October 16, 2016 Luke 2:21, & 25-38

After eight days had passed, it was time to circumcise the child;
and he was called Jesus,
the name given by the angel before he was conceived in the womb.

Now there was a man in Jerusalem whose name was Simeon;
this man was righteous and devout, looking forward to the consolation of Israel,
and the Holy Spirit rested on him.
It had been revealed to him by the Holy Spirit that he would not see death before he had seen the Lord’s Messiah.
Guided by the Spirit, Simeon came into the temple;
and when the parents brought in the child Jesus,
to do for him what was customary under the law,
Simeon took the child in his arms and praised 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.”

And the child’s father and mother were amazed at what was being said about Jesus.
Then Simeon blessed them and said to his mother Mary,
“This child is destined for the falling and the rising of many in Israel,
and to be a sign that will be opposed so that the inner thoughts of many will be revealed—and a sword will pierce your own soul too.”

There was also a prophet, Anna the daughter of Phanuel, of the tribe of Asher.
She was of a great age, having lived with her husband seven years after her marriage, then as a widow to the age of eighty-four.
She never left the temple but worshiped there with fasting and prayer night and day.
At that moment she came,
and began to praise God and to speak about the child to all
who were looking for the redemption of Jerusalem.

****
This scripture began as seventeen verses and as I weekly do in sermon preparation, I wrote down each word by hand. By the time I got to Anna my hand was already sore and I wondered how necessary she was. Simeon steals the show taking the babe in his arms, praising God and blessing the parents. Without closer look, Anna can seem like an after thought, but I always feel bad about omitting women from a scripture passage, especially those who are named. There aren’t many of them, and Anna is called a prophet, the title right in front of her name. Its probably something we ought to hear more and so I kept her, and this Sunday, God called me to preach her, to preach Anna, to preach about women, about the ways they are often ignored, sidelined, and suffer abuse, to preach Anna, and her counter example of prophesy, of inclusion, faithfulness and strength. God also called me to call preach Simeon, what it looks like to be a man, righteous and devout, to preach Simeon, who holds a child in his arms, who praises God, and who gives a blessing. It seems in our national discourse we have forgotten the type of language and character that is redemptive, as Christians we have forgotten our focus on being a people of God.

And you would think that a Pastor’s Group would be one place where we remembered but even there I have witnessed locker room conversations. When I first began attending the Thursday morning gathering, Pastor Garth of the Agape Church and Pastor Lenny of the Nazarene welcomed me. They mentored me during my tumultuous first year of ministry; they shared stories of their own, let me cry and weekly sent me off with prayer. They were men like Simeon, men who could hold my vulnerability like Simeon held the child in his arms. Yet they treated me as an equal, often reassuring my calling to the pastorate in a town where I was the only full time female minister. As time passed, I grew busy and less in need of the weekly support, but would return to the Thursday gatherings to remain in contact with the Lenny and Garth and other pastors.

The group grew, three-fold at least though I was still the only female. Walking toward the meeting room in the back of the church, I would be so conscious of the sound of my feet walking down the hall. I didn’t want to click heels, I didn’t want my femininity to be the thing which preceded me. I didn’t want to be noticed before I could see what being noticed looked like. I was so quiet they never heard me coming, and they would sometimes remark as such. It made sense with so many of them they could no longer hear because what was once a place of prayer turned more like a political debate. Raised voices and interrupting filled the space, as did proof-texting-rhetorical-questions like, “What does Judges 8.43 say?” leaving the answerer to inadvertently support the speaker’s case by recalling the verse, or feel inadequate for not having memorized it. I would watch the sparing, sometimes for the entirety of an hour, and leave renewed in the assurance our gender and theological differences rather than revitalized for ministry with the community. I don’t know how long I lasted on this particular morning. Maybe Lenny noticed me and asked what I thought, but more than likely, I burned out,
“Do you guys know how you are speaking to each other - raised voices, debating, interrupting, a battle of wits without much compassion of your hearts.”
“This is how men who are close friend’s talk to each other,” some defended. Others mansplained that it was like sports and, “locker room conversation,” they said.
Clearly, I wasn’t welcomed in that men’s locker room - of bullying pastors rolling up wet towels. My feet had to remain quiet to be there and I was done. I have never been back, but as left that day, it was the first time I felt proud, a women like Anna, a prophet, who spoke to all who were looking for the redemption of Jerusalem? Not the status quo, where the political arena is the temple of our nation and it’s locker rooms their chancel.

And I wish it was just locker room talk, if talk was all it ever was it would be less, but instead there are women for whom these things have happened, be they Monica Lewinsky or victims of Trump, or myself. I say victims of Trump because what is more disturbing than what is said in that video is what happened at its end. Having already objectified, and some might say threatened, the woman who has come to interview them, the two men get out of the van, and they each ask for a hug from the woman for the other man. She is there to interview them. She is there to do her job but they have made her job to put her body against theirs, with cameras rolling and the joke on her.

The other week I was out going to listen to music, and I saw a good friend of mine. He is engaged to another good friend of mine, and like many boyfriends and husbands of friends he gets a little big brotherly about who I date and how I’m treated. I always feel like he’s on my team. He also is kind of a giant Teddy Bear in football player size. So when I gave giant hug he picked me up and spun me around and I laughed. It was big brotherly, in the same way I have watched him dance with his nieces or that Simeon might have lifted up Jesus in his arms. But then my friend asked for me to give his friend a hug. Immediately, I became conscious of my body, what I was wearing, and how uncomfortable I felt. It felt like being set up, like there had been some discussion about me prior that I wasn’t in on. Did the friend think I was cute, or had they talked about my body as I had walked toward them? Maybe it was unintentional, but either way, it felt like I was a commodity, “I don’t know him that well.” I said apologetically and there was an awkward silence until I quickly excused myself inside the restaurant. I thought of when Maddy Irvine was a very little girl, and when she was saying hello or goodbye, her mom Melissa would say could give a hug, a high-five, or a handshake. My favorite were the jumping, dancing hugs where both people jumped or danced and then gave each other a big hug, but like my friend who picked me up, those were special occasions reserved for both knowing someone well and both feeling joyful. After church, Maddy was more likely to give a high five, and I wish I had been taught that option when I was little. I still remember Mr. Gannon’s whiskers itching and tickling my skin when as a kid my parents had me give him and his wife a hug and kiss before we left. It wasn’t sketchy, or at least it didn’t mean to be, but I wish I had ingrained in me another option, an option of choice. Maddy will grow up knowing she can be Anna, she can be a prophet, or whatever she wants, and Alex her brother will have seen the same. It wont mean that on exiting the church, he will give a handshake and she a hug. They will know that people like Siemon are just as likely to hold baby as Annas are to be prophets, and how will that change the redemption of our Jerusalem, this discourse of our nation?

Maybe, they won’t have people tell them they are too pretty to be a pastor, insinuating not only that pastors can’t be pretty, but that there are occupations for pretty girls and this is not one of them. Maybe, they won’t do a funeral and have some weird man come up to them and thank them for dressing like a woman, in a long professional skirt, as if how they dressed was the mark of their calling rather than the service they just did which declared the Lord’s presence in all of life, like Anna, the prophet, did when the Christ child was born. Maybe they will be more like former children of the church, Kate and Danny who fought fires together. Kate recalls,

“I asked him and one of our co-workers what they were doing and if they needed help and the co-worker said ‘man-stuff’ and I said, “What?’ And he said “We’re doing man-stuff,” and Danny stopped and stared at him and said, “Really?” and lit into him about how that wasn’t cool at all.”
Danny could have joined with his co-worker and ignored Kate but I think Danny is like Simeon. Danny is a man who who is righteous and devout, and who knows that God can work through Kate just as well as him. Bring treated equally meant even more Kate coming from someone in her church family.

This is why, I think it’s important to keep the Annas and Simeons in the text, so we can hear the redeeming prophesy of women, and the righteousness of men. So we can hear them from this ancient scripture, and likewise from our youth today.