Simeon and Anna : part two : Anna

 

Malachi 3.1-5 and Luke 2.22-40

Anna awakes within the Temple complex. She is so old now that she does not have much need for sleep, but in the darkest hours she gets some rest, in the Chamber, off the Court of the Women, where the oil-soaked cakes for offering are prepared. It feels like home—after all, she is of the tribe of Asher, whom Jacob had blessed as providers of rich food, royal delicacies, through the generations for ever (Genesis 49:20). Though Anna herself eats little these days, as if sustained by food others know not.

You’ll know Anna, at least by sight. Day after day she comes and sits at the foot of the fifteen semi-circular steps that lead up from the Court of the Women to the Court of Israel, a small crowd always standing around her attentively. She has been here forever, long before the present buildings stood, longer even than old Simeon. She is, as much as the steps themselves, part of the fixings and the furniture. In all likelihood the great tide of humanity who pour in at the pilgrim festivals don’t notice her, or if they do she does not hold their attention: what is an ancient woman, compared to the bronze gates at the top of the steps, with which Nicanor wrought miracles, calming the sea—gates so revered that even Herod dared not replace them with gates of gold? But those who remain when the tide goes out again seek her out, for she speaks consolations.

A prophet, in the manner of Isaiah: ‘Comfort, O comfort my people, says your God. Speak tenderly to Jerusalem, and cry to her that she has served her term, that her penalty is paid, that she has received from the Lord’s hand double for all her sins.’ (Isaiah 40:1, 2) Anna speaks consolation from the inside, as one who has authority. They say the number seven stands for completion, perfection. But who can accept seven as the completion of a marriage to so kind a man, the only man Anna had ever loved this way? Seven years enjoying the fat of life, slurping the marrow of its bones, glistening on the fingers, running down the chin; swallowed up by death in a moment. She had railed at God, like the sea; but God did not answer. She had beaten her fists against the sky; God remained silent. She had questioned herself—had their love been too fierce to last? Eventually the night passed and, gradual as light, it dawned on her that the silence of God was not indifference, nor powerlessness, but that she was being held, by One much greater than herself. And that the silence swallowed death whole. Brought all things to peace. There was nothing here to fear. Her husband slept with their ancestors; and at night Anna would lie with him; learnt to rest in eternity and rise, morning by morning, in time. She had lived this way so long, some said she had discovered the secret of immortality.

That was the first of many times of dying, in the long years of her widowhood, and through each loss she discovered more and more the blessing only those who mourn can understand. Rich food, royal delicacies. An acquired taste, yes, but not a bitter aftertaste. A strange, unlooked for perfection, but a perfection, nonetheless: union with the Holy One of Israel.

She speaks consolation to those who seek it here. Reveals the invisible God in the common things of life, in universal emotions. Prayerful words, that charm the terrors of the night into the most tender of mercies; that transform unleavened cakes into the sustenance of heaven. Night and day, day and night, the prayers of a prophet.

She prays, and sings, not a classically beautiful voice, cracked now by age, but one that rings in harmony with the Unseen. And she is singing now. Over a young couple who have arrived at the foot of the fifteen steps on their way to present sacrifice in the Court of Israel, a pair of turtle doves. And the firstborn son, whom old Simeon has taken in his arms and holds high for all to see. Simeon utters words of blessing. Anna joins in with a song of her own, their voices joining to mend the world, so it can receive its King.

And what of you? What has been broken open in your world? And what blessing has been revealed within? What song have you been given to sing, in a cracked voice perhaps, but the melody of heaven?