“This child is destined for the falling and the rising of many in Israel, and to be a sign that will be opposed so that the inner thoughts of many will be revealed– and a sword will pierce your own soul too.”

Holy One, may the words of my mouth and the meditations of all of our hearts be acceptable in your sight, Amen.

“Speak your mind even if your voice shakes.”

I thought of these words of elder activist and Grey Panthers founder Maggie Kuhn as I watched Diocese of Washington DC Bishop Mariann Edgar Budde at a particular moment in her homily at the National Cathedral two days after the inauguration. She spoke about the pillars of unity—respect for human dignity, honesty, and humility—to a congregation that included the President, Vice president, and their families. Then she paused. She looked down, took a deep breath, and bit her lower lip before continuing, personally asking the President, in the name of our God, to show mercy to the least vulnerable and most afraid in our country.

It was a stunning moment, and it inspired reactions from praise to vitriol. Budde had made clear that her words expressed values that are not partisan, but that are widely held by people of faith (or little or none) across the political spectrum. And in the face of blowback she stood firm on the Gospel of Jesus Christ that calls all people to lives of compassion and reconciliation. 

She stood firm.

Even if her voice shook.

How we use our voice—what we say and to whom we say it—is, to mix metaphors, often a delicate dance. How we express what we feel deeply can make a difference in whether or not we are genuinely heard, so we need to tread—speak–carefully. And of course–remembering that we have two ears and one mouth for a reason–how we choose to hear can make all the difference to how a relationship moves forward, or collapses. And as people of faith in a God who is defined as relationship, we have a profound interest in using our capacity to speak and our capacity to listen in ways that are life-giving and not destructive, especially, as Mark has pointed out, “in these days.”  

On this day when we celebrate the Presentation of Jesus in the Temple, the voices of Simeon and Anna speak forcefully and joyfully from the page, of hope and challenge in these days– in the face of anxiety and uncertainty–and remind us of our own capacity for making a difference in a time when many are feeling voiceless and powerless.

In Luke’s story we see Mary and Joseph making a 64-mile journey from Nazareth to Jerusalem to fulfill a twofold religious duty; one being to mark the end of Mary’s ritual of purification after childbirth—which stemmed from the dubious—from where we sit– view of natural female functions as impure, but also arguably acknowledging a woman’s safe passage through the dangerous journey of childbirth. The other religious obligation was to bring Jesus to the Temple for the ritual of the Redemption of the Firstborn. Since the first male child of a Jewish family, according to Torah, was to be “designated as holy”, that is, predestined to serve as a priest, the family would “redeem” him, or effectively buy him back from that duty. 

Did Joseph and Mary have any idea what awaited them in the Temple? 

Because the Spirit was at work in Jerusalem. Characteristically active in Luke’s gospels, the Spirit came to an old man, righteous and devout, whose entire life had been devoted to waiting for the coming Messiah—“looking forward to the consolation of Israel.” The Holy Spirit came to Simeon and nudged/shooed him toward the Temple.  

What did Simeon expect to see? If he knew his Isaiah, and we can safely assume that he did, he would have expected to see a male child: “Unto us a child is born…a son is given…and his name shall be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.” Was Simeon surprised, then, to see a poor couple, dusty and tired from their journey, carrying a six-week-old bundle and a paltry two doves for the ritual sacrifice? The parents of the Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, unable to afford a lamb for an offering—what must have gone through his head? 

Apparently only gratitude. Only joy. Only confirmation of fulfillment of a life of waiting. Only the desire to reach out and carefully take the baby in old arms that had been empty for so long. 

Because he had given his life to waiting for this child. And for the first time, we hear his voice, directed to God:

“Lord, you now have set your servant free to go in peace as you have promised; For these eyes of mine have seen the Savior. “ 

“I have kept watch. Now I can die in peace.”

He speaks to God, and to us, both of hope fulfilled and of faith in what he would not live to see.

“…for my eyes have seen your salvation… a light for revelation to the Gentiles and for glory to your people Israel.”

The promised savior. For all of God’s children.

Simeon turns to Mary and confides that a sword will pierce her soul, a prophecy that is short on detail and laden with dreadful portent. He also speaks—does his voice shake? — of the falling and rising of many in Israel—notice he doesn’t say rising and falling. Rising and falling is what happens to principalities and powers. Falling and rising is what happens to co-creators of the Dream of God, to those who discover the cost of the work they are called to do and the words they are called to speak. Falling and rising is the promise and challenge of the One who came to proclaim the Good News; to turn the world right-side up by turning it upside-down.

Simeon speaks intimately to God and to Mary, while Anna’s voice is directed outward to the community. Hers is an elder voice, perhaps lacking its old strength, but the Spirit gives her authority. She proclaims the presence of the Messiah to all with ears to hear. She’s been waiting for decades for this moment, and her voice does not waver. The promised One is now among us, she declares. Change is coming.

Neither Anna nor Simeon knew exactly what lay in store for the little bundle in Mary’s arms, other than that he was an answer to a prayer, and that prayers are not always answered in the way we expect. All they knew was that they had done what they were called to do, which was to speak–to offer God’s words, of gratitude, of hope, of honesty, and of justice, knowing that words, like seeds, once planted, will grow in God’s time. We may or may not be around to taste the fruit or smell the flower. But generations to come will reap that harvest. So a life of faith in action calls us to persevere into that reality and responsibility., and challenges us to take care that the seeds we plant are rooted in honesty, humility, and respect for the dignity of every God-created being.

The predominant voices that we are hearing these days are voices of intolerance, dishonesty, and cruelty. They come from the halls of power, from around us, and if we must be honest (and we must), they sometimes come from within us. They are opposed to the voice of Jesus who calls us to mercy and compassion. They are opposed to the truth that Simeon and Anna proclaimed; that Jesus is now present in our very midst, seen in the faces of our neighbors, especially the vulnerable and the suffering. 

So where does that leave us now—what is ours to do? This is the question that I hear over and over in these days, from people haunted by despair. Even Bishop Budde, as she prepared her sermon, wondered, “…[is] anyone going to say anything?”

Is anyone going to say anything? That is the plea of Jesus.

Because silence is what the forces of complicity, collusion, and complacency crave from those who yearn toward the far horizon of unity, from those who hunger for mercy. But silence, as Simeon and Anna discovered, is not an option. Jesus calls us to more. To have hard conversations, to advocate for the suffering and fearful. And for those feeling reticent, I suggest we read Bishop Budde’s book, How We Learn to Be Brave, our next book group offering. It is in so much demand that the publisher is reprinting it. What does that tell you?

“This child is destined for the falling and the rising of many…”

Luke writes that the little bundle in Mary’s arms grew and became strong, filled with wisdom. Jesus invites and challenges us now to proclaim the Dream of God to all with ears to hear; to proclaim him with courage and grace in the face of those whose hearts have become hardened.

Even (say it with me) if our voice shakes.