Ruth Greenaway-Robbins

Candlemas holds a very precious place in my heart. It is one of my favourite feasts of the Church year. I love it because it is real. I love it because it is full of joy and hope, and because it refuses to turn away from the pain woven through the story of our salvation. I love it because Candlemas holds together what so often feels impossible to hold: old and new, promise and cost, delight and sorrow. It celebrates the meeting of generations, in people, in theology, and in the life of God with us.

Candlemas is precious to me beyond imagining.

We also have our own Simeon (and, for that matter, an Anna too – though in her case her full name is Anastasia, and her feast waits until Easter). Both our children have a foothold in this feast. The funny thing is that our Simeon was never meant to be a Simeon at all. He was meant to be a Theodore. And yet, when he arrived and was placed in our arms, something settled. Like Jesus being held by the aged Simeon in the temple, we simply knew: this child had revealed his own name. He was Simeon.

So many of us have stories of people – often older than us, often seasoned by long years of faith – who see in us something we cannot yet see for ourselves. They glimpse who we are in the sight of God, and sometimes even dare to name it aloud. For many of us, our sense of vocation is complex and still unfolding. God so often prompts and guides us through the faithful attentiveness of others.

Here in my community, as I begin to know people and hear their stories, I am struck again and again by how many came to faith through aunties, parents, and but often through grandparents. Often it was grandparents who raised them while parents came ahead to the UK in the Windrush years, later reuniting families. These elders walked the path of life with steady faith: praying, bringing children to church week after week, showing through their own lives what it means to be shaped and transformed by Jesus Christ. This is Candlemas faith: faith handed on, faith embodied, faith lived.

In the temple, when Simeon and Anna greet the holy family, they do more than rejoice. They recognise and proclaim who Jesus is, for all people. They speak his vocation into being. And they do not soften the truth. Simeon names the pain that will come, especially for Mary. Joy and sorrow sit side by side. In that moment Mary and Joseph see faith in action: wisdom, courage, honesty, and hope held together without denial.

Candlemas marks the end of the Incarnation cycle – the close of Christmas and Epiphany. The child who was adored, revealed, and rejoiced over is now recognised as one who will change everything. Candlemas points us towards the cross, even as it assures us of salvation. They knew him. They truly saw him. In their arms was God’s love made flesh.

And perhaps this is why Candlemas has always resonated so deeply with other seasonal rhythms too. Around this time comes Imbolc, the ancient festival that marks the first stirrings of spring. The land is still cold, the nights still long, and yet something has shifted. Lambs are born. Snowdrops push through frozen soil. The light is returning, almost imperceptibly, but undeniably. Candlemas sits beautifully here: not yet the fullness of resurrection, but enough light to trust that life is on the way.

This week our not-so-baby, now adult Simeon is coming to visit. It is the week we remember and celebrate his baptismal anniversary and his name day (a small practical recommendation: if you put your child’s name day and baptism day together, you spend less on cake!!!). We will give thanks for who Christ has called Simeon to be, and for who he is still becoming.

But Candlemas invites something broader of all of us. It is a time to give thanks for the older, wiser people who have shaped our stories – some now firmly held in the mercy of God, others remembered through Scripture, theologians of old, mystics, prophets, and saints. The wise sages of our lives deserve our gratitude.

And Candlemas also gently asks us to consider: where are we becoming those wise ones ourselves? The Simeons and Annas. The Elizabeths and Sarahs. What and who in our lives do we need to attend to more carefully? How do we pray for others? How do we learn to see, name, and nurture the gifts in those in our lives?

The light is returning. The days are lengthening. We have not yet l even quite arrived at the start of Lent (although we will all too soon) but the gentle light of incarnation is enough to illumine the path. Candlemas reminds us that this small, faithful light is sufficient as we begin, once again, to walk the way that leads through the cross and into resurrection.

And let us attend to those words of Simeon is our lives in the words of the Nunc Dimittis-

Lord, now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace : according to thy word.

For mine eyes have seen : thy salvation;

Which thou hast prepared : before the face of all people;

To be a light to lighten the Gentiles : and to be the glory of thy people Israel

Luke 2.29-32