This is the
first sermon I composed upon my return to Ukraine after my 2015 furlough (June
through New Year). I got invited to a whole bunch of churches right away upon
my return and so I delivered this sermon about five times in as many weeks.
Each of us
is allotted a certain time—or better, perhaps, I should say a certain interval of time, here on earth. An interval because, indeed, the normal
order of things is that you and I are not
here in this world. The norm in this sphere of existence is your, and my, absence. To each of us personally it is
given to experience what a part in
this world means, for an indescribably meager interval between our absence
and…our absence!
I call this
interval meager, and there’s no shortage of people who’d say it’s also
meaningless. But “meager” is a measure of quantity, while “meaningless” is a
measure of quality. And by divine
revelation—supremely in the Person of Christ—we understand that quantity cannot
be equated with quality, and that significance cannot be equated with worldly
grandeur, and that our ultimate hope cannot be delineated by the dimensions of
time and space or our short “visit” in this world.
In the
epistle to the Hebrews it says that “it is appointed to man to die once, and
then the judgment.” These words naturally sound intimidating, especially apart
from their context (which we’ll say more about presently), but just stop and
think for a moment about what this truth says about our significance. God,
after all, does not judge the trees, or the deer, or the clouds—because they
don’t bear within themselves the priceless treasure of the divine image.
Judgment awaits Man precisely because to
Man something more has been committed
than a pitiful, meaningless “interval” between absence and absence. To Man has
been committed a soul, the capacity
and opportunity to contemplate eternally the very face of God and commune with
Him in holy love.
And that’s
why the place we noted in Hebrews goes on to say that, “so Christ also, offered
in sacrifice once, to take away the
sins of many people, will appear a second time, not to deal with sin but to
save those who are waiting for Him.”
That is life’s quality
in God’s eyes; that is the scope and
range of our significance and hope in the sphere of His divine love. That is why He will appear a second
time, to save.
And there’s the secret, the key, the essence
of our peace when we stand
face-to-face with death itself, with the fact of our “temporariness” on Earth.
The essence of our peace is that we have utterly entrusted our fate, and our
hope of everlasting significance and joy, into the hands of the Almighty
Father, into the hands of the One who one day will appear to save those who
await His coming.
With such
peace of soul we can accept, even embrace, our brief, limited life and role in
this world—yes, embrace our role that seems so insubstantial, so obscure, so
ephemeral. The greatness of our life is not to be seen when we look in the
mirror! It is seen when, by faith, we look upon the Author of life, Who has
enfolded in us His sacred design, a design endlessly unfolding in our personal
experience.
That, I
think, was the state and condition of soul, one fine day, of a certain Simeon
who had already lived out a host of unremembered days in an unnoticed life, but
his life’s treasure was the design of God. And that’s what makes the difference
between a life that gradually, incrementally, loses everything and a life that gradually, incrementally, gains everything. The difference lies in
whether that life treasures, at its core, the design and intention of God
Himself. That life ends up with
everything that could ever count, while a life that scrambles to aggrandize
itself without regard to God finally has
nothing. It reminds me of what Paul wrote to the Romans, in Romans 8:32: “He who did not spare
his own Son, but gave him up for us all--how will he not also, along with him,
graciously give us all things?”
We’ll read
the well-known account of what happened when this Simeon encountered the
newborn Christ in the temple, and while I could spend much time examining the
text in the style of an “expository sermon”, what I really want to do today is
meditate on the significance of two words,
just two words today.
Let’s look
at the passage: (read Luke 2:22-35, then re-read verse 29).
“Now you
are dismissing”…. In the West, these words are quite famous, under the guise of
the ancient Latin translation, as “NUNC DIMITTIS”. “Now you are dismissing.” We
often call a moment in life, when everything seems to come together just
perfectly, when we can’t imagine it being any better, a “Nunc Dimittis moment”.
Imagine, for example, a world-famous violinist who has just executed a
performance of the most complex, sophisticated composition with supreme, stunning,
technical and aesthetic mastery. And as the applause and cheers resound, the
violinist whispers to himself, “That was perfection…I can do no better…I’ve
reached the mountaintop…Nunc dimittis.”
Perhaps you’ve had such moments—not necessarily with a concert hall full of
people applauding you, but just when everything thing seemed so completely
perfect and harmonious, you thought, “I could die now and die happy and
satisfied.”
Of course,
when people say “Nunc dimittis! Take me, Lord, my life is complete!”, they are
speaking, let’s say, poetically. If
some kind soul showed up with a pistol to instantly materialize their wish,
they’d be the first to say, “Uh, that was a figure of speech! Never mind! No
thanks!”
Moreover,
and more seriously, the same person who whispered “Nunc dimittis, Lord” in a
surge of perfect satisfaction, will, in a day or two, or in a week or month
from now, discover new aims and desires, projects and goals, ambitions and
dreams, and he’ll say, “Nunc dimittis?
No way! I’ve still got mountains to climb!”
But, when Simeon pronounced his “Nunc Dimittis”—“Now
you are dismissing me”—he means it literally, sincerely and immediately! Plus,
take note that Simeon is not allowing
or permitting God to do anything. He
isn’t saying, “All right, you can take me now.” No! He is recognizing what God is doing, here and now,
whether Simeon happens to agree with it or not (note: he agrees with it).
The arrival
of this Holy Infant in the temple is God’s unmistakable announcement to Simeon
that the time has come, and Simeon embraces the announcement with exultation,
in the very moment he holds the Light of the World and Hope of Israel in his
trembling arms…. “This is the summit, the peak, the perfection of my life—for
this I have lived, and my life is complete in the appearing of
this Holy Infant….”
But
we…perhaps…might be tempted to object, “Not so fast!” To say, “Hold on, Simeon!
This is just the beginning. What with
the Messiah here, don’t you want
to…well, hang around and see what’ll happen? Wouldn’t you like to witness the miracles and hear the
heavenly word of the Son of God? Don’t you feel the least bit
regret that now, of all times, when everything is just getting going, you have
to…leave? To leave and, just like
before you were born, again be absent—play
no part, make no more contribution to the unfolding of God’s astonishing design
in the world?”
If I could
have stood there next to Simeon that day and posed such questions, I am certain
he’d have answered plainly and categorically, “No. I’m ready. I’m going. My
departure is the unfolding of God’s
holy design. That is my part to play,
my essential role, in the never-ending revelation of His design. I embrace it
ecstatically.”
It is given
to a man once to live out his meager interval, and die.
But it is also given to man—and not to trees or
deer or clouds!—to perceive, and willingly enter, and begin to fathom the divine appointment for his life, and to consecrate
himself to the Appointer, with exultation and meekness, with humility and
thanksgiving, thanksgiving for the unique part and role each of us plays on the
stage of God’s endlessly unfolding design.
With such
meekness and exultation, with such humility and expectation, each of us will be
able, one day, to whisper, finally, “Yes, Lord…nunc dimittis—now
You are dismissing me from this world. My eyes have seen Your Salvation; my heart has held Your heavenly treasure; my spirit has cherished Your light and
cast all hope on Your glory in the
face of Christ the Savior, Your only Son. I praise You for the interval allotted
to me, my foretaste of Your
never-ending Kingdom in the Redemption of Jesus Christ.”
Simeon’s
climactic moment in life was also his closing one, but he didn’t object—he exulted!
Exulted in God’s wisdom. Myriad unremembered days led to this moment, just as,
in our lives, numberless forgotten moments must bring us, finally, to the end
of our interval.
