Holding the Light While We Wait

The Presentation of the Lord (Candlemas)
Malachi 3:1–4 · Hebrews 2:14–18 · Luke 2:22–40

The Feast of the Presentation of the Lord stands at a quiet threshold in the Church year.
Behind us are the lights and songs of Christmas.
Ahead of us lies the long road toward the Cross.

Candlemas is not a loud feast. It is a listening one.
It is about waiting. And it is especially about waiting when life has already known sorrow. The God Who Comes to Refine, Not to Flee
(Malachi 3:1–4)

The prophet Malachi announces with confidence:

“The Lord whom you seek will suddenly come to his temple.”

But he immediately asks a harder question:

“Who can endure the day of his coming?”

God’s presence, Malachi reminds us, is not always easy.

It is refining fire.
It is fuller’s soap.

Not because God wishes to destroy, but because God desires to heal what has been distorted. For those who carry grief, this matters.
God’s refining work is not proof of abandonment.
Often, it is proof of nearnes,
working quietly where words and explanatnearness,

In Luke’s Gospel, Mary and Joseph bring Jesus to the Temple because the Law requires it. There is no spectacle. No miracle. No recognition—at least not yet.
They bring the offering of the poor. They do what is expected.

This is deeply important.
For many who grieve or wait, faith is not dramatic.
It is simply showing up.
Carrying what we have.
Offering what we can.
And it is precisely here—
in ordinary faithfulness—
that God is revealed.

Waiting That Has Been Wounded
Simeon has been waiting a long time. Luke describes him as righteous and devout, waiting for the consolation of Israel.
His waiting is not naïve.
It has endured disappointment.
When he takes the child into his arms, he says words the Church has prayed for centuries:



Salvation is not explained.
It is held. Yet Simeon does not soften the truth:
“This child is destined for the falling and rising of many…and a sword will pierce your own soul also.”
Faith does not spare Mary from pain. It does not spare us either. But it promises that pain will not be meaningless— and that it will not be endured alone.

Faithfulness in Long Grief
Then there is Anna. Widowed early.
Faithful for decades.
Luke tells us she never leaves the Temple,
serving God with fasting and prayer. Anna does not erase her grief. She brings it into God’s presence. She shows us that grief can become a place of dwelling, not exile.
And when she sees the child, she gives thanks.
Not because her past is undone— but because God has entered her story.

God Knows Suffering from the Inside
The Letter to the Hebrews gives voice to the deep comfort of this feast:

“Since the children share flesh and blood,
he himself likewise shared the same.”

God does not redeem humanity from a distance.
God enters vulnerability.
God shares suffering.
God faces death.
“Because he himself was tested by what he suffered,
he is able to help those who are being tested.” This is not abstract theology. It is assurance for those who wait in pain, loss, or uncertainty: God knows this life from the inside.


Today, candles are blessed.
Not because light makes grief disappear— but because it stays.
The light of Christ does not rush healing. It does not demand resolution. It waits.
It teaches us that hope is sometimes nothing more
than the courage to remain present.

A Word for Those Who Are Waiting
If you are waiting today—
waiting for peace,
waiting for healing,
waiting for answers that have not come—
this feast speaks gently to you. God comes not only to the strong, but to the weary.
God comes not only in certainty, but in fragile trust.
And sometimes faith is simply holding the light,
even when the night feels long.

Like Simeon, may we learn to wait without despair.
Like Anna, may we remain faithful without bitterness.
And like Mary, may we trust that even what pierces us
will not be the final word.
The Lord has come to his Temple. And he has not left.

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