(Luke 2:25-35)

Driving rain the day before,
The roads were thick with muddy ruts.
Morning sun bathed the city in
An austere light.
A priest, the family, neighbors,
And Temple regulars gathered for
The presentation of a child.
Simeon, aged, obscure,
Stood apart, mulling a paradox:
That suffering always casts a shadow over faithfulness,
Yet faithfulness is necessary,
He watched the parents, both seemed stunned
By what the last two months had brought,
Not knowing what would come.
He moved toward them,
Across the roughened stony floor.

The Spirit cleared a dullness from his brain.
Confused and separated fragments
Spun together as if on a potter’s wheel
So that he felt at peace with sundry
Incidents, half-remembered meetings
That once had seemed colorless
Or marred with misunderstanding
Or his own capacity for wrong,
Now bathed in pardon’s milder hue.
All along, he saw, he’d done
The will of God, inscrutable
And strange, imperfectly faithful
Throughout the common strife and test,
But faithful nonetheless.
A promise feebly grasped
Had been at work – that he would see
Salvation before he died.
His heart and feelings danced
Like children playing.

As he took the Child in his arms,
He said that he himself was ready to die,
Having seen the light of Israel.
The parents, shy and gracious, cool,
Young, upcountry folk,
Still not used to strangers coming near.
He told the mother some of what he knew –
That dread things would smite her son.
He’d bring dissension. Some would rise and sink
On his account. Many would reject,
But all who followed him would receive
The gift of faithfulness, together with its pains,
As they walked the road of everlasting life.

As for Mary, he said, a sword
Would strike her heart with grief.
She touched her cheek. She’d never heard
Such words to chill like winter storms.
How could he know?
“The Spirit guided me,” he said.
“A lifetime’s watchfulness. I read the Scriptures.”
A pool of vulnerability filled her eyes.
“So much has happened since my Son was born.
It isn’t clear. We often fret.”
“The Lord leaves many things to us,” he said.
“He gives the power to cope. You’ll do well.
Reasons to smile will come.” “Oh, yes,” she said
And lowered her eyes. Simeon touched her arm
And eased toward the Temple gate
To the muddy road, with movements patient as
An old man’s passage to the home He promises,
Glancing back at the Child,
Who’d faithfully endure the sting of earth
And unjust death to save us for joy.

Breaking off his conversation with
The priest, Joseph approached his wife and asked
What the frail old man had said that she
Stared in space when there were many things to do.