Let me begin today by reading to you a story which caught my attention.

We were the only family with children in the restaurant. I sat Erik in a high chair and noticed everyone was quietly eating and talking. Suddenly, Erik squealed with glee and said, “Hi there.” He pounded his fat baby hands on the high chair tray. His eyes were crinkled in laughter and his mouth was bared in a toothless grin, as he wriggled and giggled with merriment.

I looked around and saw the source of his merriment. It was a man whose pants were baggy with a zipper at half-mast and his toes poked out of would-be shoes. His shirt was dirty and his hair was uncombed and unwashed. His whiskers were too short to be called a beard and his nose was so varicose it looked like a road map. We were too far from him to smell, but I was sure he smelled. His hands waved and flapped on loose wrists.

“Hi there, baby; hi there, big boy. I see ya, buster,” the man said to Erik.

My husband and I exchanged looks, “What do we do?” Erik continued to laugh and answer, “Hi, hi there.”

Everyone in the restaurant noticed and looked at us and then at the man. The old geezer was creating a nuisance with my beautiful baby. Our meal came and the man began shouting from across the room, “Do ya patty cake? Do you know peek-a-boo? Hey, look, he knows peek-a-boo.”

Nobody thought the old man was cute. He was obviously drunk. My husband and I were embarrassed. We ate in silence, all except for Erik, who was running through his repertoire for the admiring skid row bum, who in turn reciprocated with his cute comments.

We finally got through the meal and headed for the door. My husband went to pay the check and told me to meet him in the parking lot. The old man sat poised between me and the door. “Lord, just let me out of here before he speaks to me or Erik,” I prayed.

As I drew closer to the man, I turned my back trying to sidestep him and avoid any air he might be breathing. As I did, Erik leaned over my arm, reaching with both arms in a baby’s “pick-me-up” position. Before I could stop him, Erik had propelled himself from my arms to the man’s. Suddenly a very old smelly man and a very young baby consummated their love relationship. Erik in an act of total trust, love and submission laid his tiny head upon the man’s ragged shoulder. The man’s eyes closed, and I saw tears hover beneath his lashes. His aged hands full of grime, pain, and hard labor, cradled my baby’s bottom and stroked his back. No two beings have ever loved so deeply for so short a time. I stood awestruck.

The old man rocked and cradled Erik in his arms and his eyes opened and set squarely on mine. He said in a firm commanding voice, “You take care of this baby.”

Somehow I managed, “I will,” from a throat that contained a stone. He pried Erik from his chest unwillingly, longingly, as though he were in pain. I received my baby, and the man said, “God bless you, ma’am, you’ve given me my Christmas gift.”

I tell you this story today because it reminds me of the story of Simeon in Luke’s gospel. Simeon’s story is different, but there is a sameness as well. Here is the story of an old man with a child in his arms. Neither knew the other, but a powerful relationship developed.

Simeon lived on the edge of tomorrow. He was somewhat like the prophet Isaiah in the Old Testament. He did not know the particulars of what was happening, but he saw enough to know that God was up to something.

Upon greeting the Holy Family at the temple entrance, four things happened in rapid succession. First, there was instant recognition by Simeon of the Holy Family. How did he know? We do not know. We simply know the recognition was there. Secondly, Simeon spoke a prayer to God. The prayer is sometimes referred to in the church as the “Benedictus.” It goes something like this, “Lord, let your servant now die in peace, for my eyes have seen your salvation.”

Thirdly, Simeon gives a blessing to the family. Finally, Simeon turns to Mary, Jesus’ mother, and says some words to her, the most compelling of which are these, “This child is set for the rise and fall of many.”

What do I learn from this little story?

MORE THAN MEETS THE EYE

First of all, there is more here than meets the eye. There is more than we realize. There is more here than Simeon realized. There is more to Jesus than we can ever see.

I recently read a sermon preached about two months after the September 11^th terrorist attacks. It had an interesting title: “What Would Jesus Say to Osama bin Laden?”

Osama bin Laden was a son in a very large family in Saudi Arabia. He used his $250 million inheritance to build a worldwide terrorist network. There was no ambiguity about his goal: all non-Islamic states must be converted or conquered. In 1998 he decreed, “It is the duty of every individual Muslim to kill Americans—military and civilian—in any country wherever it is possible.”

Interestingly, Muslims believe in Jesus. They believe that Jesus was a great prophet; not the greatest prophet, but a great prophet nonetheless. In light of this, the preacher of the sermon took a stab at what Jesus might say, “Osama, I am more than you have allowed me to be. I am more than a prophet—much more.”

In the story of Simeon, Jesus is saying to all of us, “I am more than you realize. I am more than you have allowed me to be. Much more.” Jesus is much more than we can ever fully know.

I had occasion to listen to some tapes of Garrison Keillor’s “Prairie Home Companion” while driving in the past couple of weeks. One of the singing groups on the “Prairie Home Companion” is one called the “Hopeful Gospel Quartet.” In some ways this little scene outside the temple in Luke’s story is a hopeful gospel quartet. Mary, Joseph, Jesus and Simeon: “This child is set for the rise and fall of many.”

LIFE WILL REVOLVE AROUND THIS CHILD

The second thing that I learned is that life will somehow revolve around this child. While caught waiting through some airport delays this past week I read a book by Lewis Smedes. One of his sentences caught my attention. “Jesus is at once the center and the circumference of all authentic human existence.”[i] I suppose it was my math background that made that particular statement appeal to me, but I believe it. Life is somehow different because Jesus has come.

There is an old “Peanuts” cartoon that shows Charlie Brown and Linus in conversation. Charlie Brown says, “The world is a much better place in the last few years, Linus.” And Linus replies, “How can you say that? All of the war and the terror and the bad things that are happening… how can you say the world is a better place? What makes the world a better place now?”

Charlie Brown replies, “Because I’m in it.”

The world is a better place because Jesus is in it. Jesus helps you and me face the unexpected and the unwanted intrusion into life. Jesus helps you and me live in faith, even in the face of the kind of unleashed evil we saw on September 11, 2001. Jesus helps you and me prevail over sickness, injury, loss, and uncertainty, and Jesus helps you and me celebrate the good things that life brings as well.

I read a story about a woman who had a friend visiting in her home a few weeks after Christmas. The woman spotted a Christmas tree ornament on the mantel above the fireplace. It seemed out of place. The host noticed that she had glanced at the ornament. “If you’re wondering about that ornament,” she said, “every year I leave one Christmas tree ornament out when I pack the Christmas decorations away. It reminds me that Christmas is not just for a day, or even a season, but for a lifetime. That little ball reminds me that Jesus walks with me every day.”

The remarkable thing about the Christmas story and the birth of Jesus is this: a life lived 2000 years ago can radically change life here and now.

CALLING FOR A RESPONSE

This story at the beginning of a new year calls for a response. It is a time for some new or renewed decisions.

We tend to neglect that, or procrastinate about any new decisions. I saw a bumper sticker on a car not long ago that said, “Caution: Dates on the calendar are closer than they appear.”

The new year is traditionally a response opportunity. Consider the matter of going on a diet in January of every new year. This year there is help online from your Internet service provider. Books in the bookstores on dieting have moved to the front of the displays. Health clubs are ready for new members and advertising heavily. Millions of new year’s resolutions are being made—probably a few of them right here in this room.

But we procrastinate. We say, “Well, I think I’ll wait for right after the first few days of January. I don’t need to start right away.” Then we say, “Well, maybe I’ll go on a diet right after the Christmas cookies are gone.” Then we procrastinate and say, “Well, I’ll do it by February 1^st. There’s nothing else to do in February, it’s a nothing month anyway, so I’ll go on a diet then.” Suddenly we remember that Lent begins in February, so we say, “Well, maybe I’ll do it for Lent, because Lent is a spiritual time.”

Similarly, we seem to procrastinate on our discipleship. There is a minister waiting in line for gas at a gas station. It happened to be a very long line. When he finally got to the pump, the service attendant said, “Sorry, Reverend, people wait until the last minute to get ready for a long trip.”

“Yes, I know,” the minister replied. “It’s the same in my business.”

This New Year is a time for some new directions and new decisions for your Christian journey. Maybe it is the decision simply to be more faithful in worship. Maybe it’s the year to try the Labyrinth prayer walk on a monthly basis. Maybe it’s the year to spend a few minutes each day with Scripture. Maybe it’s the year to carve out 10 minutes of quiet listening each day. Maybe it’s the year to become part of a covenant discipleship group. Some new direction is worthy of the power of this story.

Today in many ways is what I call the edge of tomorrow. Martin Marty, writing in the last issue of ‘‘The Christian Century” in 2001, wrote these words, “As we face each new year, we know there will be tears and dire prognoses ahead for many, and that any new year brings pains mixed with joys and downs mixed with ups. Most of us want to be ready for the challenge. We want ‘godliness with contentment’ mixed with ‘sacred restlessness.’ We also want a readiness for new adventures.[ii]

I’m ready for some new adventures in 2002. I hope you are as well. And all of these adventures revolve around a Child who is both the center and the circumference of your life.