Dear friends in Christ,
I am disheartened to report that yesterday (February 2) Punxsutawney Phil emerged from his hole and saw his shadow. According to tradition, this means we’re in for six more weeks of winter. Of course, those of us who live in New England are used to winters that seem to go on and on, so I’m not sure this is exactly a news flash.
Moreover, as Ground Hog’s Day skeptics will point out, in the 136 years these ceremonies have been held at Gobblers’ Knob, Phil’s forecasting batting average is less than forty percent. The truth is it’s anybody’s guess when the darkness of winter will yield to the light of spring.
But yesterday was much more than Ground Hog’s Day; it was also Candlemas, that day on the liturgical calendar that commemorates the Presentation of Jesus at the Temple. And for Christians, Candlemas is a time of year to remember that we have a more reliable guide in Christ than Punxsutawney Phil, and that (unlike the winter sun) the “light of Christ” never fades, even in the darkest and coldest of times.
So, what is Candlemas and why do we celebrate it on February 2? Here is the story in a nutshell:
At the time of Jesus’ birth, Jewish tradition dictated that on the fortieth day after giving birth the parents would go to the temple to present their child to the Lord. Forty days from Christmas day brings us to February 2nd, which is why we celebrate Candlemas then.
What Luke reports (Lk 2:25-40) is that when Mary and Joseph took the infant Jesus to the temple that day, the wise old man Simeon, moved by the Spirit, took the child into his arms, proclaiming: "Master, now you are dismissing your servant in peace, according to your word; for my eyes have seen your salvation, which you have prepared in the presence of all peoples, a light for revelation to the Gentiles and for glory to your people Israel."
These words of Simeon's, of course, quickly became known as the nunc dimittis, the beloved canticle of “Christ’s light” that to this day is a cornerstone of evening prayer and compline. In many churches, special services are held on Candlemas in which this story of Luke is re-told and the church’s candles for the year are blessed in a ceremony featuring the eternal light of Christ.
But for me, I have another memory of Candlemas altogether. When I was a graduate student at Stanford many decades ago, our resident poet was Denise Levertov. I once had the thrill of hearing her read some of her poetry, including this little gem, called "Candlemas," in which she tries to capture the mystery of this day:
With certitude
Simeon opened
ancient arms
to infant light.
Decades
before the cross, the tomb
and the new life,
he knew
new life.
What depth
of faith he drew on,
turning illumined
towards deep night.
In these dark and cold days of winter, I hope this same light of Christ burns brightly in your home and heart. And if it is not, or has been dimming of late, I invite you to go back and re-read the story of Simeon and Anna, and allow yourself to be drawn in by its luminous simplicity.
In Christ's radiance,
Pastor Luther