Anna and Simeon

 

Just returned from a retirement party, and finding myself wistful about what I do and who I work with and all the memory that comes with that. This rumination has taught me a lesson of late: never underestimate what the power of waiting can yield in your life, in your perspective. There’s not a need to be right, or the best in the room, or accomplished in a way that takes anything away from anyone else—just a need to be who you are and give what you do to those who surround you, in the sure knowledge that in some way you have made a mark in their lives that may stand the test of time. 

The party came on the heels of reflecting on the passages of my current study for the 19th Annotation, the passage about Simeon and Anna, waiting in the temple for what had been a long time, after much experience and daily striving in their own lives, to faithfully meet the Christ-child entering in nestled in his mother’s arms. Simeon gets a worded statement, and Anna does not, but both, clearly noted by the scriptural writer, speak. 

 And it’s clear they speak from a place of joy, having waited this long to witness the entrance of this long-awaited One. 

 That they maintained the fortitude to stay, to wait, to know that their lives, which may or may not have gone as planned, had meaning. I’m especially drawn to Anna and wish I’d known what she’d said upon the entrance, what may have bubbled up to her lips upon realizing who she was looking at. In the passage she is described specifically through her lineage to the house of Asher, but more interestingly, that she’d had seven years in marriage, and then was a widow until she was 84. What a life she must have had, both conscribed as she was to the mode of culture women endured or adapted to in her time, yet being present in the temple regardless of what others thought of this. The writer chooses to make her details of experience sharper than her words, and that spoke to me in a way it hadn’t before. 

 I still wish we could hear what she said, but I can surely feel her confidence in her experience breathed into that space of encounter. Feeling grateful for that and for being heard, and hoping I can make my voice speak for especially those who have none.

Beatitudes as Jesus’ Magna Carta

“Blessed are they who are poor in Spirit; theirs is the kingdom of God.” This start to Jesus’ Magna Carta, a reminder to us that the natural laws of humanity built into creation by the Creator have significance. That we are some and at times poor in Spirit; we mourn; there are the weak, the hungry and thirsty for righteousness, the merciful, the clean of heart, the peacemakers. There will always be those persecuted. Jesus acknowledges FIRST that these souls exist—he sees people where they are—and he blesses them, giving them hope that one day the world may see them in these blessings, but for now, God DOES.

 To start it, Jesus acknowledges the presence of those poor in Spirit and gives them the Kingdom for it. These are the poor he knew or got to know, because he was in the habit of befriending, approaching, or being with. Magdalene is a prime example, as well as numerous others. Theirs is the kingdom, on earth as it is in heaven, as Jesus expands for our sake in his formulation and clarification of the Our Father, so that we might have a way to ask for the help we need to see it as he does. 

 These Beatitudes, both for those of us familiar and even for those unfamiliar should come as a lightning strike of hope. Whoever the world might deem strangest, most marginalized, most seemingly off the letter of the law will and can be any and all Jesus named. A true leader, he sees those already present and doing the work needed to bring about change in the world, and seems as well to call in many more to join in because these poor, meek, merciful, single-hearted exist. His heart beats for them fully.