CONSECRATED TO THE SAME HOPE OF SEEING GOD

V/ My eyes are turned to you, O Lord.

R/ You are the joy and gladness of my youth.

V/ Grant me the Wisdom that sits by your throne.

R/ That I may dwell as a child in your presence.

Let us pray. Lord, in your loving design, you have drawn me here to encounter you in your Word and, in you, to find myself. Empower me by your Wisdom, that this meditation may be a font of transformation and freedom, bearing fruit for my salvation and that of the whole Church. Amen

CONSECRATED TO THE SAME HOPE OF SEEING GOD

By Elizabeth Sudlow

Feast of the Presentation of the Lord (Candlemas Day)

Malachi 3:1-4; Psalm 23; Hebrews 2:14-18; Luke 2:22-40

The dust of the road from Bethlehem still clung to Joseph’s sandals as he climbed the ascent to the Temple in Jerusalem. In his arms, he carried a six-week-old infant; in his pocket, the modest price of two small birds. To the passing world, he was merely another labourer fulfilling the ritual purification of his wife and the consecration of a firstborn.

To Joseph, however, the morning was a paradox. He knew the child was already God, needing no consecration, and his wife was the definition of purity. Yet, he walked this path of obedience because this child was to live a fully human life, a life bound by the very Law He had authored.

The stillness of the Temple courts was soon broken by an encounter that would echo through the decades of Joseph’s fatherhood. Simeon, a man whose skin was paper-thin with age but whose spirit burned with the fire of the Holy Ghost, stepped forward. As he cradled the infant, a profound peace settled over him. His life’s vocation, to wait for the Consolation of Israel, was complete.

“Now let your servant depart in peace,” he whispered, but the words that followed were a sharp edge against the morning light. Simeon spoke of the child as a “light of revelation” to the Gentiles, confirming the angelic whispers Joseph had guarded. But then came the shadow: this boy would be the “fall and rise of many,” a sign spoken against. Turning to Mary, Simeon dropped a word that felt like a blade: “A sword shall pierce your own soul too.”

Joseph, the protector, felt a cold stir of paternal instinct. His duty was to shield this woman and child; would he fail so soon? The prophecies he had studied were beginning to assemble into a mosaic of sacrifice. Before the silence could settle, Anna, a widow of eighty-four years who lived in the breath of constant prayer, added her voice. In her, Joseph saw the echo of Malachi – the Lord had indeed come “unexpectedly to His Temple.” It wasn’t just his young cousin, John, who would prepare the way; the very stones were now crying out.

In Simeon and Anna, Joseph recognised a familiar spirit. They were the “Yes” of Israel, the same surrender he had made when the angel touched his dreams, the same “Fiat” Mary had uttered to Gabriel. As the smoke of the sacrifice rose, Joseph watched the priests. They went about their duties with practised indifference, seeing only another child of the poor. They did not see that the True Priest had entered the sanctuary. Joseph mused: was this child not only King, but also Victim?

He looked at Mary. Despite the warning of the sword, she remained undaunted, her heart rooted so deeply in the Divine that fear could find no purchase. As they turned to leave, Joseph realised a new Scripture was being written in the footsteps of his family. He adjusted his grip on the child, no longer just a carpenter, but the guardian of the Mystery.