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 him 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.” Luke 2:27-32
This Sunday marks forty days since Christ’s birth, a minor feast known as the Presentation of the Lord. On this day, we recall Mary and Joseph bringing Jesus to the temple, fulfilling Jewish law. There, they encounter Anna, a prophetess who cannot help but proclaim the redemption of Israel upon seeing the child.
Simeon, too, greets them. He has one desire before he dies: to see the Lord’s Messiah. When Jesus and his parents arrive, he responds with a poignant farewell: “Master, now you are dismissing your servant in peace” (Luke 2:29). This passage, known as the Nunc Dimittis (Latin for “Now let depart”), is the traditional gospel canticle for compline—the final prayer service of the day—offered as a way of entrusting the past day to God.
I always feel nostalgic when this feast comes around. During my internship in the 1980s, I served at St. Simeon’s Lutheran Church, a small inner-city congregation in one of Philadelphia’s poorest neighborhoods. Though small, the church played a vital role in resettling over 100 Hmong refugee families after the Vietnam War. The white stole I wear was lovingly embroidered by the women of that congregation and given to me at my ordination.
Simeon and Anna remind me to honor the elders who have shaped my life. Their patience and wisdom stand in contrast to a world that often rushes toward quick solutions and instant gratification.
I remember Gerry Rakow, the council president of my first congregation, who passed away last year. Much like Simeon, Gerry devoted his love and attention to our church after his wife’s passing and his children had grown. He was a true Renaissance man—he sewed his own clothes, tended a masterful garden, and even crafted the cross above our altar from old church pews. A calm and steady presence, he led our Property Committee, a team of retired tradesmen who would gather each month over coffee and pastries before rewiring the building or resurfacing the parking lot.
Gerry was also the first non-family member I told when I began dating Cindy. A pastor dating can be awkward for a congregation, but since Cindy was consulting with us on a senior housing project like Lutheran Towers, I felt transparency was important. When I shared the news, Gerry was delighted. His blessing reassured me that my relationship with Cindy was bound to last.
Growing old is a privilege, but becoming an elder is a calling. It requires time, patience, and the courage to trust in promises, even in the face of doubt and opposition.
Who are the elders you remember and honor today?
