Looking for the Hope
Simeon and Anna. The ones who were looking for the redemption of Jerusalem, who recognised that hope in the baby brought to the Temple. Anna was an old woman by then. She had been a widow living in the Temple for a long time, recognised as a prophet. Yet she was still looking for a hope to come. Which is inspiring. Though perhaps still a little too far removed from us for us to really make a connection to it. What might Anna’s story be like if we heard it today?
I remember the war. I grew up during it, really. We were scared, sometimes. There was a lot to worry about. Not knowing if Dad was coming home. Or my brother. Not knowing what was going to happen. Would it end? When? How? It did, of course, but then before long it was all the Commies and the bomb. Were we all going to blow each other up? And it was hard to know what to think. Hard to really believe things would be ok. There’s always been something to worry about, something people think could wreck everything. That’s the easy thing to see. What’s wrong. What should we worry about? I’ve never needed much help with that. They jump out at you, the problems, the worries. It’s the other things that are harder to see, harder to hold on to. The things that say “It doesn’t have to be like that”, the chance that your worst fears might not ever come true. The idea that there’s something out there, something you can’t quite get a good look at, something good. Something better than you could imagine. You never see it full on, just catch a glimpse of it. It’s in the little things. A baby giggling. A coupe in love. That’s what I try to look out for. The hope. It’s there. Only you have to want to see it.
I lost my husband a long time ago. He was a lovely man. I expect I’ve taught myself to say that now, I’ve said it that many times. It was so long ago it seems almost like it was someone else’s life now. Seven years we had. There’s never been anyone else. We were happy, even without children. So long ago I’m the only one who remembers him, I think. It’s a long time on your own. When your friends’ children have children around you, and you feel like someone who’s stepped out of time somewhere and just watched it march on past you. You find your own family in the end, I suppose. Find your own way. It’s what brought me here, to the Cathedral. To be someone looking for that hope. To keep reminding people it’s there. Even when it seems like there’s nothing.
People are worried. You can see it in their faces, hear it in their voices. The way they pause when they’re talking. The tiredness in their eyes. The world seems knocked off balance. Spinning round, with no-one sure where it’s going to stop. Just worried it’ll be in the wrong place. A President talking about torture, and building walls, stoking up fears and lashing out at anyone who challenges him. A Brexit that seems more vague and threatening the longer our leaders avoid saying exactly what it means. The church tearing itself apart over sexuality. People scared about things out of their control that could destroy their lives, their country, their world. Children asking their parents if world war three is going to happen. We never need any help to see the things that scare us. We breathe those in without even noticing. It’s the other things we sometimes need help to see. The hope that can pass us by if we don’t look for it. The hope that’s in the little things. A couple in love. A baby giggling. That’s all it was, that morning. A young couple, bringing their baby to church. Didn’t seem like much. But somehow I knew. That that’s all it takes to change the world. In that baby’s laugh, there was a hope bigger than all the fears I carry.
As we celebrate Candlemas, we recall that the story of God is the story of the world, a story of suffering. Suffering that God chose to inhabit.
Candlemas in 2017 is not disconnected from that first visit to the temple, it is a continuation of that story of God inhabiting this suffering world. The challenge this year is how we help one another to see and experience hope. For this story, this narrative is one that we are all caught up in, it is our world and our lives. Some of us will be more passive in our search for and expression of hope, others more active and for many of us it will be a combination of the two. I wonder if being here, being part of this Cathedral, once, occasionally, regularly – is part of your looking for hope? Maybe it is part of your being reminded that hope is there. Perhaps there are other places and events in which you find hope. The actor David Tenant, recently ended a TV program being asked to reassure people in his lovely voice that everything would be okay. Amongst other things he said “we must be positively rebellious and rebelliously positive”. Part of the vocation of the people of God is to hold out the hope of redemption from within a world of suffering, as Anna and Simeon did in their time. To be rebelliously positive that light overcomes darkness.
Today we begin to turn towards Easter and Lent, and so we also begin to enact the story of a suffering saviour, who took the sin and brokenness of the world with him to the cross, that it might be redeemed. That we would be shown, that light conquers darkness, hope defeats fear and love overcomes hate. We remember that in the candles that we light today and week in, week out throughout the whole church year. We also commit week by week, in worship, to being sent out into the world, into its suffering, as disciples of Christ, people of hope.
Today we are called again to seek, find and proclaim the hope that Simeon and Anna found in the midst of the suffering world, to sing afresh the songs that declare hope. The hope the defeats fear and the light that overcomes the darkness. Amen.