After taking the temple, Pompey entered its inner sanctuary.  People who were not even Jews, let alone priests, invaded the holy places of God’s sanctuary – but maybe God didn’t care.  Perhaps my own people had already made God’s temple so unholy that a few extra foreigners couldn’t make much difference.  I don’t know.  God knows.  What I do know is that Pompey didn’t profane our temple permanently.  Imagine, he could have turned it into a pagan temple!  Instead, within just a few days, he had done his best to consecrate the temple again.  The Roman soldiers were removed and the temple was handed back to the Jews with astonishing speed.  Of course, the people it was handed over to were the very ones who had not considered it worth defending from the Romans in the first place!

There aren’t many people now who know much about the political situation back then.  Today, the Pharisees are presented as holy and righteous, dedicated to the temple, and they suggest that the Sadducees have always been rich, money-centric and interested in the temple only for the power it gives them.  How the years have hidden the truth!

Few believe me when I tell them that it was the Sadducees who defended our temple from the Romans.[1]  I smile when I ask them who they think would be willing to die fighting for the temple, because I know that they will answer me confidently but incorrectly, assuring me that only the Pharisees would show such holy courage.
Yet it was Hyrcanus and the Pharisees who welcomed the Romans into Jerusalem.

The Sadducees stood against the might of Rome.  It was Sadducee blood that stained the pavement as Roman soldiers and their helpers, the Pharisees, ran amok.  Sadducees stood unbowed among the broken walls and gave their lives for the love of Yahweh’s temple.

The oh-so-holy Pharisees helped the Romans.  The godly Pharisees slaughtered their fellow Jews in anger and hatred – and our people have been in slavery ever since, betrayed by the Pharisees.  So much for their much-vaunted holiness: power was more important to them.

Maybe times have changed – I don’t know.

In the defence of the temple, there were also some who, like Samuel, fought alongside the Sadducees just because it was the right thing to do.  Samuel was no Sadducee or supporter of Aristobulus, but he wasn’t a Pharisee either, unwilling as he was to support Hyrcanus.  Samuel loved God and his temple – he was always very cautious of human organisations.  We shared the same love, and once the temple was given back to the Jews, I couldn’t keep away from the place where my husband had worshipped and died.

Over the years that followed, I spent many hours in the temple of God.  At first, I was fighting with God and went more to remember Samuel than to worship, but over time, I have found peace and acceptance of the will of God.  The temple is a house of prayer, and I ignore the human plots and intrigues that would lead me away from seeking God.

I suppose that we have proved that we, as a nation, will not, cannot, serve God properly.  So many different forms of leadership, yet not even the godly leaders have been able to keep us close to God for long.  Judges have failed, kings have failed, priests have failed and prophets have failed – because, above all, we, the people, have failed.

Yet God has not given up on us – not in more than 1,000 years.  How is that for patience?

And now, something new is happening.

There are men and women who have been hoping for years that God will redeem Jerusalem, free us from the Romans and usher in a kingdom of righteousness ruled over by a descendant of David.  Prophets like Nathan, Isaiah, Jeremiah and Ezekiel all spoke of this, and now, if you will believe me, it is finally happening.

At times through my life, God has spoken to me, so that some call me “Anna the prophetess”, but today he showed me his work without saying a word.  A little child, a cute and delightful baby, was brought to the temple today.  He looked like just the sort of baby Samuel and I dreamed of having, but could not have, so long ago.

Almost 6 weeks old, he was smiling and happy, and his parents, a thoughtful but joyous couple, were just the same.  They had brought him to the temple at the time for purification of his mother and to present him to God as was commanded for all firstborn sons.

Simeon was there with them, brought at that time by the hand of God, even as I was.  We have often spoken together about the Messiah and longed for his appearing.  Simeon is an old man, righteous and devout – just the sort of man that I hope Samuel would have been if he had lived to old age.  Together we marvelled at this child.  Simeon had been told that he was Yahweh’s anointed, the Messiah we have been waiting for.

It is hard to picture that little baby, all gurgles and chuckles, grown up to be a king!  It is also hard to imagine all of the difficulties that his parents will have to go through, trying to be worthy parents of the Messiah.  Imagine having a child who, from an early age, can identify your failures and notice when you do not practice what you preach!

Simeon blessed the parents, but specifically warned the baby’s mother that the child is to be a sign that is opposed and that a sword would pierce her heart.

When I heard that warning, it struck me that righteous people have always been opposed, and many such have died by the sword through the history of my people – prophets and priests as well as ordinary men and women.  Would the Messiah…?  I pushed the question aside – it was ridiculous.  The Messiah was going to be a victor, a king who could overcome opposition.  Only a small voice of questioning refused to be quieted, prompting me to think of Isaiah’s words about a suffering servant; but enough of that: it was time to rejoice.

The child was still jigging contentedly in his mother’s arms, blissfully unaware of the significance of Simeon’s serious words, but his parents were looking grave.

 We spent some time together there, mulling over the wonder of the work of God, and how suddenly his words from olden times could come to life in front of us.

“Sir,” said the baby’s father to Simeon, “you said that now you have seen God’s salvation.  Were you referring to our baby, Jesus?”

“Yes.  In little Jesus I have seen the salvation of God.  Salvation not only from our enemies, but also from our sins.”

“Defeat and utter destruction is coming for the Romans at last,” I said, eagerly.

“I don’t think so,” mused Simeon.  “This salvation has been prepared in the presence of all peoples and is a light to the Gentiles.  Yes, there will be glory for Israel, but not utter destruction of the Gentiles.”  He paused for a moment, his brows furrowed, then shook his head before continuing, “This is not how I pictured the work of the Messiah, yet these words came from God.”

“Remember that this temple is to be ‘a house of prayer for all nations,’ ” I said, quoting from the words of Isaiah, “but it has never truly been that yet.”

“Will my baby really be a light that reveals Yahweh to the Gentiles?” asked Mary, her eyes wide.

“It seems so,” said Simeon, gently.

Mary and Joseph looked at each other, and then at Jesus, wonder in their eyes.

“We knew that he was a special baby,” said Joseph.  “Mary was told many things by an angel of God before Jesus was even conceived, but to be a light to the whole world means that he is even greater than we thought.”

“Maybe he will be able to lead all the world to Yahweh,” I suggested, and as I said it, the idea felt right.

“But don’t forget about the sword that I mentioned,” said Simeon, looking at Mary with compassion.  “Your task will not be easy, but still – you are very blessed.”

We continued to share our thoughts and hopes about God’s plans for this baby, and the young couple told us more about what angels had said to them months before, and also to some shepherds on the night Jesus was born.  Mary then spoke of the son born miraculously to an aged priest and his barren wife – a birth that had been announced beforehand by an angel in this very temple.

“Was the priest’s name Zechariah?” asked Simeon.

“Yes,” said Joseph.  “He is of the priestly division of Abijah.  His wife Elizabeth is Mary’s cousin.”

“And wasn’t he unable to talk after the angel spoke to him?” I asked.  “We heard that he came out of the holy place looking terrified – couldn’t say a word!”

“Yes, that’s true,” answered Mary, eagerly; “at least, he couldn’t speak until after the baby was born and he had named him ‘John’ as the angel had commanded.  Thankfully, after that he was able to speak again.”

I left the temple wondering at the events happening around me.  God’s angels had been very active over the last year or so, visibly working with people in unusual ways.  That too must show just how important this baby was.  If only he had come when I was a baby: Samuel and I would have been glad to serve God’s chosen Messiah; pleased to help him replace Aristobulus and Hyrcanus and all of the other self-serving leaders we have endured.  But at least I have been able to see him.

Thank you, God, for sending your anointed one to save your people.  Thank you for letting me see him – the fulfilment of all of your glorious future plans for the world, wrapped up in an innocuous bundle of cloths.  So delightfully cute, but still far too young to understand just how important he is to become.

He will learn.  He will learn.

 

 

[1] See https://www.livius.org/articles/concept/roman-jewish-wars/ (para 3) and https://www.newworldencyclopedia.org/entry/Pharisees (Background, para 6)