“Departing in Peace . . . Staying in Peace”
Original sermon given on February 2, 2025, written and delivered by Pastor Jeff Leininger at First Saint Paul’s Lutheran Church.
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“Departing in Peace. . .Staying in Peace”
Luke 2.22-40
Luke 2. 22-40
In the name of the Living God and the Christ who has appeared to us. Amen.
This morning’s reading is familiar to us, because it has a familiar song, and familiar, moving scene. The faithful Family enters into the temple to perform rituals in accordance with Jewish law. An aged Simeon, filled with the Holy Spirit, holds the baby messiah in his arms. He lifts his eyes to God and sings a song of prophecies fulfilled and light revealed. An old prophetess — so many years alone, yet so many years of faithful devotion to God — proclaims to all that redemption has finally come.
It's a familiar account to us, but embedded in the story are also things quite unfamiliar for us. This morning’s gospel reading features two Jewish religious rituals which seem strange and distant to us. We don’t redeem our first born with five shekels. (Though with healthcare costs these days, a couple with a new baby might think that’s quite a bargain!) And a woman after giving birth doesn’t require ritual “purification” with doves and pigeons. So, we’re struck with both the beauty of this account, but also its strangeness. It rather begs the question: what do the ritual actions of an observant Jewish family in Israel have to do with our lives, our world today? Well, everything. But to help you understand this, let me take you for a moment into the weeds of these two rituals which take Jesus to the temple that day.
First, there’s the presentation of the child. This takes us back to the book of Exodus and the people of Israel’s slavery in Egypt. You’ll remember, of course, the last and greatest of the plagues unleashed upon Egypt. All the first born of Egypt were killed, and this is what finally causes obstinate Pharaoh to relent and let the people go. But what about the Israelites’ first born? They are spared when the lamb’s blood is painted over their doorways. In a sense, from this moment on, every firstborn child of Israel, religiously speaking, belonged to God. And so, they had to be “redeemed,” or presented to God. A token fee of five sheckles was charged for the mother and father to “buy back” their first born.
Second: purification may be even stranger to us. Every woman who had a child was considered ritually unclean. This meant that she had to be purified by offering a sacrifice forty days after the birth of her son. If they are poor, the parents can offer “a pair of doves or two young pigeons” — which is what Jesus’ humble but faithful family offers that day.
Now if you’re thinking this is all a bit strange, it might help us out if we remember that these rituals were external signs to help them remember greater things. They weren’t important in themselves but only in what they pointed to. Do we have external signs today, to help us remember things? Of course. Let me give you an example. I wear this wedding ring as a “sign”. My wedding ring isn’t technically my marriage or my wedding ceremony or even my vows. It is simply a sign of what my marriage means and the vows I’ve taken. I wear it to remind me of what’s been promised and the love we share.
So, if you’re following me, in a similar way these Old Testament Jewish rites were outward signs used to remind the people of Israel of something greater: 1) who they were and 2) what God had done for them.
Take the Presentation, for example. All the days of their life, little children would ask their fathers why each first born had to be presented at the temple and “redeemed”, the fathers were to tell how the Lord had kept his promises, redeemed his people, and brought them out of slavery in the land of Egypt. They were to be reminded that they belonged to God: he was their God, and they were his people. They were to be reminded that God was a God who kept his promises.
This is why these strange rituals have everything to do with us, today. There will always be times in our lives and in our world, when we need to be reminded of 1) who we are and 2) what God has done for us. For us, the baptized New Testament people of God, we no longer look to the old religious rituals, but to the fulfillment of all of these in the one Simeon held in his arms: Jesus, the Messiah, the light of the world. Jesus was the perfect fulfillment of all the Old Testament. He was the promised consolation of Israel, the ultimate sign of the God who does what he says and says what he does. Jesus was the full and final salvation of God, redeeming all people, freeing them from the slavery of sin, death and the power of the devil by offering himself as the lamb whose shed blood means deliverance
Jesus is also our purification for all our sin and shame because of the sacrifice of his blood on the cross. We now have atonement and forgiveness and peace with God. All of this, all of the promise of God, his faithfulness to his people, Simeon held in his arms.
Simeon knew all this, he saw it by the Spirit and sang about it. He knew it wasn’t just glory for the people of Israel, but a light for all nations. And knowing that, he felt he could depart in peace. His life had fulfillment because the Lord had made good on all his promises. That’s great faith, isn’t it, knowing that whatever comes, you know who you are and what God has done for you.
It’s great faith for going, but also great faith for staying, isn’t it? Our world needs us. Well, it needs God through us. It needs light. It needs the gospel of God’s forgiveness and reconciliation and peace. It needs humble faithfulness like Mary and Joseph; songs of light like Simeon’s; joy like Anna’s in praise and proclamation.
We’re featuring a new hymn text by our own David Rogner as this morning’s hymn of the day. But a number of years ago he wrote a poem on this day, about this day, which captures both the faith needed to depart in peace, and also remain in peace.
It made him [Simeon] feel that he could go in peace.
But seeing him there amid the chaos,
holding a Light that no storm can
extinguish, I find it also gives one strength
to stay.[1]
Remember who you are and what God has done for you, in both times of departing and in times of remaining.
Come soon, Lord Jesus. Amen.
[1] Copyright 2011, reprinted by permission from Motif 2011, a publication of Concordia University Chicago