Luke 2:22-40 NRSV

One of the great wonders of church is the surprises. Our worship on Christmas Eve certainly had one, as probably, for the very first time for all who had gathered, as Erin Gresham read from John 1 about the light coming into the world that the darkness could not overcome, a rather exuberant bat invaded the service.

Now, you may not know this, but in seminary, they don’t teach you what to do or say when that happens. So, instead of singing “What Child Is This” with the congregation before Holy Communion, I just stood at the table racking my brain for the right words to say as I watched people in the back of the sanctuary, unsuccessfully and rather comically, trying to shoo the bat out by frantically waving their jackets at the bat to chase it out the door, but I didn’t want to say anything that may illicit some laughter that might interfere with the seriousness of the moment.

So, I just kept leading the service as planned, ducking at least once as the bat swooshed towards the chancel. It was a crazy scene, really. We just lit our candles and sang Silent Night like it had never happened or that it happens all the time. I guess we proved the words Erin read to be true, that our lights were going to shine in the darkness, and nothing, not even a crazy bat, was going be able to stop it!

But that’s the thing with church, you never know when you will be surprised or shocked by what goes on here! You are tired and not feeling your best, but you get up and come to church anyway. You may come more out of duty than desire. You come not really expecting anything surprising from what is certain to be a just another predictable service. You come fully expecting to leave the same way you came, unmoved, untouched, unchanged. But then, out of nowhere something happens that astonishes you: someone unexpectedly hugs you; a song you’ve sung a thousand times before astounds you; a word you’ve heard countless times startles you. God, in spite of everything, in spite of you, and even in spite of the preacher that day, speaks. And everything, including you, your whole world, is amazingly transformed. A simple handshake brings healing. A smile from an unassuming child generates hope. A tiny cracker and a sip of juice become more than sufficient.

Simeon had arrived to worship in the Temple as he had for many decades. He was as devoted to the Lord as anyone. For years, he had been eagerly coming to the Temple expecting to be surprised by the presence of the Messiah; however, year after year he left each service disappointed.

It was just another ordinary Sabbath. Old Simeon was tired and give-out. Over the years, much of his anticipation had turned into doubt. But he got up and came to Temple anyway, more out of duty than desire, knowing that he would probably once again leave the service unmoved, untouched, and unchanged.

He came in through the front door, nodded politely to the usher who handed him an Order of Service that he had all but memorized, and settled in his usual seat for another predictable service. During the Prelude, he opened the bulletin and noticed that there was going to be another baby dedication service. As was their custom several times during the year, the minister was going to once again ask the congregation to bless a newborn baby. Nothing unusual. Simeon had seen this a hundred times before.

After the Prelude and the Chiming of the Hour, the Call to Worship the Invocation, and a hymn, this strange new couple unexpectedly came down the aisle holding a tiny baby. They were coming for the baby dedication service. And then, out of nowhere, it happened.

Simeon cannot explain how he knew it, but he knew it, nonetheless. This was it! He could not keep his eyes off that baby during the prayers for the child and the parents, for he knew without a doubt that this was the Messiah, the Promised One God sent to save Israel.

In the middle of the dedication service, he grabbed the back of the pew in front of him with both of his hands and slowly pulled himself up to stand on his tired feet. Holding on to the pew in front of him, he shuffled past three people who were sitting beside him and made his way down the aisle to the front where the new parents were standing. Then he had the courage, some would say the audacity, to ask the parents if he could hold the tiny baby. The old man must have looked harmless enough, for Mary and Joseph handed the old gentleman their firstborn son without hesitation.

Again, Simeon cannot explain how he knew it, but he knew that he was holding more than a baby in his arms that morning. Astoundingly, he was holding hope in his arms. Amazingly, he was holding salvation in his arms. Surprisingly, he was holding none other than Christmas in his arms, Simeon had crossed off in his mind the only thing that was ever on his bucket list and started praising God saying:

‘Master, now you are dismissing your servant 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.’

This is the wonder of this thing called church. When we least expect it, God shows up and surprises us. We perform an ordinary ritual, like a Child Dedication Service, and something extraordinary happens that changes us forever.

Mary and Joseph showed up with their baby asking the likes of old men like Simeon to bless their newborn baby, and the child ends up blessing Simeon.

 We may have thought we knew what we were doing here this morning. We thought our friends Kevin and Elaine Lindmark were coming to merely present their daughter, Leighton Annette and Shanaya and Aili Barricklow-Young were merely presenting their daughter Feyre Elaine.  Wee thought they were coming to ask us, their family of faith, to take them in our church’s arms and bless them—Bless them by promising to teach them the faith, to share our knowledge of the way of love Jesus taught his disciples with them.

But, to our surprise, what if it is the other way around?

What if we are not here this morning to bless Feyre and Leighton, but Feyer and Leighton are actually here to bless us? Now, I know we are not Simeon and they are not the Messiah; however, it was the Messiah who had this to say about children like these: “Let the little ones come to me, for to such as these, belong the Kingdom of God” (Luke 18:16).

I believe this means that these little ones have more to teach us about the ways of God than we could ever possibly teach them. I believe this means that they and the other children whom God has given us are not the future of the church, but they are the church’s present. Surprisingly, they have much to give the church today. Unexpectedly, even as young and as they are, have much to teach the church this very moment.

For example, Feyre and Leighton will never be more vulnerable, more dependent than they are right now. And because of this, they may never have more to teach us. For hey teach us that if the church is going to look like the Kingdom of God, then the church must continually reach out, invite, bring in, accept and adopt, and care for those in our society who are the most vulnerable, the most dependent.

         They teach us that we are to feed those who cannot feed themselves, give drink to those you cannot drink on their own, clothe, shelter, comfort those in need, and love those who are the most frail, fragile and needy.

Feyre and Leighton affirm our support of Our Daily Bread, Miriam’s House, Parkview Mission, The Free Clinic and Interfaith Outreach. Teaching us that we come the closest to living in the Kingdom of God, we come the closest to holding the Messiah in our arms, when we offer grace and hope to the least of these.

However, they also teach us something that may be even more important. The Messiah once said: “Unless one comes to me as a little child, they cannot enter the Kingdom of God.”  Leighton and Feyre may never be more honest, more real, and more genuine than they are today. What you see is what you get. There is no putting on airs with them. They are not proud. There’s not a pretentious bone in their tiny bodies. When they are hungry, they are going to let us know. When they are distressed, saddened or in any discomfort, they are going to tell us. When they need a change, they will cry out to us.

If we could only learn to be as honest as these little ones: honest with each other, and honest with God. Because before we can truly offer grace and hope to others; I believe we must confess our own need for grace and hope. We must confess our own dependency on God and on others. We must confess our own weaknesses, our need of a Savior who knows such vulnerability, to pick us up, to comfort us and to change us in those places where we most need changing.

We thought we were going to come here this morning and hold two little girls in our arms; however, through their honest vulnerability and their utter dependence, through the Christ revealed in them, amazingly, we held hope in our arms, hope for the present and for the future. We held our church’s mission in our arms. We held Christmas in our arms. We held salvation in our arms. And with Simeon, by the grace of God, we will not leave this service unmoved, untouched, unchanged. We will leave this morning praising God saying:

‘Master, now you are dismissing your servants in peace,
according to your word;
for our 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.’ Amen