I’ve always been amused by that cartoon image of a lightbulb appearing over someone’s head when they are struck by a bright new idea: a moment of epiphany.
As I get older, my overly busy brain often drops and loses my new ideas, and it feels like a candle’s light is snuffed out. But, hey, I don’t mind too much; I know I am easily distracted. And many more bright creative thoughts will probably pop into my head during the day.
My real problem relates to kindness and compassion: the building blocks of love.
When I am inundated with too much multi-tasking, I know my capacity for compassion and care sometimes get snuffed out. I overlook body language, tone of voice and sometimes the actual words people are saying to me.
I know I can be inattentive, and there must be many times when others shake their heads and say, “Dave is distracted again; he’s not here; he’s got his head in the clouds (or in his device!).” And I need to try to remember, even when distracted, to express compassion, care and love.
This past Advent I had the opportunity to witness once again, the primary learning that I have had in my life for compassion, care, and love. The Third week of Advent I travelled to be with my parents, to support them as my mum was recovering from a stroke. They have known each other for 77 years and been married for 67. The depth of their compassion, understanding, and love has not abated during this time. Their faithfulness to each other, to their family, and to God is evident in the manner they share their lives with each other and the world. Even though age, malady, stroke and dementia has affected them, their eyes light up as the beauty of candlelight, when they are in each other’s presence, and when they interact with family face to face.
I am thankful for their life and witness, and how they bring the expression of love into their daily lives, through word, gesture, eye contact and hugs. Even through my mum’s dementia, her eyes light up when one of us says ‘I love you mum.’ Even in the precarity of dad’s walking ability, his voice and tone when he offers prayer and a blessing resound deep in my soul.
This month in Liturgy and Scripture we remember the presentation of Jesus in the Temple. In the story, the infant Jesus is cradled by two wise sages: the prophetess Anna, and the aging Simeon. They have been hoping for redemption for themselves, their people, and their land. They have spent a lifetime praying and caring and hoping — living a life that reflects cradling compassion and love. In that moment both Simeon and Anna are embracing the very One who personifies hope, compassion and redemption for the entire world.
When I look at my parents, I think of Anna and Simeon in the Temple. I see faithfulness lived out and shared daily — not only through their life in the church but also in their home, and throughout their world. Their example has lit up a path of discovery, of love, of forgiveness, of meaning for so many who may have encountered and befriended them.
This month many will bless and light candles to remember Anna and Simeon. We remember the infant Jesus, and the presence of Jesus in our lives, in our hearts, and in the world. We remember Anna and Simeon’s patience, persistence, belief and compassion. We cannot embrace Jesus physically in our arms like they did, but we can be cradles of His love and reflect His compassion in our daily life and work. We can be like them, as I see personified in my mum and dad.
The next time I have a bright new idea, the next time I hold a candle, the next time I talk to someone, may I be ever aware of the presence of God among us and God within us. May I be helped to be patient, caring and compassionate. May I remember that others will look to me, and possibly see a face of love, a face of God’s child.
