In the year 2000, a man named Stuart Manley, a used
bookstore owner in Northumberland, near the border
of England and Scotland, was sorting through a crate
of books purchased at auction when a sheet of paper
folded in half at the bottom of a box caught his eye.
He unfolded the paper to find a bright red poster with
the crown of King George VI at the top, and below it
in bold white letters words that read: Keep Calm and
Carry On.
Stuart Manley liked the poster. He had it framed, and
he hung it by the cash register in his bookstore. Only
in time did he learn the story. That sign was created
in 1939 by the British Ministry of Information, just
prior to the Blitz, when Nazi planes flew over Great
Britain every night for two months bombing London
and the surrounding areas. The world had never
seen anything like it: nightly air raid sirens, citizens
taking shelter in basements or subway stations, the
constant din of destruction, the daily death toll printed
in the newspaper. The British people lived in terror
for weeks on end. In preparation for the attacks they
expected were coming, the government had created
the posters, more than two million of them, portraying
the strong resolve that undergirded Winston Churchill’s
leadership in crisis.
But the posters had never been distributed. And soon
after the war they were all destroyed. Well… almost
all of them. Six decades later, in Stuart Manley’s
bookshop, people began to ask about that eyecatching sign. So, he had it reproduced, and the rest
is history. The original slogan and now thousands of
creative variations have popped up all over the world.
My personal favorite was the singlet I encountered
on the Monumental Race a few weeks ago that read,
“Keep Calm…and Run a Marathon.” And then there’s
this one: “Keep Calm and…Oh, Who are We Kidding?”
In an interview several years ago, Mary Manley, Stuart’s
wife, described the appeal this way. She said, “The
message is so simple, so clear, so without spin. ‘Keep
Calm and Carry On’ has turned out to have meaning not
just for a single people in one time of trouble, but for all
of us, everywhere, whatever our troubles.”i
Keep Calm and Carry On. A statement of bold defiance
in the face of tremendous adversity. An insistence
that better days are coming. A charge to persist in the
meantime. A message for the second Sunday in the
season of Advent.
Advent is not a lengthy season. That’s especially true
in 2024. Just sixteen days from now we will hear the
angel chorus, see the brilliant light of a shining star,
feel the thrill of hope as a weary world rejoices. The
trumpets will announce a new day dawning when even
the power-hungry king will shudder nervously in his
throne. Soon, and very soon, we will celebrate.
But there is a risk that we’ll get there too quickly.
Sometimes I wonder if we need to rescue Advent
from the encroachment of Christmas. When we look
to scripture’s account of the birth of Jesus, we might
expect to find the same kind of hectic hurry that we
experience this time each year. But that’s not what I
read in Luke’s Gospel. There is something altogether
different. There is a reverence for waiting. The story
is not in a rush. It lingers, giving Luke time to change
lenses and zoom in on individual faces, pausing
for moments of poetry that slow down the pace of
the prose, perhaps inviting us to Keep Calm and
Experience Advent.
This morning, those faces in Luke’s zoom lens belong
to Anna and Simeon, and you may not recall them.
I will not ask for a show of hands. They don’t make
the Christmas pageant. They will not appear in your
nativity scene. They show up too late, after the birth
of Jesus, when he is brought to the Temple, probably
on the eighth day after his birth for dedication and
circumcision. So, why bring them up now? Luke’s
introductions reveal the answer.
First, there is Simeon. For decades, this man of God
has been patiently, expectantly waiting for what Luke
calls the consolation of Israel, believing a promise that
he would see the Messiah before he sees death. But
the truth is, that promise came a long, long time ago.
We don’t know how old Simeon is, but we do know he
is contemplating his death, that he struggles to wait
for God’s redemption so that his life can finally end
in peace. Then, there is Anna the prophet. Married
for seven years as a girl. Widowed at a young age.
Now an elderly woman of eighty-four years, Anna
is a fixture in the temple. She is the consummate
church lady. She never leaves. Praying, fasting, hoping,
wondering, waiting.
And so, here we are, at the beginning of a story about
the birth of a baby, a new day dawning. And Luke gives
us these ancient voices telling old stories and singing
old songs and remembering old promises. And, when
Christmas comes, they are ready. These pillars of the
faith are prepared. The years of their waiting have
not been spent in vain. They have been an exercise in
patient preparation. The waiting is not something they
should have avoided, or overcome, or rushed past on
the way to the real thing. The waiting is necessary if the
gift is to be rightly received.
Anna and Simeon have something to teach us about
God’s gift of peace. It is not instantaneous. It does not
arrive on-demand. Peace is the work of a lifetime. And
the fulfillment of the promise is made sweeter by the
waiting that precedes it. Simeon and Anna welcome
the gift with grateful hearts and words of praise.
Waiting is hard. Spiritual waiting is challenging.
When things do not happen on our schedule, we
get frustrated. After all, we live in an era of instant
information and same-day delivery. We tend to distrust
what does not arrive immediately, including the
answers to our prayers. We want faith to be as efficient
as Amazon and as effective as artificial intelligence.
Otherwise, what’s the point?
Maybe this. Maybe waiting is a tool God uses to shape
us. Simeon lived a lifetime in the hope that God would
show up. And you can bet there were days he doubted.
Surely he considered giving up. But somehow that
vision, that promise, the Holy Spirit resting on him,
would not let him quit. He kept calm and carried on.
That’s the only reason he’s there the day Jesus is
brought to the Temple in his parents’ arms.
And, when the child is placed in the old man’s hands,
Simeon knows just what to say. He sings a hymn of
praise for God’s faithfulness. He speaks words of
benediction for this baby and his parents.
Simeon speaks a blessing. My eyes have seen your
salvation, your light, your glory. Simeon himself is
blessed by the fulfillment of the promise. But you
see, God’s blessing is not an object to be possessed
or a commodity to be hoarded. The wonder of God’s
blessing is that it only multiplies when it is shared. Like
manna in the wilderness kept to ourselves, the blessing
of God will rot in our hands. But offered to somebody
else, it is magnified by the distribution. We are blessed
to bless others with the promise of God’s saving power.
Among the myriad gifts of ministry, few mean more than
the privilege of offering God’s blessing. We do it in times
of grief and pain and in moments of joyful celebration.
In the waters of baptism. Child of God, you belong to
Jesus Christ forever. A blessing.
At moments of commitment shared at the top of
the chancel. In plenty and in want... till death do us
part. Blessing.
And when this mortal journey has ended. O God,
receive her now into the arms of your mercy, into the
glorious company of the saints in light. Blessing.
On the journey of faith, we mark milestones and
moments with words of blessing. Some of the most
memorable for me are not those I have spoken, but the
ones I have received. One I will never forget took place
right here. The day I was installed at Second six years
ago last month, our son Samuel—five years old at the
time—made the sign of the cross on my forehead and
spoke these words: “Bless you, Daddy.” That moment
lives in my heart. I have returned to it often. You see,
we’ve been through some stuff together since that
service of installation in 2018. At every stage, that
simple promise has sustained me. Shaped me. Bless
you, Daddy. A promise that God’s strength is enough.
Enough to Keep Calm and Carry On.
Simeon’s blessing does include a warning. You see,
this man has lived too long to be naïve. He knows that
this child, this perfect picture of God’s unconditional
love, will be opposed by those who walk in darkness
and despise the light. Painful days lie ahead. There will
be violence and hatred. There will be corruption and a
cross. But somehow the blessing spoken will persist.
Truth crushed to the earth will rise again. And so, old
Simeon can now depart this life in peace.
Peace. That’s the word today. It’s what Simeon waited
his whole life to experience. And now, the promise
secured, the child held in his hands, Simeon will die
in peace.
But the journey goes on. The long road to peace lies
ahead for us. You see, the blessing of the baby is only
the beginning. It will be given away. It must be given
away if it is to survive. And that is your call this season
and in the time to come. There are those among us in
desperate need, and they belong to us. We belong to
them. As you wait, share this blessing. Keep Calm and
Carry On the Work of Peace. Amen.