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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. (Luke 2:27-30)
Stories rise and fall in memories’ store. Floating beneath the
horizon of consciousness, they wait their time, suddenly appearing in vivid
contour when touched by other tales, to show us who we are and what we need.
In ancient story, an old man wanders into the temple as he has
for years, there to pray and watch and wait, biding time, hoping to touch the meaning
of all time. Enter a couple with an infant, coming to pray and make an offering
for the gift of the child.
And he knows. I don’t know how. But he knows the mysterious way
the heart knows love and beauty and kindness and other things that most matter.
This is the one, his old heart says. This is the child, the light God promised he’d
see before death closed his eyes.
Taking the child in his arms, he raises his tired eyes to
heaven to pray his thanks, and suddenly I don’t see an old man in an ancient land.
I see Bob, an old man who lived down the street when I was a boy.
He stands there, holding the child. But I know the child he
is holding is me, the way he held my life with gentleness when I was 10 or 11,
taking me fishing in his old green Studebaker, showing me how to dig potatoes
and pick beans in his garden, letting me come along as he walked to St. Anne’s
down the street to caulk a worn window, repair a door hinge or do whatever the priest
needed.
I was there, my heart held, though I knew it not, at least
not as now.
Now, I see. Bob was Simeon, holding the life of Christ yet
sleeping within the hidden depths of my boyhood, waiting to be awakened to unveil
the beauty within that we each bear … and each are.
Today, I am about as old as Bob was then, and I want to be Simeon,
too, filled with gratitude and praise and wonder for the lives my heart and hands
have been privileged to hold.
I can see the whole of life, all that I am, all that I see
and do through Simeon’s eyes and with his heart. Like him, I am called to hold
the mystery of the Christ-life hidden in the hearts of every face I meet. The
beauty of Christ lies asleep in the hearts of many, waiting to be warmed and awakened
by whatever love and kindness I have to share, that the Lord’s beauty may be
known in human flesh once more.
Being Simeon is a whole way of life; a gracious way filled
with gratitude for the privilege of holding the beauty of Christ, not only
within ourselves, but in our care for the Christ-life hidden in the hearts of
every human soul we shall ever know, see or touch.
In the communion of Saints, as we dwell in union with those
who have gone before us, I hope Bob can hear the thanks of my heart for being Simeon
for me, one of several. But then, as I hold the precious lives of those most
dear, I realize, no thanks are needed.
David L. Miller
