Jenny’s letter 1st February
Dear Friends,
As we reach the Last Sunday of Epiphany, I find myself doing a small but symbolic task: putting away the crib. Even the most stubborn shepherds and wise ones must return to their box. The light of Epiphany does not disappear, but it changes. Very soon, Lent will be upon us, and the church will shift again – from revelation to reflection, from glory to the long road towards the cross.
This Sunday we remember the Presentation of Christ in the Temple. Mary and Joseph bring the infant Jesus, not with fanfare or power, but with the offering of the poor. And there, waiting patiently, are Simeon and Anna – two elders who have lived long enough to know disappointment, uncertainty, and hope deferred. They have seen empires rise and fall.
They know the weight of Roman occupation, the anxiety of their people, and the fragility of peace. When Simeon takes the child in his arms, he speaks words that still echo through history:
“My eyes have seen your salvation,
a light for revelation to the Gentiles
and the glory of your people Israel.” (Luke 2:30–32)
It is striking that this moment of hope comes not through political change, military strength, or loud certainty, but through a vulnerable child. Simeon does not claim that everything will now be easy – indeed, he speaks honestly of pain and division – but he recognises that God is present and at work, even when the world feels unstable.
Many of us feel that instability keenly at the moment. There is widespread anxiety about global affairs: uncertainty around leadership in the United States, fear of Russian aggression, and a sense that the world is shifting in ways we have “never seen in our lifetime”.
These feelings are real, and they are not faithless. The world Jesus was born into was also anxious, divided, and afraid. Yet Simeon and Anna remind us of something profound: hope is often quiet. It requires waiting. It asks for faithfulness rather than certainty. Anna does not preach; she prays. Simeon does not organise resistance; he trusts God’s promises.
As we prepare to enter Lent, perhaps we are invited to do the same. To carry our concerns honestly before God. To resist despair. To watch and wait for the light that does not shout, but shines steadily.
“The light shines in the darkness,
and the darkness did not overcome it.” (John 1:5)
May we, like Simeon and Anna, have eyes to see Christ among us – in worship, in service, and in one another – and courage to hold hope, even when the world feels uncertain.
With every blessing,
