The Presentation of the Lord: (Sermon for 1st February 2026 - Candlemas)

preached by Mother Lucie Spiers, Assistant Curate - Malachi 3: 1-4, Hebrews 2: 14-18, Luke 2: 22-32.

Today, we heard a story from the Gospel of Luke which happened in the great temple in Jerusalem, over two thousand years ago.

Picture this: A young couple, Mary and Joseph, bring their baby to the temple. They're doing what Jewish parents did in those days—presenting their firstborn to God. It's a normal day, a family doing what countless families had done before.

But waiting in the temple is an old man named Simeon. He's been waiting a very long time for this moment. When he sees the baby Jesus, something extraordinary happens. He takes the child in his arms, and he prays one of the most beautiful prayers in all of scripture—the prayer our choir sang as we lit our candles, the Nunc Dimittis: ‘Lord, now let your servant depart in peace.’ Simeon recognises that his whole life has been leading to this moment. And he says something remarkable about this baby: he calls Jesus ‘a light to lighten the Gentiles.’

Now, if we'd read a bit further in the gospel, we'd meet someone else - Anna, an elderly widow who also comes to give thanks to God. You can see her in this picture. Two very old people, perhaps a bit forgotten, certainly on the edges of temple life. Yet here they are, right at the centre of God's story.

So who were these "Gentiles" that Simeon talks about? In those days, the Gentiles were everyone who wasn't Jewish - the outsiders, the ones who didn't belong to God's chosen people. They were the strangers, the foreigners, the different ones.

And here is Simeon, holding a baby, saying: This child is for them. This light shines for those who don't think they belong. That's revolutionary. That changes everything. Because our world is still very full of people who don't think they belong.

They might be people from different countries, with different cultures and languages and values. They might be the children who feel they don't fit in at school, who sit alone at lunch, who aren't picked for the team. They might be people who are poor, or struggling, or just... different from us in ways that make us uncomfortable. They might be the person you don’t think is interesting enough. The one whose clothes aren't quite right, whose interests seem odd. That doesn’t belong.

The feast the Church celebrates today—Candlemas, the Presentation of Christ in the Temple—is the feast of Jesus for the non-belongers. Sometimes these non-belongers are people quite close to us. Like Simeon and Anna—just two old people in the temple whom most people probably walked right past.

Sometimes they're people on the other side of the world, living lives so different from ours that it's easier not to think about them at all. Jesus is the one who brings the forgotten, the ignored, the shut-out people into the circle of light.

So here's the question: Where have we forgotten people? Where have we ignored them? Where have our fears of those who don't belong stopped us from reaching out? Maybe you can think of someone right now. Someone you've walked past. Someone you've avoided. Someone who you maybe didn’t like at first.

It's natural to be unsure of people whom we don’t know well or seem different to us, people we don't understand. Often we're afraid because we think we don't have enough - not enough time, not enough energy, not enough compassion or generosity. We worry that if we give to one more person, we'll run out.

And that's why the symbol of fire and light we see all around us is so powerful. Think about it: When you light one candle from another candle, the first candle doesn't get dimmer, does it? There isn't less light in the first candle. Instead, now you have two lights instead of one. Fire kindles fire. Light kindles light. Flame kindles flame.

If  I light one more candle or 1000 candles, my candle’s flame stays the same.

Again and again in Christian writing, this image returns. When God sets the world on fire with his love - through the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus, and through the gift of the Holy Spirit - there isn't any less of God at the end. But there's a lot more of us ablaze with that love.

God's love is not exhausted. It doesn't run out. It doesn't get used up.

Now, we're not God - it's important to remember that! So our love does struggle. Our compassion does grow weary. Our patience does run thin. We get exhausted.

But here's what we can trust: At the heart of everything is a love that does not struggle and is not exhausted. A love that kindles with equal force and warmth, life after life after life, and continues to give. God’s love. That is the love by which we all exist. That is the love we all seek to express, however imperfectly, in our welcome of those who don't belong.

So what does this mean for us?

It means that when we meet the one we may have overlooked, the one we think odd, the one who makes us uncomfortable, we can remember: God's love for them is exactly as fierce and complete as God's love for us. It means that when we're tempted to look away from someone in need, we can ask for the kindling fire of God's love to give our hearts and imaginations a bit more strength.

It means that whether you're 8 or 18 or 80 or 90, you can be part of bringing people into the circle of light. Maybe it starts small. Maybe it's sitting next to someone who usually sits alone. Maybe it's learning someone's name whom you've always walked past. Maybe it's just being kinder to the person right in front of you.

As we reflect on that scene in the Jerusalem temple over two thousand years ago—that baby, those two old people, that prayer - let us think of all those who feel they don't belong.

And let us pray for the kindling fire of God's love to give us the strength and imagination to go on giving. To go on welcoming. To go on, including all the ones who don't think they belong.

Because for God's love, there is never any person or situation beyond its reach. For God, there are no insiders or outsiders. There are only those for whose well-being and company God is eternally and fierily – passionate about.