a Saviour. He even goes so far as to say that these promises have been fulfilled in Mary and Joseph’s child, Jesus. 

Everyone in the congregation is stunned. Mary and Joseph are terrified! Simeon’s sermon is right in the midst of this edict that’s been sent out from King Herod for all boys under the age of two to be killed. Herod, worried that more and more preachers like Simeon are saying that a rival King has come into the world. 

The presentation ceremony is wrapping up; Mary, Joseph, and Jesus are ushered away so the next family who had come to the temple that day to present their child can come in. But then, an old woman named Anna comes hobbling down the aisle. She’s making her way all the way from the back and she’s singing out with a voice that’s gone hoarse with age. Everyone stops to listen.

The Bible doesn’t tell us what Anna says, but it does tell us where she’s from. She is the daughter of Phanuel from the tribe of Asher, which will later be known by historians as a “lost tribe”. Anna is a descendant of Jacob and Zilpah. Zilpah is a maid way back in Anna’s line who bears the children of her mistress’s husband. Anna is a relative of Jesus; the two share this royal line which has all of these unlikely matriarchs in it—all of these so-called “improper” women who keep getting written out of the history books, but somehow keep showing up! 

We’re told that Anna is a constant presence in the temple, never leaving, worshipping day and night. This is her home; these are her people, regardless of what people are saying. For Anna, the meaning of Jesus’ arrival wasn’t quite finished being told when Simeon left the pulpit. For Anna, the great-great-great-great-great granddaughter of a mistress, Jesus’ arrival means there’s a place for her and people with her kind of history at God’s table, too. And at 84 years old, it would appear she’s still curious, still open to learning what being included at God’s table might just be all about. 

I imagine there were some at Jesus’ presentation who would have preferred that Anna hadn’t come wailing down the aisle dragging the family history with her. The thing is, just when we think God’s promise of inclusion has reached the farthest it could possibly reach, there’s always a little more to be said: the light of Christ hobbling down the aisle waiting to be acknowledged; the light of Christ parading in the streets; the light of Christ among those who have been forgotten.

On this day, when we welcome H**** into the household of Christ, I see Mary and Joseph in A**** and R**** and F**** and C*** who are here to present H**** for baptism. In H****, I see Jesus, of course, but I also see Anna. I see Anna in curious, open-hearted H****, who at 8 years old, asked his parents if he could be baptised, if he could learn more about what being included at God’s table is all about. (When I asked H**** during our baptism class if he knew the three names for God that we use when we perform a baptism, I started off with “in the name of the Father” and H**** was quick to add, “and the Mother.” I see Anna in H****.) 

Simeon and Anna, Joseph and Mary, R**** and A****, F**** and C****: you are all candles bearing the light of Christ in H****’s life. This faith story is your faith story; these ancestors are your ancestors. Today you will present H**** to receive the very light you carry in your heart: may the light of Christ be for you and for him a light that brings hope; a light that brings recognition and welcome to those in our world who have been forgotten; a light that always has something more to say; a light that is never extinguished. Amen.