Feast of the Presentation of the Lord

 Lectionary: 524

When the days were completed for their purification
according to the law of Moses,
Mary and Joseph took Jesus up to Jerusalem
to present him to the Lord,
just as it is written in the law of the Lord....

As we read Saint Luke's infancy narrative, we can suppose Joseph and the Virgin brought more than a little anxiety to the temple along with their infant son. The Law of Moses required every firstborn male who opens the womb, whether that male be ovine, bovine, or human, to be given to the Temple. While the other animals were slain and offered as sacrifice, the parents should ransom the boy. 

But they also remembered the story of Hannah, who left her first born son Samuel at the shrine at Shechem. Mary and Joseph knew this Child was different. There were strange and wonderful things about his conception and birth. Might the Lord or his angel demand that the Holy Child be surrendered like Samuel? And then the old man Simeon took the baby from Mary’s arms and danced with him, and declared he was a light for the nations and the joy of his people Israel. 

However, the priests accepted Joseph's ransom of a pair of turtledoves or two young pigeons; and Simeon handed the boy to his mother; and they returned to Nazareth without further incident. For the next several years there was nothing terribly unusual about the child, but still they remembered the old woman’s excitement and the old man's prophetic words,

He is destined for the fall and rise of many in Israel,

and to be a sign that would be contradicted

-and you yourself a sword will pierce-

so that the thoughts of many hearts may be revealed.”

Today's feast, forty days after Christmas, is overshadowed by ominous clouds. First, there is the requirement to surrender their child to God; and then, there’s the prophecy of a sign that will be contradicted, and a heart that will be pierced with sorrow. 

When we welcome something it means two things: we are willing to receive it, and we’re grateful for it. Welcome also means –usually– we’re glad to receive this gift. But what if the gift demands much of us? Are we still grateful? Are we willing to receive a package of sorrow, distress, disappointment, frustration, failure, grief, or suffering. Can we be glad about it? 

When a couple welcomes a newborn baby are they ready to rejoice in changing diapers in the middle of the night, in comforting colicky babies; in searches for lost shoes, gloves, and library books, and telling them fifty times in a day to make their beds and do their homework; in taking them to the doctor, to school, to basketball practice. Are they mature enough to discipline themselves more than they discipline their children? Are they prepared for disappointment as they remember God’s words in the Garden of Eden, 

I will intensify your toil in childbearing;

in pain you shall bring forth children.

Catholics honor Mary as the woman who gave flesh to God. We call her the mediatrix of all grace because Jesus – who is all grace – was born of her willing, virginal body. But she also received strangers – the rough shepherds and the mysterious magi – who thought they had a claim on the child. When Joseph had a nightmare – a terrifying premonition – she obediently went with him into Egypt, far from her homeland and everyone she loved. Many years later, widowed and alone, Mary accepted her son’s setting out on the Gospel road, preaching and healing his way to Jerusalem. 

And finally, she gave her only son to God as he died on Calvary. And in that dark hour, with his dying breath, Jesus gave her in repayment for all her trouble, his beloved disciple John along with the entire Church. 

What a sad exchange! That she would receive sinners like you and me in exchange for her sinless and innocent Son! And yet she welcomes us with grace, gratitude, and unbounded compassion. 

The Feast of the Purification is the last Christmas celebration and for that reason is a joyful event. But it’s also a sobering reminder that we may have missed something if we only celebrated the pleasant, happy, joyful, good tidings of Christmas. Perhaps we didn’t notice that his poor parents could not give him a proper bed or crib; they could not ransom with the usual price of a lamb or heifer. They could afford only the pathetic sacrifice of common birds.  

Perhaps, as we celebrated Christmas, we did not notice how their quiet escape, when they fled like millions of refugees from the terror in their home country into a foreign country. Perhaps we paid no attention to the martyred Innocents of Bethlehem and their stricken families who were given no warning and could not escape. 

We heard the Angels singing “peace on earth” but we forgot that peace does not begin with contentment or satisfaction. Peace is welcoming and receiving that which we resent, mistrust, fear, or hate. It begins with accepting the unacceptable, loving the unloved, and seeing beauty in that which the world calls ugly. 

We call Mary the Mother of Sorrows because she welcomes sorrow as well as joy, and disappointment along with satisfaction. We call her the mediatrix because she offers her only begotten Son even as God the Father offers his only begotten son. 

And she still suffers the world as God suffers the world. She never gives up because God never gives up. And she believes even in the darkest night that her Son is God, he has conquered sin, and has risen from the dead.

Our Mother of Sorrows teaches us the joy and the sorrow of Christmas, the agony and the ecstasy of Easter; and how to receive life as it is – neither tragic nor triumphant – but good, entirely good, worthy of God’s love, and beautiful in his eyes.