Forty days after the birth of our Saviour, Mary and Joseph bring Jesus into the Jerusalem Temple, obedient to the Law of Moses: Mary to be purified after childbirth, and Joseph to offer the redemption of the firstborn son.
Malachi promised such a moment: “Behold, I will send my messenger, and he shall prepare the way before me: and the Lord, whom ye seek, shall suddenly come to his temple.” Malachi’s prophetic vision speaks of the Lord entering His Temple, a dramatic anticipation of Christ’s first temple visit. In saying “the Lord… shall suddenly come to His temple,” Malachi is pointing not merely to an idea of divine presence, but to a historical act in the life of Israel—the coming of Emmanuel into the midst of His people.
The early Church read the Gospel stories with the temple and its rites firmly in view. The Temple was understood not only as a place of worship but as the dwelling place of the Lord, the symbolic heart of creation and salvation history.
Luke’s account of the Presentation is replete with temple symbolism: Jesus is brought to the “House of the Lord,” fulfilling Levitical prescriptions for purification and firstborn redemption, yet His presence signifies far more than ritual compliance. The Messiah is coming into His own House not as a distant king in a palace, but as a humble child in arms, the true fulfilment of the Temple’s hope.
Mary and Joseph’s obedience to the Law underscores Jesus’s solidarity with human obedience and history. Simeon and Anna, too, embody the faithful of Israel who looked for the consolation of Israel, a consolation God Himself brings.
Simeon’s prophetic prayer, the Nunc Dimittis, is one of the richest canticles in all Scripture:
“Lord, now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace, according to thy word: For mine eyes have seen thy salvation…” This is not any sort of resignation. It is fulfilled hope. Simeon has seen the salvation prepared by God—a light of revelation to the Gentiles and the glory of Israel.
How do we hear Simeon’s prayer that he might “Depart in peace”? Debates around assisted dying are top of the news. We hear arguments couched in terms of autonomy, compassion, and control over one’s death.
One contemporary Philosopher, not writing from a specifically Christian background in response has said, admirably in my view:
At times, it can sound as if one is being offered a particularly relaxing spa treatment. With a pleasing ring of supportiveness, you are now being ‘assisted’ in achieving something, rather than being killed by a doctor or killing yourself.
Sarah Mullaly as Bishop of London, now of course confirmed in her election as Archbishop, said in the most recent debate in the Lords:
Much of the debate is about fear. Fear of pain, of illness, of dependency, of loss of control, being somehow unrecognisable to yourself and to others. But the challenge is that life is not something to be managed or limited when it becomes difficult. Life is often more than we can ever understand it to be. I believe in a God who’s very being is life, and in that gift we can discover meaning, dignity and innate worth, even if we are dying. To speak of God is to speak of one who is never indifferent to human fragility, but who holds it and tends it. That is why I believe that there is always hope: hope that what looks like an ending is not the last word. Hope that with proper care, support and research, dignity and compassion is still possible. It is this firm belief that compels me to resist this bill.
She speaks as a nurse who was very respected in that role. We might need to concede two things, first there is often over-intervention and treatment for the very ill, which unnecessarily prolongs suffering and might offer false hope.
There are also terrible failures in medical care and inadequacy of provision of really good palliative care. These subjects need to be recognised and addressed.
But the Christian understanding of a good and peaceful death does not seek to hasten death as an act of self-assertion.
Rather, it recognises life as a gift from God, a journey whose fullness is not measured by its duration alone but by faith lived within God’s covenant. True peace comes not from self-determination in leaving life but from resting in God’s promises, as Simeon did when he recognised God’s salvation in the face of Christ.
The Christian call is to accompany the dying, to offer compassionate care that respects the dignity of the human person until a natural end. Medical care in this country has been founded on this principle, and I feel bound to repeat this to the point of tedium.
The infant Jesus entered the Temple as the Light of the world and by his life, ministry, death and resurrection has conquered death itself.
As we depart today might Simeon’s prayer echo in our praises:
For mine eyes have seen : thy salvation,
Which thou hast prepared : before the face of all people;
To be a light to lighten the Gentiles :
and to be the glory of thy people Israel.
William Gulliford 1 February 2026