There is something deeply moving about Simeon. We know very little about his life. We do not know his occupation, his family, or even how old he was. St. Luke simply tells us that he was “righteous and devout,” that he was awaiting the consolation of Israel, and that the Holy Spirit was upon him. God had made him a promise that he would not see death until he had seen the Messiah.
We can imagine how long Simeon waited. Day after day, year after year, he carried that promise in his heart. Many people must have entered the Temple during those years. Many children must have been brought there by their parents. Simeon continued to wait because he trusted the promise of God.
Then one day, Mary and Joseph entered carrying an ordinary-looking child. There were no trumpets, no royal procession, nothing outwardly extraordinary about this poor family entering the Temple. Yet Simeon recognized what many others could not see. He took the Child into his arms and blessed God, saying, “Now, Master, you may let your servant go in peace, according to your word, for my eyes have seen your salvation.”
Notice what Simeon did not say. He did not say, “Lord, now I have accomplished everything I wanted.” He did not say, “Now I have become successful,” or “Now all my problems have disappeared.” He simply said, “My eyes have seen your salvation.” For Simeon, seeing Christ was enough. Ver es descansar. To see is to rest.
This is something our generation needs to rediscover. We spend much of our lives waiting for something before allowing ourselves to be at peace. I will be happy when I have enough money, be at peace when my problems are solved, will be content when people appreciate me. I will rest when my children are successful and I will be so happy when my health improves. There always seems to be one more condition before we permit ourselves to say, “Now I am at peace.”
Simeon teaches us another way. Peace does not necessarily come when everything in life has been settled. Peace comes when, in the middle of everything that remains unsettled, we know that Christ is with us. This becomes even clearer when Simeon turns to Mary and tells her that her Child will be “a sign that will be contradicted” and that a sword will pierce her own heart. The Child whom Simeon calls salvation will also bring contradiction, while the Mother who carries the Savior will one day carry tremendous sorrow in her heart.
Christian faith does not promise us a painless life. Christ does not come simply to remove every cross. Fidelity to Him can bring misunderstanding, rejection, sacrifice, and suffering. Jesus Himself was contradicted. Mary was pierced by sorrow. The apostles suffered, and the martyrs gave their lives. Yet Simeon could still speak of peace.
That is the mystery. Christian peace is not the absence of the sword. It is knowing that even when the sword comes, God has not abandoned us. Christian peace is not the absence of tears. It is knowing whom we can trust while we are crying. It is not having every question answered. It is being able to place our unanswered questions into the hands of God.
There will come a moment for each one of us when we must say our own Nunc Dimittis: “Now, Master, you may let your servant go in peace.” We do not know when that moment will come. What matters is whether, when it comes, we can also say with Simeon, “My eyes have seen your salvation.”
At the end of life, many things that seem terribly important today will become very small. Our possessions will remain behind. Positions and titles will no longer matter. Compliments and criticisms will become distant memories. Even many of the worries that consume us now will finally lose their power over us. One question will remain: Did I recognize Christ when He came into my life?
Simeon recognized Him in the arms of Mary. We are asked to recognize Him in the Eucharist, in His Word, in the poor, in the person asking for forgiveness, in the family member who needs our patience, in the sick who needs our presence, and sometimes even in the crosses we would rather avoid. They are God’s presence in this modern world.
May we not spend our whole lives looking for peace in things that cannot finally give it. May we learn from Simeon to wait faithfully, to recognize Christ when He comes, and to hold Him close to our hearts. Whether our remaining years are many or few, whether they bring joy or a sword that pierces the heart, we need not live in fear. If our eyes have truly seen Christ, then our eyes have already seen our salvation.
When our own final hour comes, may we also be able to whisper with Simeon, “Now, Master, you may let your servant go in peace, according to your word, for my eyes have seen your salvation.”
“Ver es descansar.” To see Christ is finally to rest.