Holidays have an uncanny way of exposing how messy our lives really are. The juggle of expectations from different family members, the tense conversations around politics or life choices, the pain of divorce or estrangement or death, the struggles of mental illness or the realization that a loved one is declining faster than we knew, the crush of extra events that fill the calendar—all these can leave us feeling breathless and broken.
But this year, I’m savoring the truth that life’s messiness is the optimal backdrop for the Christmas story. After all, isn’t the whole point that God sent his Son to earth to become one of us? To enter our strained families and renew our dashed hopes?
Not only did Jesus’ unconventional arrival complicate his family’s situation (initially threatening his mother’s safety and his father’s plans to marry her); he also arrived in the middle of a political scenario that was stretching the budgets and sanity of every Jewish family. But it’s precisely this climate that set the scene for the salvation Christ would eventually offer.
Aside from the holy family and the shepherds, the first people in Luke’s gospel to recognize that the Messiah had come were people who had spent years—decades even—longing for his arrival. The Gospels single out two people in particular: Simeon, a godly man from Jerusalem, and Anna, another prophet in the temple courts. Through their example, we see what it means to wait faithfully for Jesus amid life’s messiness, whether personal or political.
Anna and Simeon lived on the margins in a world controlled by Roman interests, which curtailed their freedom to live out their faith. Yet they both refused to buy into the imperial propaganda announcing that the Pax Romana,the “peace of Rome,” had come. Their discontent with the status quo drove them to the temple to pray and wait in hope for better days and a different king.
Worst of all, the rebuilt temple had never offered any proof of the presence of God. Unlike the tabernacle, which God’s glory filled (Ex. 40:34), and the temple of Solomon, where heavenly fire also came on the altar (2 Chron. 7:1), the rebuilt temple was a disappointment. At its dedication, there was no fire, no visible glory—nothing to signify that God dwelt there.
Yet Simeon and Anna both clung to the promise that God’s presence would be reestablished in their midst—and that yearning propelled them day after day.
Simeon’s most notable characteristics were that he was “waiting for the consolation of Israel” and that “the Holy Spirit was on him” (Luke 2:25). His singular focus was the restoration of his nation, which had been torn in two almost a thousand years before. That posture of longing made him a ready vehicle for God’s Spirit. Led by the Spirit, Simeon sought out the infant Jesus whose young family had come to the temple courts for ritual purification as torah-observant Jews. The Spirit revealed to Simeon that this was the child for whom he’d been waiting all his life!
Simeon held Jesus as he prayed and prophesied over him, blessing the family; and then he spoke directly to Mary: “This child is destined to cause the falling and rising of many in Israel, and to be a sign that will be spoken against, so that the thoughts of many hearts will be revealed. And a sword will pierce your own soul too” (v. 34–35).
I wonder if Simeon addressed Mary specifically because he knew how deeply mothers feel the suffering of their children—and that she would bear the grief of public opposition and ultimately the loss of her son.
Either way, Simeon recognized not just the joy but also the pain that Christ’s coming would provoke. Yes, salvation and light and glory would come through this child, but also division. Because of Jesus’ role as a light, he would expose people’s inner thoughts and attract criticism. His coming would not instantly tidy up the mess but initially complicate things further.
Now we turn to Anna, whose life had been marked by grief ever since her husband died just seven years into her marriage. The text tells us nothing of her children, so it’s possible she was also barren. After decades of living as a widow, 84-year-old Anna spent night and day at the temple worshiping, fasting, and praying. It seems she had no desire to be anywhere else.
Luke also tells us in passing that Anna was from the tribe of Asher. This is remarkable because Asher was one of the northern tribes, settled along the coast of Phoenicia, that had been taken into exile by the Assyrians in 722 BC. Although the people of Judah eventually returned to the land, the northern tribes did not—at least not collectively. Most of them had lost their Israelite identity as they assimilated to the nations where the Assyrians scattered them.
So, the fact Anna knew her heritage and lived in Jerusalem tells us she was a notable exception to the rule. Clinging to her ancestry, Anna kept the covenant faith alive, praying fervently for God to establish his kingdom and return to the temple.
The fact that Anna’s life was marked by loss meant she had far less stock than others in preserving the status quo. That yearning helped her recognize the Messiah alongside Simeon, a fellow discontented believer. Simeon and Anna were among a faithful remnant of a broken nation, gathering at an empty shell of a temple and waiting for God to fulfill his promises of a king from David’s line who could reunite their people and lead them back to obedience to God.
Perhaps Anna’s presence was a sign to Simeon that all was not lost—that even the scattered northern tribes might one day return. Perhaps Simeon reassured Anna that she was not alone in her longing—that someone else refused to grow numb under imperial power. Their shared hopes overflowed in jubilant praise the moment they met Jesus. At last, they recognized the answer to their prayers and began proclaiming the good news of his arrival to all who would listen.
This year, when the empty place at your table ties a knot in your stomach or when things feel especially complicated personally or politically, remember this: Christmas reminds us that God sees our pain and has done something truly miraculous to bring about our healing.
To appreciate this truth, we first need to stare into the darkness and feel the full weight of the world’s brokenness. As theologian Fleming Rutledge writes, “Advent is the season that, when properly understood, does not flinch from the darkness that stalks us all in this world. Advent begins in the dark and moves toward the light.”
Which is why, like Anna and Simeon, those of us who find ourselves in messy circumstances are often best positioned to welcome and recognize the promise of Jesus. All the hardest bits in life can increase our longing for Christ’s second coming—and our ability to see it for the great gift that it is: a day when all will finally be made whole.
Carmen Joy Imes is associate professor of Old Testament at Biola University and author of Bearing God’s Name and Being God’s Image. She’s currently writing her next book, Becoming God’s Family: Why the Church Still Matters.
