Bookended by Hope

A few years ago, we added the tradition of reading the nativity story to our Christmas Eve festivities. We read Luke 2:1-19, because the sentence "And Mary kept these things, and pondered them in her heart" seems like a good stopping point. Plus that's usually all the sitting-still-for-scriptures my excited children can handle.

But when I read the Christmas story on my own, I like to start with Zacharias and Elisabeth in chapter 1 and finish with Simeon at chapter 2 verse 35. That is because these two stories neatly bookend the nativity story with hope. The scriptures don't say specifically that Elisabeth hoped for a child. But I think her response when she discovers her miraculous pregnancy—"the Lord has taken away my reproach"—speaks something of her heart. So much can be pinned on that word reproach. Not having a child felt like a punishment, and would only feel that way if she desired that baby. It speaks to years, I imagine, of Elisabeth hoping and praying and hoping more, of watching other women have baby after baby, and wondering why not me? That looking around and wanting what others seem to have effortlessly: this is a hard, troublesome thing that can chip away at faith. And yet, they were both (because I think Zacharias's questioning of the angel how this miracle might come to pass is just as telling of his desires as Elisabeth's use of "reproach" is) righteous and blameless.

And then, in the temple with the infant Christ, there is Simeon. He was a righteous man who was promised he would see Christ in the flesh before he died—and then waited nearly all his life until this promise happened. And, again, I think his words speak louder than their syllables, because when he comes to the temple that day, and sees the infant Christ, he says "now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace." He doesn't want to depart in joy (although he obviously felt it) or in humility (although he must have felt humbled by this great experience) or even in thanksgiving (because think! think how thankful he must have felt). No—now, having seen Christ, he is given the thing he has waited and hoped for for so many decades, and at that moment what he feels, at last, is peace. I imagine Simeon as someone similar to Zacharias and Elisabeth. Living his life, trying to do good and make the right choices, but always wondering: when? why do I have to wait? will it ever happen? was I only imagining? or perhaps I am not righteous enough? Those are not always peaceful emotions. Waiting in hope is a bittersweet thing. And yet, he managed it, because his faith was sure enough that he was able to be in the temple at the right time.

As the scripture continues---this is a sword that pierces my own soul. I love the example that Simeon, Elisabeth, and Zacharais set. They were human and imperfect and yet they also held on to their hope long enough to receive the fulfillment of those hopes. They did not let bitterness overcome sweetness. They went forward without understanding why their hopes were not yet fulfilled. And then the great miracle happened, and I will not say that it is solely the birth of Christ. The fulfillment of their hopes and the receipt of understanding is a great miracle, too, just on the small, intimate level.

This pierces my soul because it is so easy for me to slip into the pool of my own bitterness, where I sink into blackness with all the weight that hope brings. (I am not always sure that Emily D. was right; hope isn't a thing, always, with feathers but with chains that keep you from letting go of the unattainable.) It is easy for me to grow jaded, to be filled with the certainty that the unfulfilled hopes I carry have gone unfulfilled because I am not worthy of their fulfillment. To get lost in comparison—if only I were as good as this person I would be granted this hope. As if the world were one great round of sibling rivalry.

And it pierces me because it reminds me not to give up hoping. And it reminds me that perhaps the hope can be pinned not to the unfulfilled desire itself, but to an understanding. Elisabeth and Simeon, after all their long years of hoping, were each given their desire. I don't think that will happen with all of my own long-longed for wishes. But they were also given understanding. This is the sword that lifts up as it pierces, letting me move forward in faith toward my own future understanding.

Those stories of long-endured hope finally fulfilled? They move me and mean as much as the one of Christ's birth. They help me hold on when hope feels like a burden. And, as bookends to the nativity, they bring me to the remembrance that it all hinges on faith in Christ.

Comments

[Britt]

Love this post! Thank you so much for sharing!

[wendy]

Beautiful, Amy! I was originally going to include Simeon in my talk, but it didn't fit the time constraints I was working under (which I later found was wrong--and therefore added material in Sacrament meeting, but forgot about Simeon by then). Anyway, I love what you have written here . . . and your words about the sword piercing your soul are profound. I hadn't remembered those words until preparing for the talk, and I hadn't yet been able to apply them to myself. Thank you for this post!