The Prophecy of Simeon

By Fr. Conor Donnelly

(Proofread)

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

My Lord and my God, I firmly believe that you are here, that you see me, that you hear me. I adore you with profound reverence. I ask your pardon for my sins and grace to make this time of prayer fruitful. My Immaculate Mother, Saint Joseph, my father and lord, my guardian angel, intercede for me.

“Lord, now you can let your servant go in peace, according to your word; for my eyes have seen your salvation which you have prepared in the presence of all peoples, a light for revelation to the Gentiles and for glory to your people Israel” (Luke 2:29-32).

When the days of Our Lady’s purification were completed, the Holy Family again went up to Jerusalem to comply with two precepts of the Mosaic law: the purification of the mother, and the presentation and ransoming of the firstborn (cf. Lev. 13:2-4,6-8).

Neither of these laws was binding on Our Lady or on Jesus, by reason of the virgin birth and the fact that Jesus was God. Nonetheless, Mary wished to fulfill the Law. In this she behaved just like any other pious Jewish mother of her times.

“Mary,” says St. Thomas, “was purified to give an example of obedience and humility” (Thomas Aquinas, Summa Theologiae, Part III, Question 37).

The Blessed Virgin, accompanied by St. Joseph and carrying Our Lord in her arms, presented herself at the temple, perhaps a bit confused, just like any other woman in attendance on that particular day.

Jesus was offered to His Father in the arms of Mary. Never had such an offering been made in that temple before and never again would there be another like it.

The next offering would be made by Jesus Himself, outside the city, at Golgotha. And now, thousands of times a day, Jesus is offered in the Holy Mass to the Blessed Trinity, as a sacrifice of infinite value.

Mary and Joseph offered the Child to God and, ransoming Him, received Him back again. For the ransom, the parents paid the price that was usual among the poor. All they could afford was a pair of turtle doves. Our Lady then went through the rite of purification.

When they arrived at the door of the temple, an old man named Simeon introduced himself to them. We’re told by St. Luke that he was “righteous and devout, looking for the consolation of Israel, and the Holy Spirit was upon him” (Luke 2:25).

“He came into the temple inspired by the Holy Spirit.” He took the Child in his arms, “and blessed God and said, ‘Lord, now let your servant depart in peace, according to your word, for my eyes have seen your salvation which you have prepared in the presence of all peoples, a light for revelation to the Gentiles, and for glory to your people Israel” (cf. Luke 2:27-32).

Our Lady and St. Joseph “marveled” at the things that were said about Jesus. This old man had been counted worthy to recognize the coming of the Messiah, unknown to the rest of the world. His whole existence had been a fervent expectation of the coming of Jesus.

At last, the purpose of his life has been accomplished: “Lord, now you can let your servant depart in peace” (Luke 2: 29).

Simeon considers his mission to be accomplished. He has come to know the Messiah, the Savior of the world. That meeting has been the culmination of his life, the only thing he has lived for.

He is not concerned about seeing a baby brought to the temple by some young couple wishing to fulfill the precepts of the Law just like so many other families. He knows that this Child is the Savior: “My eyes have seen your salvation” (Luke 2:30). That is enough. Now he can die in peace. He can’t have lived much longer after this event.

We could be mindful that we, Christians of today, have had not just one but many encounters with this Savior of ours, who is “a light for revelation to the Gentiles.”

Perhaps we’ve received Him thousands of times in Holy Communion throughout our lives, encounters more intimate and meaningful than that of Simeon. And now we feel regret for all those Communions we’ve made in a distracted and inattentive way. And if so, we could resolve that our next meeting with Jesus in the Holy Eucharist will be at least like that of Simeon’s: full of faith, hope, and love.

After each Communion, which is unique and unrepeatable, we too can say, “My eyes have seen the Savior” (Luke 2:30).

Old Simeon, having blessed the young couple, turned to Mary. Inspired by the Holy Spirit, he opened her eyes to the sufferings her Son would have to undergo and to the sword of sorrow that would pierce her soul.

Pointing to Jesus, he said, “Behold, this child is set for the fall and rising of many in Israel, and for a sign that is spoken against (and a sword will pierce your own soul also), that the thoughts of many hearts may be revealed” (Luke 2:34-35).

Commenting on this, St. Bernard says, “The time will come when Jesus will not be offered in the temple nor in the arms of Simeon, but outside the city walls on the arms of a cross. The time will come when he will not be ransomed with money but will himself redeem others with his own blood, for God the Father has sent him as a ransom for his people” (Bernard of Clairvaux, Sermon on the Purification of Mary).

The suffering of His Mother, the sword that will pierce her soul, will have as their only cause the agony of her Son, His persecution and death, the uncertainty about when these things will happen, and the resistance to the grace of the Redemption, which will be the ruin of many.

Mary’s destiny is bound up with that of Jesus, in its operation, and without any other possible reason.

The joy of the Redemption and the pain of the Cross are inseparable in the lives of Jesus and Mary, as if God, through His most beloved creatures in the world, wished to show us that happiness is to be found close to the Cross.

A number of years ago, I was giving a retreat in another country, and there was an elderly man who I knew had some health problems. And I asked him how he was.

He said to me, “Well, Father, you know, I’ve come to realize that happiness does not consist in doing things that are easy.” I was very impressed with those words. Such wisdom.

Very often people look for their happiness in the easy things. But often our greatest happiness is to be found in the cross, in the challenges, in the problems, in solving the difficulties.

Right from the start, the lives of Our Lord and of His Mother are stamped with the sign of the Cross. To the joy of the first Christmas is soon added privation and anxiety. From these first moments, Our Lady already knows the pain that awaits her.

And when her hour comes, she will contemplate the Passion and Death of her Son with neither reproach nor complaint. Suffering as no mother could ever suffer, Mary will accept her pain in peace of mind, because she knows its redemptive significance.

The Second Vatican Council said, “Thus the Blessed Virgin advanced in her pilgrimage of faith” (Vatican II, Lumen gentium, Point 58, November 21, 1964).

It’s a rather interesting phrase, “pilgrimage of faith.” John Paul II uses it also (John Paul II, Encyclical, Redemptoris Mater, Points 2,5,6,14,17,19,25,26,28,30,31,33,39,40, March 25, 1987; Homily, May 31, 1979; Homily, October 7, 1995; Homily, March 26, 2000).

A pilgrimage is a journeying forward towards a specific destination. The vocation of each one of us is a pilgrimage of faith. We’re on a journey forward towards a certain destination.

So she “advanced in her pilgrimage of faith”, we’re told, “and faithfully persevered in her union with her Son unto the cross, where she stood, in keeping with the divine plan, endured with her only-begotten Son the intensity of His suffering, associated herself with His sacrifice in her mother’s heart, and lovingly consented to the immolation of this victim which was born of her” (Vatican II, ibid.).

Mary’s suffering has an especially suitable meaning and is related to the sins of mankind. It’s a co-redemptive suffering and that is why the Church gives to Our Lady the title of Co-Redemptrix.

We ourselves learn the value and meaning of the sufferings and troubles which are part and parcel of every human life. We learn these things when we meditate on Our Lady. We come to see that we also are called to be co-redeemers. With her, we learn to sanctify pain, uniting it to that of her Son and offering it to the Father.

The Holy Mass is the most suitable moment for offering all that is most painful in our lives, and there we will encounter Our Lady.

Mary teaches us to co-redeem, offering up our pain and contradictions. Simeon, by the will of God, initiated Mary from the beginning into the profound mystery of the Redemption and made plain to her that God had singled her out to play a special role in the Passion of her Son.

And so, a new element entered into the life of Mary through the prophecy of old Simeon, and it remained with her until she stood at the foot of the Cross of Jesus.

The apostles, despite the teachings and many indications of Our Lord, did not come to understand everything until after the Resurrection: namely, that “it was necessary that the Messiah should suffer much at the hands of the scribes and of the chief priests” (cf. Matt. 16:21).

Mary had a premonition from the beginning that great suffering was in store for her and that this suffering was in some way bound up with the Redemption of the world.

She “who kept all these things and pondered them in her heart” (Luke 2:19) must have often reflected on these mysterious words of Simeon. Through a process that we can’t fully understand, she identified her heart with that of her Son.

St. Bernard said that her redeeming pain “is suggested as much in the prophecy of Simeon as in the account of Our Lord’s Passion. ‘This child,’ said the old man, indicating the infant in her arms, ‘is set for the fall and rising of many in Israel, and for a sign that is spoken against, and a sword will pierce your heart also.’…

“But your soul it did pierce,” he continues. “At that moment his soul was not there but yours was, and could not be totally separated from him” (Bernard of Clairvaux, Sermon on the Sunday within the Octave of the Assumption).

God has wished to associate us with all Christians in His work of Redemption in the world, so that we may cooperate with Him in the salvation of all. And we will fulfill this mission by carrying out, with the right intention, even the least of our duties, offering them for the salvation of souls.

Likewise, we will patiently and with peace of mind put up with pain, sickness, opposition, so as to do an effective apostolate with those around us.

Ordinarily, God asks us to begin with the people who, through ties of family, friendship, work, study, or environment are closest to us. That’s how Jesus, and also His apostles, set about this task.

St. John Paul II says, “We recognize in fact that in the presence of Jesus we cannot be satisfied with a merely human sympathy, however legitimate and valuable. Nor is it sufficient to consider him solely as a personality worthy of historical, theological, spiritual, and social interest, or as a source of artistic inspiration” (John Paul II, Address at General Audience, January 7, 1987).

Jesus Christ complicates our life in a way no other person can. He asks us to follow Him through a complete identification of our will with His.

That’s why, following His sharp words to Peter (Mark 8:33), He said to the apostles, “If any man would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross and follow me. For whoever would save his life will lose it, and whoever loses his life for my sake and the gospel’s will save it” (Mark 8:34-35).

Our Lord spoke openly about His Passion. He uses the image that we take up His cross and follow Him. Pain and suffering acquire with Christ a new meaning full of love and redemptive significance.

Pain allows us to accompany Christ on the cross. Suffering and contradiction purify us. Sickness, failure, ruin...in the company of Christ, these become divine caresses for which we should be thankful. We can thank Our Lord when times are difficult and the going gets rough.

Lord, may we not abandon the cross by grumbling or moaning or complaining or giving in to sadness. Contradictions, whether large or small, physical or moral, can be made to serve as reparation for our past faults.

St. Bernard said, “If with spearing him it opened his side, since he was already dead, it did not cause him pain. But your soul it did pierce. At that moment his soul was not there, but yours was, and could not be totally separated from him” (Bernard of Clairvaux, Sermon on the Sunday within the Octave of the Assumption).

Contradictions and pain can be transformed into a real contribution to the apostolate. With this attitude in mind, those contradictions lose their sting. They, the more effectively, dispose us to prayer, to conversation with God throughout the day.

A Christian who regularly flees from sacrifice will not find Christ along his way. Nor will he find any lasting form of happiness, which is so intimately linked to love and self-denial.

There may be many Christians who end their day’s work perhaps with a long face or worn out, not by great contradictions, but by the day’s minor pinpricks, small setbacks which they fail to sanctify.

We can tell Our Lord that we want to follow Him, and He will help us to carry our cross with refinement. Lord, we ask you to include us among your closest disciples. “Lord, take me as I am, with my defects, with my shortcomings, but make me become as you want me to be” (John Paul I, Address at General Audience, September 13, 1978).

Christ passes alongside the lives of all men, giving His light and joy. He “went about the world doing good” (Acts 10:38), even for those who did not ask His help.

Christ is the revelation of the fullness of divine mercy to the most needy. No form of misery could separate people from Christ. He gave sight to the blind. He cured leprosy. He healed the lame and paralytics. He fed hungry multitudes. He expelled demons. He approached people who had the greatest sufferings in soul and body.

St. Bernard says, “We are the ones who have to go to Jesus. Our eyes have been blind. … We have lain paralyzed on our mats, incapable of reaching the grandeur of God. This is why Our most lovable Savior and Healer of souls has descended from on high” (Bernard de Clairvaux, Homily on the First Sunday of Advent).

St. Josemaria says, “We must have complete faith in the one who saves us, in this divine Doctor who was sent with the express purpose of curing us, and the more serious or hopeless our illness is the stronger our faith has to be” (Josemaría Escrivá, Friends of God, Point 193).

There may be times in our lives when we experience more hardship than usual. We may have moments of greater temptation. We may grow weary in the struggle. We may have periods of interior darkness and trial.

But these are all moments when we need to turn to Our Lord, who is always by our side. We need to have a humble and sincere faith, like the sick and suffering people of the Gospels.

Then we can cry out to the Master, “‘Lord, put not your trust in me. But I, I put my trust in you.’ Then, as we sense in our hearts the love, the compassion, the tenderness of Christ’s gaze upon us, for he never abandons us, we shall come to understand the full meaning of the words of St. Paul: that strength is made perfect in weakness’ (2 Cor. 12:9).

“If we have faith in Our Lord, in spite of our failings—or, rather, with our failings—we shall be faithful to Our Father, God; his divine power will shine forth in us, sustaining us in our weakness” (ibid., Point 194).

It can be of great comfort for us to know that Christ is near us!

The Psalm says, “The Lord has done great things for us; we are filled with joy. When the Lord delivered Zion from bondage, it seemed like a dream. Then was our mouth filled with laughter, on our lips there were songs. Deliver us, O Lord, from our bondage as streams in dry land. Those who are sowing in tears will sing when they reap” (Ps. 126:6,1-5).

Some years ago, several explorers in Alaska discovered far back in the mountains a lake whose waters were always warm. Even in the coldest winter months, you could catch plenty of fish there, because the water was always cozy—cozy enough to swim in.

This strange lake is hundreds of miles from the ocean. But somehow, some underground channel is constantly feeding it and keeping it warm. It creates a real oasis of warmth and life amid the desolation of the Arctic winter.

Christ is like that lake. He is trustworthy. He is the fulfillment of our Father’s promises.

No matter how much this fallen world may cause us to suffer, no matter how cold the world gets, His love never weakens. His goodness never freezes over. Like this warm lake in the midst of the Arctic ice, the heart of Christ is a heart that keeps His promises. It’s always there to welcome and sustain us.

And so, we could try to enter into the stable at Bethlehem and become “one more in the scene” (cf. J. Escrivá, Friends of God, Point 222) as we contemplate Christ, who is Divine Beauty Incarnate. He is the Incarnation of Mercy.

If we call the land where Jesus walked holy, imagine the womb that bore Him. Help us, Lord, to promote the cult of beauty. Help us to see that the physical signs and symbols of Christmas all point to the beauty of Bethlehem.

Today, in a special way, we can ask Our Lady to show us how to sanctify pain and contradiction, that we might know how to unite them to the Cross, that we may make frequent acts of atonement for the sins of the world, and that we may grow each day in the fruits of the Redemption.

Pope Pius IX said a prayer at the close of a Jubilee year. He prayed, “O Mother, most holy and merciful, who stood by your sweet Son while he was raised on the altar of the Cross for the redemption of all mankind, you who as our co-redeemer joined your suffering to his, conserve and increase in us the fruits of the Redemption and of your compassion” (Pius IX, Prayer at the close of the Jubilee Year of the Redemption).

I thank you, my God, for the good resolutions, affections, and inspirations that you have communicated to me during this meditation. I ask your help to put them into practice. My Immaculate Mother, Saint Joseph, my father and lord, my guardian angel, intercede for me.

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

CPG