Anna’s Voice

Luke 2:22-40

Today we celebrate a little-known church feast—the Presentation of Our Lord. Originally considered the conclusion of the Christmas season, it featured the story of Jesus’ presentation at the temple on the fortieth day of life. Presentation of Our Lord is always observed on February 2, and as such it doesn’t fall on a Sunday very often. But I’ll never forget the last time it happened for a different reason.

It was back in 2013. I had decided with the worship team that year to use the weeks after the Epiphany as a time to highlight outreach ministries. We’d scheduled the homeless shelter we partnered with for February 2, and when I realized it was Presentation Our Lord, I got excited because I knew about the two older characters in the story, Simeon and Anna.

Simeon was a righteous old man who had been waiting his whole life for the Messiah. When he saw Mary and Joseph enter the temple with Jesus, the Spirit told him, “This is the one.” Simeon took Jesus into his arms and blessed him.

A prophet named Anna also recognized Jesus and began to tell everyone that this was the child who was born to save God’s people. What I had noticed, however, was that Simeon got a big, long song in Luke’s text, but Anna had no direct speech. She was the prophet, but her words were not recorded. What’s up with that?

I think the devil is in the details. Luke identifies Anna as having been a widow for most of her adult life: she lived with her husband only seven years before his death, and now she was 84. Women who were widows had three choices in first century Palestine: they could go back and live with their relatives; they could be married to a brother of their deceased husband; or they could live at the court of women in the temple and live off the charity of others.

It seems that Anna, by choice or necessity, followed the last option; Luke states that “she never left the temple.” And so in a very real sense, she did not have a home. She was like the people staying at the shelter that my church partnered with – people who did not have a permanent address and therefore had a hard time accessing services and voting. People who are often overlooked by the rest of society.

So I preached that to my congregation and said, “Today we are going to hear the voice of people like Anna, people whose words are often not heard.” And I invited the director of the shelter forward. He did a great job, telling us all about the ministry. But he went on too long. By the time he finished, we were already beyond the hour mark and we still had half the service to go. 

I stood up to announce the hymn when a man at the back stood up and said, “I am homeless right now. Can I say something?”

I remember feeling torn. We’d had some complaints about long services in previous weeks. I could tell people were restless. The service was taxing our Lutheran attention spans. But the answer was obvious. How can you preach a sermon about giving voice to the voiceless and then not allow the man who is actually experiencing homelessness a chance to speak? I invited him forward and sat down to listen.

The man described how he had his own apartment, how there had been a fire and he’d lost everything. He was staying with a member of our church named John after couch surfing with friends and family for several months. He talked about how much work it was to try to piece his life back together while all the politicians talked about helping the middle class. “Who speaks for the poor?” he asked. “Who listens to the people most in trouble? People look the other way when they see you at the library or on the street. Social workers have so much to do, you feel like a number. If I didn’t have people like my friend John, I’d be nowhere.”

I am pretty sure there were complaints in the cars heading home that day. Worship was two hours long, which was an inconvenience. Our unplanned speaker was a disruption of the usual order, and more than a little uncomfortable because we recognize ourselves in the people who looked the other way or the folks who were too busy. But I know there were also little epiphanies going on that day. People began to see this surprise speaker as a gift because suddenly we weren’t just hearing about people experiencing homelessness. We got to actually know a person in those circumstances, hear his struggles and his faith. We experienced him as a real person with a story to share, a fellow child of God. We were able to cultivate compassion in a way that isn’t as easy when you see a problem rather than a person.

There are some very loud voices these days who present things in polarizing ways. But on the ground there are real people with real concerns. We can choose to listen to one another. We don’t need to be siloed by a nation that is carved into red and blue. We can seek out the voices that are different than ours, especially those silenced by accusation or prejudice. We can learn for ourselves the stories of the real people who experience marginalization, poverty, discrimination, and fear. We can see one another as fellow children of God – in fact, it’s our job.

Big news at Epiphany this past week, in case you missed it – we called a pastor! Pastor Corey’s job description calls out evangelism and outreach as focus areas, as well as pastoral care, worship leadership, and preaching. Welcoming new people and serving people are outward-facing enterprises. They are ministries of partnership and getting to know our neighbors. Pastor Corey has excellent skills and experience to bring to this work. He has said that listening is the first step in entering a community, be it a new church or the neighborhoods beyond the church building. Together we will be intentional about listening to the needs of our neighbors, the stories they bring, their unique perspectives and gifts, and we will open ourselves to allowing their stories and lives to change us.

Back on that Presentation of Our Lord day long ago, we did have to change, just a little. We had to make space on the fly for a long church service. We had to adjust and reprioritize. That’s what listening does. It rearranges our preconceptions and opens up new possibilities. It prioritizes the voices that aren’t heard, be they newcomers or older adults or children or people experiencing particular life challenges. Because, like Anna, the people whose voices we don’t often hear have stories to tell and gifts to share. Like Anna, God is providing for them and working in their lives. Like Anna, they are part of the kingdom of God, breaking into the world, weaving all our songs into a grand symphony of all God’s children.