Tag Archives: messiah

Simeon’s Story – Part II

Posted on by under Original writing

(Part II of my reimagining of this story from the Gospel of St. Luke, chapter 2. Part I can be found here.)

The couple came in with a baby, obviously preparing to offer a sacrifice for the child in accordance with the Law’s requirements. I stared at them as they passed. (I did so with many who entered the Temple, sometimes to their extreme discomfort.) The girl looked over and our eyes locked. There was something behind those eyes that I’d never seen before. It drew me to her with a call so faint I almost missed it. With more strength than I thought I possessed, I raised my weary bones to my feet and rushed to get closer to them. In my haste, I crashed into one of the money changers who made a mockery of the temple. If I’d knocked him to the ground, I wouldn’t have spent a moment regretting it. He didn’t belong there.

The woman, who was not much more than a child herself, didn’t move. She waited as if expecting my approach. To his credit, her companion stepped between us. His caution was understandable. A strange, wild-eyed old man who looked as if he was about to accost his wife justified his concern. In response, I paused. But the woman stepped around the man and stood before me with her little one. That’s when I got a good look at the baby.

It was the child.

I’d always expected the Anointed One to stride into view in royal attire, borne by a mighty stallion or a chariot, unmistakable, ready to assert His privilege and power. I pictured myself bowing before Him, worshiping Him in His glory. But it was a baby. A helpless infant. Surely I’d mistaken my hope for truth.

Nothing set this newborn apart from the many others I’d encountered over my long vigil. Little wisps of hair, ruddy wrinkled skin, eyes unfocused, cooing and fussing in his mother’s arms. No, it wasn’t just my hope. It was the Spirit once more, divulging a deep truth about the little one. It was him. Never had I been so sure of anything.

But what could I do? More than I could express, I wanted to touch him, make his parents understand who it was they held. Maybe I should have been satisfied merely to let my eyes rest on his tiny form and go home to die, content. Doubtless prompted by the same Spirit that drew me to her, the woman held the child out to me. I became aware of the fact that I was trembling. Nonetheless, I took him from her, in awe of what was happening.

Before I knew it, I was speaking. Or rather the Spirit was speaking through me. Having the Spirit speak to me, while precious, wasn’t new, but this? The words came tumbling out unbidden. I spoke to Jehovah. I spoke to the couple. The statements felt profound, prophetic, but I had no idea what they meant. If the couple looked confused and amazed, I was even more so. There would be time to mull over the meaning of the message later. For the moment, I held it in my heart. I could see his mother doing the same.

Then came the words I wish I could have swallowed rather than spoken. Better the bitterness in my mouth than wounding that poor woman. Even as I saw the message cut her, I felt the sword in my own heart. A heart attack? Was God so soon demanding my part of the prophecy? Was this already the end I’d long expected? No, it was our pain, the mother’s and mine, shared. But hers was yet to come.

It was finished. Carefully, tenderly, I handed the baby back to his mother. I tasted the tears on my lips before I realized I was crying. Was it joy? Perhaps. Was it the fact that I knew now that my days on earth would soon draw to a close? No. It was peace. I almost didn’t recognize it because it was a peace like nothing I’d ever known. It defied explanation and expectation. It was a sense of completion, of hope fulfilled, of a promise kept.

Out of respect, I dipped my head to the couple before they disappeared into the crowd, still looking unsure of what they’d seen and heard. I’d seen Him. I’d touched Him. And He had touched me.

To think I almost didn’t get out of bed.

Simeon’s Story – Part I

Posted on by under Original writing

(Believe what you want about the Bible—my personal belief is that it is the essentially true story of God’s dealing with humanity—but it is a treasure trove of great literature and stories. It’s often sparse on detail (and admittedly often excessive with esoteric minutia) but that’s part of the fun. One of my favorite writing exercises is to fill in those gaping holes by combining my limited cultural knowledge with my overactive imagination to create possible (if not likely) scenarios and profiles.

I’ve done this a few times before in this and my earlier blog. See here and here and here, for example. This time, I’m telling the story of a little known character from the Christmas story, a gentleman named Simeon. You can—and IMHO should—read the original story here.)

I almost didn’t get out of bed that morning. It hurt too much to move, never mind stand up and walk. Every joint in my body screamed for more rest. I lay in bed staring at the ceiling, wondering what I had to get up for. At my age, there was no one left to see and nothing I had to do, even if I still had the strength to do it.

People think to live a long life is a blessing. They’re mistaken. It’s a curse. The body weakens until it’s all but useless. Everyone you’ve ever known leaves you, rendering you more and more isolated until finally… you’re completely alone. The last friend I had died last year. I lost my beloved Joanna as she gave birth to Samuel, who, like his older siblings moved far away long ago. Samuel went north to Galilee, to Cana if memory serves, although it doesn’t serve me well these days. Asa, always captivated by the sea without ever having seen it, went to Joppa. He was determined to make his fortune sailing and trading around the Empire. I wonder if he ever achieved that goal. The rest of my surviving offspring migrated to God knows where. They used to visit when they came to Jerusalem for Passover or other other holy days. Over the years, they came less and less, rarely observing those festivals. It pains me to not see them but it hurts more that they’ve drifted away from Jehovah. He’s the only reason I’m still here—still in Jerusalem, yes, but also the reason I continue to live and breath.

In the end, with concerted effort and much groaning, I rose. It wasn’t my will but the Spirit that moved me. Years ago, back when I was a foolish youth with little promise, few prospects, and no hair on my chin, the Ancient of Days revealed to me (of all people!) that, before my time had run out, I would see His Messiah, the Christ, the consolation of all Israel. From that day on, I looked for any sign of His arrival. At first, it was mere curiosity. As I grew older, it became an obsession. Now that my body tells me daily that it has nearly run its course, I wonder if my youthful fantasy was just that. Was it the wishful thinking of a daydreaming boy or a true message from the Lord of Hosts? My faith began to waver but my will never did.

That morning I was inspired like never before to go to the temple. That’s where Jehovah meets us and that’s where I was certain I’d find the fulfillment of the prophecy He’d given me. I sat as always, enduring the whispers, snickers, and slights made at the expense of the poor old fool who thinks God speaks to him as if he were Moses. Does one have to be Moses to have a word from the Lord? I thought not. I hoped not. In spite of my hopes and expectations, the morning passed no differently than any other.

Until they walked by.

…to be continued