The old man woke to find himself in that in-between time when darkness has not fully given way to dawn. He lay there and watched for a few minutes as the shapes around him, gray and shrouded, gradually, imperceptibly, began to take on form and color.
“Simeon,” he muttered to himself as he lifted his aching body off the sleeping mat, “you need more rest. More rest.” Perhaps he would not go to the temple this morning. He would say his prayers like a faithful son of Israel and save his rusty knees the walk into town.
Why, he wondered, did people sleep less and less as they grew older? It seemed to him that an ancient body would need more hours of restoration, not fewer. It was something he fully intended to speak to the Almighty about when the two of them came face to face. He hoped it would be soon.
He shuffled to the ewer and bowl that sat on a table at the edge of the room and splashed his face with cold water. Soon, He thought – a ritual morning prayer these past two years, as his body grew wearier and stiffer by the day. Soon, O God of the universe, Lord Almighty. Soon.
Years ago, God had revealed to Simeon through the spirit that he would not die until he had beheld the messiah face to face. At the time, Simeon had thought himself the most blessed among men—he, after all, would live to see the chosen one. But as the years dragged by and no messiah was forthcoming, Simeon began to wonder. He never doubted the voice of the Almighty—God had spoken too clearly to allow for any misgivings. But he had begun to believe that the promise was an evidence of God’s mysterious sense of humor: how long would the Lord have to keep him alive to see the prophecy fulfilled? As long as Methuselah—or longer?
Simeon dressed, draped his prayer shawl over his head, and went outside to present his morning litany. The sun was rising through broken clouds, and the air held a chill. He steeled himself against a shiver and began to pray: “Blessed art thou, Lord of the universe, creator of heaven and earth…”
Simeon halted, arrested by the incredible beauty of the sunlight shafting through the clouds over the bright white buildings of Jerusalem. It almost looked as if God were reaching out from the heavens, pointing down to the very place where he stood.
Then a voice whispered in his mind: This is the day.
“This is the day that the Lord has made; let us rejoice and be glad in it,” Simeon murmured, continuing to pray as his mind progressed through the psalm. “Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord…”
This is the day, the voice repeated. The one who comes in the name of the Lord comes today.
“The Lord is God, and has given us light, “ Simeon persisted.
The light has dawned, the voice whispered. The new day is at hand. This is the day.
Suddenly the truth pierced through Simeon’s mind. This is the day. The light has dawned. The one who comes in the name of the Lord comes today. His heart began to race, and despite the chill of the morning, a bead of sweat formed across his neck and trickled down his spine. Today?
He muttered a hurried “Omaine,” trusted God to understand his haste, and rushed inside the house to retrieve his cloak. He had to get to the temple. Now.
When he reached the temple, a circumcision was already in progress. Simeon watched as a young girl and her powerfully built husband presented their infant boy for the ritual. The girl, he noticed, turned her head aside when the cut was made, cringing when her son began to cry. The man stood silent and reverent, watching. When the ceremony was finished, the father scooped the tiny babe up in his massive arms and comforted him, then handed him to his mother.
Simeon smiled. A nice little family—obviously poor, but faithful. How it warmed his old heart to see the younger generation being true to their heritage, true to their God! He looked past them, his eyes scanning the temple for some sign of the anointed one. He would no doubt be a person of some importance, easily recognizable…
Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the lord.
Simeon frowned. Surely God cannot mean the bawling infant of this poverty stricken couple? He shook his head. No. Blessed is the one who comes, the voice repeated. Blessed. Blessed.
Well. This was not at all what Simeon had envisioned, but who was he to resist the nudging of the Spirit? He walked forward and looked down into the face of the child.
The baby had grown quiet, calmed by his mother’s nearness. Tears still streaked his round little face, but his eyes opened in an expression of wonder. Without warning, Simeon’s heart melted and he reached out a quivering hand toward the baby’s heard.
“His name is Jesus,” the young mother said quietly. “Would you like to hold him?”
Simeon opened his arms and gathered the infant to his breast. At the first touch, a jolt went through him, like liquid warmth filling his veins and pumping strength and renewed faith into his heart. He lifted the baby up, and as tears coursed down his cheeks and lodged in his beard, Simeon began to speak:
“Lord, may your servant now depart in peace, according to your word. For my eyes have seen your salvation, prepared in the presence of all the people—a light to enlightened the Gentiles, and the glory of your people Israel.”
He turned and saw the young couple standing by silently, their eyes wide. “The blessing of the Almighty God be upon you,” Simeon murmured. “This child is destined for the falling and rising of many in Israel, and as a sign to be opposed. The inner thoughts of many will be revealed by him, and a sword will pierce your own heart as well.”
The girl stared at him. She could not know, not at this moment, what the years to come held for her and her son. Perhaps it was just as well. God had promised that Simeon would live to see the Messiah face to face. That promise had now been fulfilled. But for some reason he only vaguely understood, Simeon hoped above all hope that the promise did not include living to watch the child’s future unfold.
For a long time Simeon stood there, able to say no more, until a gentle tug at this sleeve brought him back tot the present. He turned to see a withered old face looking over his shoulder.
It was Anna, the prophetess. Older than Simeon—if such a thing were possible—she had served in the temple for more than seventy years. She had been married once, long ago, but only for a few short years, and ever after that had remained a widow. She stayed in the temple night and day. Most people thought her a little odd—she fasted and prayed and worshiped, and as far as he knew, had never set foot outside the temple doors. Simeon had never paid her much mind, but now, the expression in her eyes told him everything. She too, had received a word from the Lord. And on this day, her promise also had been fulfilled.
She gazed at the child, and then at Simeon. “He is the Promised One,” she murmured. It was not a question.
Simeon nodded, placed the child in her arms, and stepped aside as Anna began to worship God: “Hear O Jerusalem, sing and be glad. Redemption has come this day to the house of Israel…”
When the prophetess was finished, she handed the child back to his mother and wandered off into the temple. Simeon could hear her in the distance, speaking excitedly to everyone she passed, pointing back toward them and telling them that the Promise of the Ages had at long last been fulfilled. No one, it seemed, paid much attention to her words. She was just Anna, the crazy old woman who lived in the temple.
The young couple, still looking a bit dazed, took their son, received Simeon’s blessing, and went to offer their sacrifice according to the law—a pair of turtle doves and two young pigeons. The poor man’s offering.
All the way home, Simeon thought about what he had seen this day. An ordinary infant, to all appearances, whom the hand of God had touched. The Messiah. The Chosen One. God’s Anointed. It had finally happened.
He went into his house, removed his cloak, and lay down. He had to admit that he didn’t feel quite so old anymore. His joints seemed to wok a little better on the walk home, and he wasn’t as winded by the time he reached his door. But still, he was tired—that wonderful, relaxing kind of tired that comes at the end of a fulfilling day.
Never again would he pray, Soon, Lord, Soon. From this day forth his prayer would be, Thank you, Lord. Thank you.
“Master, may your servant now depart in peace,” he murmured. “For my eyes have seen your salvation…”
And then before he could finish his thought Simeon fell asleep.
