Nunc Dimittis - Please can I go now?

“Nunc Dimittis”, or ‘please dismiss us now’ is a piece of choral music that has
been used in church liturgy down through the ages at the conclusion of night prayers. It comes from Simeon’s words in Luke 2:29. Simeon strikes me as a fascinating figure in the  Christmas story, appearing as he does when the 8 day old baby Jesus is presented in the Temple for the first time.

Fascinating, that he immediately recognises the significance of the moment when Joseph hands him the baby so that he might bless the child. Cradling the Son of God in his arms, who is blessing who, I wonder? And the words that he speaks indicate how much he was aware of the future destiny of this child.

    “…destined to cause the falling and rising of many… a sign that will be spoken against …”

    And to Mary “.. and a sword will pierce your own soul too… **

Fascinating also to me, is Simeon’s own self awareness of his role in this moment. Here’s this old man, waiting all these years for God to fulfil his promises through the sending of the Messiah, and somehow knowing that it would somehow happen in his lifetime. And when the moment comes, when he recognises who this child is he bears in his arms, his immediate reaction is - “Now, can I go?..” It’s as though, knowing that there is no further service left for him to do this side of death, besides this moment of bearing witness to the Messiah, he is just longing to pass over to that other place. It is the eagerness of a child who, having done all his chores, is waiting for the word - “yes, you can go out and play in the garden now.”

I sometimes think that I have entered into that ‘waiting’ zone. My cancer has made me more aware than at any time previously of this journey that we are all on. I know that the time is not yet, but I perceive a distant shore that has come into view, yet still a long way off.  And like a sailor out at sea, I continue to work through the daily business of keeping the boat steady, my hand on the tiller, but my eyes more fixed than ever on that shore. When the time comes, I hope then to be able to say “Now, let your servant depart in peace”, but until then, I also want to know the moving of Your Spirit, daily prompting and motivating me to do all that you would have me do in the here and now.

** Luke 2:34,35

The Portuguese Carol

There is a fairly strong tradition that the carol we sing as “O Come All Ye Faithful” (written in Latin as "Adeste Fideles") came originally from the 17th Century King John of Portugal, who, not only ably led his newly independent country out of a period of subjugation to Spain, but was also a noted musician, song writer and lover of the arts. Our Portuguese friends in Lisbon used to love singing this carol with a particularly patriotic gusto!

But, in common with other carols, it suffers from some antiquated English words and quaint expressions that sound rather weird to our ears. There’s one line in this carol, or at least in the English translation of it, that is regularly held up as one of the worst carol lyrics ever.

           “Lo! he abhors not the Virgin’s womb”

It does sound strange, when you sing it amidst all the tinsel and candles and stuff, and it is a puzzle to our ears. But, it does indicate a particular reality of the incarnation that tends to pass us by. That is the whole utter strangeness of what it means for the divine to enter so intimately into the our humanness. It is one thing to consider God appearing on earth, surrounded in glory, but standing apart from us - at arm’s length, as it were, on a mountain top, or in the clouds. 

But here is Christmas, announcing that here is God made flesh - God become like one of us.

The Holy one entering into all the messy physicality of what it means to be born as a human baby. 

Messy, though gloriously messy. 

Blood and amniotic fluid and placenta. 

Divinity constrained to pass through a birth canal.

And he doesn't disdain, doesn't shrink back, doesn't abhor this horrific transition.

The Creator of the world feels all the physical pain and trauma of entering the world this way.

And therein lies the glory of the incarnation, the wonder of Christmas.

That He would lay aside his glory.

That He would so join himself with us, as to be able to save us from our sin.

Not a God afar off, but one near at hand who knows our every weakness.

And so I celebrate today that glorious birth

           “Yea, Lord, we greet Thee, 

           Born this happy morning;

     Jesus, to Thee be all glory given;

              Word of the Father, 

           Now in flesh appearing…”

The Darkest Day

Twenty first December is the darkest day of the year. Well, perhaps not 'darkest', in terms of gloom or bad news, but in terms of actual hours of daylight. So here I am, in the words of the Psalmist, like a watchman waiting for the morning, which, even by 08:30 am on the A26, shows no sign of presenting us with a glorious sunrise.

The rising of the sun is traditionally associated with Easter and the Resurrection, but there are two references to the rising sun in the Christmas story that are worth taking note of. 

When Zechariah sings out to his infant son John with his newly rediscovered voice, he says

     “..because of the tender mercy of God … the rising sun will come to us from Heaven..” **

And, in singing this, he probably has in mind, the prophecy of Malachi. 

    “..for you who revere my name, the sun of righteousness will rise with healing in its rays..”.  **

The Christmas carol also picks this up, when we sing 

    “..Light and life to all he brings. Risen with healing in his wings..”

Now when Malachi writes “sun”; and not “son”, as does Zechariah, it’s not clear if it is referring both to the literal SUN that eventually rises, even on the darkest of days, or metaphorically, to God’s SON born this Christmas season. The metaphorical meaning actually makes more sense, given that the fiery ball of gases that hangs in the heavens can hardly be referred to as either "righteous" or "unrighteous"!

As I wait for the rising of the sun, I appreciate the “healing” its rays bring. Healing both in the physical sense, giving life and health to the planet, and also the healing that the coming of Jesus brings to this broken and sin sick world. And yes, also in the healing that I believe takes place in my own body, as I rise each day with renewed strength and energy to face another day. In the words of Saint Patrick

     “I arise today Through the mighty strength of the Trinity, 

               Through the belief in the threeness, 

                 Through confession of the oneness 

                     Of the Creator of Creation.”

** Luke 2:36-38

** Malachi 4:2

Bridge of Years

There’s one thing I can’t quite figure out in this well ordered world in which we live. A world where people marry and commit to live together ‘for better for worse, till death us do part’. If that coupling for life is set before us as the ideal, why, oh why then, when we approach the Bridge, only one can take it alone. The other stays behind on the other side. Stays behind, as the confusion and questions mount up. Lord, how long? How many years before I can cross? How will I cope? What shall I do with my grief?

On rare occasions, the two do cross over together.

But that is almost always due to pure accident, not the norm.

So here’s my question. Why would the God who put them together, to be one, undivided, to build a family, to endure sorrows and joy together, and to weather the storms of life, why does he then see fit to separate them?

What's the purpose in that?

You either have to conclude that God, in his overall planning, somehow, didn’t think through the end bit so well, or….    

That, for some, life includes this mysterious calling that we term widowhood, (or widow(er)hood, I suppose). If it is that - a ‘calling’ - a vocation in which to find meaning and purpose for this last season in life - this ‘bit added on’ until it’s my turn to cross that bridge, then it’s something that I, personally, have never seen adequately addressed, or written about.

Luke speaks about the prophetess Anna as having been a ‘widow’ since only seven years of marriage, and the verses indicate that she found her 'vocation' in a life of devotion and worship, that culminated in her, along with old Simeon, being able to welcome the Christ child at his coming into the world.

There is then, a purpose in being a widow/widower. But it’s a purpose mostly shrouded in mystery. And it's a mystery that only clears as you begin to walk through it. When we lived in Lisbon near the Vasco da Gama Bridge that crosses the Rio Tejo, at this time of year many mornings the bridge was shrouded in mist.

It would seem as though the vehicles were crossing into nothingness.

The reality of course was that, mist or no mist, the destination was real and defined.

The mist was no obstacle to the driver on his journey. 

Mist simply clears as you pass through it

So also in life.  The mist, mysteriously, clears.

** Luke 2:36-38

Whenever You See A Rainbow

“Whenever you see a rainbow - rainbow… whenever your see..”

It emerges from the deep recesses of my memory -  a children’s chorus learned in some long forgotten Sunday school - now emerging to see the light of day.

And to refresh my soul.

I’m so amazed at the utter profusion of rainbows in  this North Antrim autumn.

At least one or two every week.

Obviously, it has something to do with regular rainfall, the shift of the clouds, and the cheeky interruptions of sunlights, as if to say “I’m not done yet” as winter approaches.

Like last Monday, for example.

I’m driving back from Coleraine to Portstewart. 

A dull showery morning. Eight Celsius. 

Coming from my weekly blood test at the clinic. 

Nothing special about the day. 

Then there’s this. Glowing through the window. 

I have to stop. And, click!

(At least I looked already in my rearview window first)

The thing about this one, (and it seems to be a common feature with Irish rainbows) is that it doesn’t terminate at some far distant horizon. Rather the ethereal glow of  rainbow colours seem to continue almost into the ground at your feet. This one terminates in a pool of flood water by the side of a busy road. It’s as if the old proverbial ‘pot of gold' is right there for the taking. A treasure chest with a green hat and a shamrock. But, setting aside that bit of whimsy, this ancient meteorological phenomenon has always  been a symbol of hope. For the ancient greeks, the rainbow connected heaven and earth. The messenger goddess Iris was said to travel on one in order to bear messages from the gods to mortals. But, what’s most memorable, are Yahweh’s words to Noah “I have set my bow in the clouds.. .. it is the sign of the promise I have made with all flesh.”**

That is how it is for me, a message and reminder that God is and remains always faithful to his plan and purpose, and it’s a good plan. Nor does it have to be a full arch for me. This Wednesday, for example, a tiny glimmer of iridescent colour set against a darkened sky. Glowing together with the Christmas mobiles hanging in the waiting room at City Hospital, it is God’s faithfulness once again underlined for me. Thus, going in to receive some further not-so-welcome news from the doctor regarding my cancer, I hear God’s voice clearer .. above the medical prognosis. I am still with you. I have a plan. I am your God. I have not abandoned you. So…

“Whenever you see a rainbow, rainbow…

     Whenever you seeee .. a rainbow..

         Remember God is love”

** Genesis 9:12-17

Mary and Elizabeth

What does a young teenager need when she learns she is expecting a baby. A safe place. An understanding ear. A comforting embrace. In Cousin Elizabeth, Mary found exactly that. Up to this past weekend I’d never thought of Elizabeth in this regard before. She has always just been ‘mother-of-john-the-baptist’ to me .. one who quietly slipped in to the birth narratives and then out again. But this year's Advent, from the moment when I heard the text read out :

“..and Mary got ready and hurried to a town in the hill country of Judea..” ** 

Elizabeth came into focus in a new way. Mary’s mentor, her confidant, her go-to person. The older cousin, the mother figure, for the young woman with all her questions and concerns. How well prepared is this! Mary doesn’t have to walk this path alone. She has someone who, not only is part of her own family, senior in years and the wife of the respected Priest Zechariah, but also one who shares a full understanding of that sense of holy calling that came with the visit of the Angel.

One can imagine how important it would have been to have Elizabeth at her side when she had to break the news to her parents. Worse still, to try and get Joseph to understand how this wondrous thing had happened to her. And what all did they talk over those three months together, I wonder? When she pours out that wonderful song of praise, that has come to be known as “The Magnificat” **, someone might ask, how could a young teenage girl ever have all that learning? Did the two women pore over the scriptures during those weeks together, the older guiding the younger, into what the Psalms, the histories, the prophecies spoke about in regard to the Messiah, and indeed, in regard to the other miracle births from before, of Sarah, of Hannah, of the one who was to be called “Emmanuel”?

So there’s a lesson in here for us. When God calls you to walk a certain path, to carry a certain load, He doesn’t ask you to carry it alone. He always has the right person on hand to walk with you. God's support and help come as a combination of the supernatural, the presence of the Spirit, the ministry of Angels, and also the down to earth strength of special human friendships.

** Luke 1:39, 1:46-55