A Boy’s Praise
I was running at the park in a stew of my own worry. Maybe it was work that had me wrapped around the axle. Or maybe it was a relationship. Or maybe I’d just woken up on the wrong side of the bed. I can’t remember the specific reason, but it hardly matters. When I find myself embroiled in self-concern, the object of obsession makes little difference. Whatever it is, it narrows my perspective. It makes the world smaller. And that small world–it revolves all around me.
I was on a narrow path and could see ahead of me a father and his child, no more than five years old. As I begrudgingly shifted off the path to make way, I saw the child point up to the sky. By God’s grace, I looked to where he was pointing and saw a hawk in majestic flight, swooping toward the ground. “Look, daddy!” I heard the boy cry. “What is it?” I kept running, and so I did not hear the father’s response. What echoed in my mind was the boy’s wonder and enthusiasm, so contrary to my numb self-centeredness. I had been closed off to the world. But the boy was not. He was open and curious. And his spirit was contagious. It opened me up! I wouldn’t have looked up if he hadn’t pointed. I wouldn’t have seen the hawk in its majesty. I would have kept running under a cloud of self-centered worry.
Is it any coincidence, I wonder, that today I cannot remember what small concern had me captive but I can remember the boy and his hand pointed upward and the hawk swooping down? It is as though that moment reframed the world as so much bigger than my passing concern. That moment restored my heart to God. What I remember is not the passing concern but the bigger truth of God’s presence and love.
Bear with me if it seems I am blowing this out of proportion—but “my eyes [saw] God’s salvation!” If salvation is nothing more than saying a prayer and getting our ticket punched for heaven, then yes, I am quite out of line. But isn’t this ticket-to-heaven, pie-in-the-sky salvation actually rather feeble and impoverished? It’s all about another time and place and makes no difference to the here and now. On the other hand, Jesus proclaims a much grander salvation. The kingdom of God has arrived! There is growth and healing and abundant life now, for we are God’s beloved children.
The conceptual root of salvation is simple: safety. Salvation means we are safe in God’s love. That day in the park, when I was wrapped around myself, I felt fear, not safety; I saw only threats, not promise. But then a little boy praised God—sure, he didn’t use theological language, but his voice was pure praise and wonder—and my eyes were opened again. No longer was I wrapped around myself. I was alive with wonder, returned to a much larger world. I was returned to God.
Not a Spectacle, but
a Seed
Simeon’s eyes were already open. He was not wrapped up in himself, as I was in the park, but rather he was “looking forward,” Luke tells us, “to the consolation of Israel” (2:25). Looking forward. Which is to say, looking outside himself. Trusting in something larger than himself. Is it a coincidence that the Holy Spirit rests on him and reveals to him the coming of the messiah? His heart is open.
What really strikes me about Simeon, however, is the salvation that he sees. Just an infant. I don’t know about you, but generally when I hear the word salvation, I think of grand spectacles, sweeping gestures, sudden interventions. But as Jesus will later say, “The kingdom of God is not coming with things that can be observed, nor will they say, ‘Look, here it is!’ or ‘There it is!’” (17:20). The kingdom of God is more speck than spectacle. It’s a little thing, ignored by people looking for greatness. Elsewhere Jesus will compare it to a seed. Something nearly invisible, and yet bearing all of God’s love and goodness.
What does Simeon see in this helpless infant being presented to God in the temple? Do his eyes reach into the future? Does he see Jesus on the cross? Does he see Jesus embracing lepers and eating with tax collectors? Or do his eyes only see a baby–and yet that’s enough? Suddenly everything clicks, that, yes, God’s love for us is like a parent’s transcendent love for a child. And this love is the glory of Israel and the light that will lead everyone, Israel and the nations alike, to God.
I don’t know what Simeon saw in Jesus. I only know he saw a baby—and that was enough.
Simeon’s short song of praise quickly became an early Christian classic known as the nunc dimittis, which is the Latin for the beginning of the song, “Now you are dismissing.” Throughout the centuries, followers of Christ have recited it as part of their evening prayers. This prayer practice is a wonderful reminder that God’s salvation is happening on a daily basis, and we are invited to bear witness to it. In my own practice, I find the prayer to be a healthy challenge. In particular, the assertion, “My eyes have seen your salvation,” invites me to reflect on what has happened during the day and in what small, inconspicuous ways God’s salvation has been revealed to me. I am invited to look for seeds of God’s kingdom. Perhaps it was a boy pointing to a hawk, drawing me out of myself and restoring me to God. Perhaps it was a quiet look of sympathy from a friend. Perhaps it was a moment of vulnerability from someone else that allowed for a genuine connection to be made.
Looking Back on the
Year
As we find ourselves on the last day of the year, I find myself wondering if the nunc dimittis, Simeon’s song, might not invite us to reflect similarly on 2023. Most of the time, we wave farewell to a year with a tongue-in-cheek “Good riddance! Let’s hope the next year’s better.” To be sure, every year will have its own share of difficulty. But our faith in Christ invites us to look for the seeds of God’s kingdom growing in our midst. Our faith invites us to give thanks and praise God. Not necessarily with a hymn or theological language. It could be as simple as pointing to a hawk and saying, “Look!”
Or it could be pointing to stories of redemption in the disaster relief work of God’s Pit Crew. Or stories of healing—and by healing, I mean something much more than a physical cure. I mean the strengthening of a soul through the love and support of others, as I see happening wherever a community gathers in prayer. (Here I find myself thinking of Donna’s regular reports about Hudson, a baseball teammate of her grandson.) Paul tells us to give thanks “in everything,” so we’re invited to look even amid evil and loss and difficulty for seeds of God’s kingdom. I have a close friend who lost her father recently and suddenly to cancer. There is no way I can call that event itself good. It is suffering and it is loss and I do not believe it is God’s will. But in that event, I have seen a host of people surrender their own time and personal ambitions in order to support my friend and her family. If like Simeon I am looking forward to God’s consolation, then here I catch a glimpse of it. In the selfless love on display, I catch a glimpse of God’s kingdom and am inspired to live more like this in my everyday life.
A People of Good News
In our Old Testament lectionary text today, Isaiah insists, “As a garden causes what is sown in it to spring up, so the Lord God will cause righteousness and praise to spring up before all the nations” (Isa 61:11). God’s kingdom springs up through praise. In our Psalm lectionary text today (Ps 148), the psalm declares that all of creation sing God’s praise—the sun, the moon, the mountains, the trees. The not-too-subtle implication is that, as part of God’s creation, we are invited to join their song of praise.
Why is praise so important? Here I speak from experience. It is infectious. It is how the Spirit catches on from one person to the next. When I was running through the park under a cloud of self-concern, the boy’s praise for the hawk broke me out of the prison of the self and restored me to God and a world of beauty and goodness and possibility.
Psychologists tell us that rage and anger naturally attract our attention more than anything. The news and social media know this all too well. Outrage sells. Left to its own devices, I’m afraid the world moves toward division and violence.
But the good news of this Christmastide is that we are not left to our own devices. God’s kingdom is already among us. Often in small, unspectacular ways, whether that’s a baby in a manger, a man disposed of by the empire on a cross, a boy pointing to a hawk. And the good news is that God’s kingdom grows when we tend to it. When we see it, point to it, praise it, and live in its way of grace and love.
This Christmastide, let us remember: we are a people of good news.
May the world know us so, and may the Spirit be contagious.
Prayer
Whose love is sown all over the world
In ways that are not observed:
Help us to learn from Simeon
And other faithful followers of your way
How to look for your consolation
And the wonders of your love
…
Make us into a people who trust in your salvation.
Make us into a people of good news.
In Christ, who is with us: Amen.
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