Simeon’s Blessing | The Consolation of Israel
I had a beautiful Advent reflection on Simeon’s blessing ready to share today. Then I woke up and saw the headlines. Blood crying out from the sand on Bondi Beach. I could not post my original devotion on the consolation of Israel while Israel lay slain among the nations.
This reflection is part 3 of “A Messianic Advent,” a series exploring the first songs of the Messiah’s coming through the songs and words of those who waited — and still wait — for Israel’s redemption. I write it in the shadow of fresh violence, when Jewish lives were taken, reminding us that the consolation Simeon longed for is not a distant idea, but a hope still fiercely needed.
Luke 2:25–32
“Now, Sovereign Lord, You may let Your servant depart in peace,
for my eyes have seen Your salvation,
which You have prepared in the presence of all peoples,
a light for revelation to the Gentiles,
and for glory to Your people Israel.”
The Consolation of Israel
I had a beautiful Advent reflection on Simeon’s blessing ready to share today. Then I woke up and saw the headlines.
Men and women gathered to celebrate Hanukkah. Eleven of them lay dead. Dozens more wounded. Blood crying out from the sand on Bondi Beach.
I could not post my original devotion on the consolation of Israel while Israel lay slain among the nations.
The Great Temptation of Advent
One of the great temptations of the Christian season of Advent is to reduce it to something personal and private: my longing, my peace, my comfort, my joy.
Its easy to tell the story of Jesus’ birth as though it exists primarily to soothe individual pain, offering encouragement for hard times, reassurance of forgiveness, or a quiet refuge from the “Christmas hustle” we’ve brought upon ourselves. Advent becomes inward, detached from history, severed from the suffering of real people, and insulated from blood and grief.
Simeon’s words do not allow that.
Yes, Simeon experienced deep personal joy. Yes, he was ready to die in peace. But his blessing was never merely private. He rejoiced because what he held in his arms was “prepared in the presence of all peoples.” The birth of the Messiah was a public, world-altering event—unfolding in history, aimed first at the healing of a people and land who had endured centuries of oppression, humiliation, and violence at the hands of jealous empires.
Simeon had waited for the consolation of Israel—not as an abstraction, but as the long-promised act of God to draw near again, lift his people’s shame, and end their exile.
Those who died today—celebrating Hanukkah, a celebration of rededication, God’s faithfulness, and light in the darkness—were living in exile, in dispersion. Australia may have been their home, but it is not the land of safety and abundance God promised to their ancestors. And today, with tragic clarity, we saw why: they were not safe. They were targeted. They were attacked because they are the rightful inheritors of the holy promise.
This is what antisemitism is: hostility toward the Jewish people, the land of Israel, and the covenant that marks them. Hatred not merely of individuals or of a religion, but of a divenly chosen people bound to the eternal promises of the Creator God.
A Light for the Nations and the Glory of Israel
Yet Simeon did not believe hatred in the shadow of death would be the perpetual fate of Israel.
The tiny child placed into his aging arms would be “a light for revelation to the Gentiles, and glory for Your people Israel.” The two hopes were not in competition. They were inseparable. The revelation to the nations would rise from Israel’s consolation—consolation we are still, with unceasing sorrow and deep anguish, waiting to see in its fullness.
Simeon carried a stubborn hope that refused to die, even when the promise seemed buried beneath centuries of bloodshed and delay. He was not waiting for comfort in general. He was waiting for the Comforter himself—for God to return to his dwelling place among his people.
In his day, he knew the time for Messiah was near. So when the child was placed in his arms, Simeon could speak shalom—right there in the Temple courts. Courts ruled by Rome. Courts marked by corruption. Courts standing at the crossroads of occupation and longing, while many Jews still lived scattered among the nations.
Simeon was ready because he had been watching.
As the prophet once wrote:
“Walking in the way of Your laws, we wait for You;
Your name and renown are the desire of our hearts.”
(Isaiah 26:8–9)
Simeon’s life embodied that waiting: righteous, devout, eyes fixed on the promises of God. And years later, the grown rabbi he once held as a baby would echo the same truth to his own disciples:
“Blessed are those servants whom the master finds watching when he comes.”
(Luke 12:37)
Advent Reflection | Eyes that See
As we watch with horror and lament, joining Rachel as she weeps for her children, we who trust in the Lord must ask ourselves:
Are we prepared to be watchers like Simeon too?
Are we waiting for the consolation of the people through whom the light of salvation has come to us?
Or has our Advent grown disconnected from the world and people God is still redeeming?
Jesus was not born into a sanitized story. He was born into violence, occupation, and a blood-soaked history.
He was born to redeem the people who died on Bondi Beach today.
And—unbearably—for the people who killed them.
He was born to end this exile.
For Simeon, peace was not the absence of conflict. It was the presence of the one who will one day bring it. He did not see an escape from the world’s brutality; he saw the beginning of its healing. Yeshua—salvation—was not an evasion of violence, but the beginning of God’s decision to confront it and bring it to it’s ultimate end.
This is the mystery of the Messianic Advent: the consolation of one hated, wounded people becomes the hope of all creation.
The righteous, devout watchers—people like Simeon—will see it. Not because of anything they have done, but because of what God has done.
“My eyes have seen Your salvation.”
Oh Lord, that ours would see it too.
May those who have lost loved ones in this horrific attack find some measure of comfort and peace. May the memory of those whose lives were taken be for a blessing.
Tonight as we light the candles, we will do so mourning with those who mourn, binding up the brokenhearted in with our prayers. But we remain firm that the light of our testimony will shine brighter and brighter as the gospel kingdom continues to unfold—through sorrow, through waiting, and toward the light of the final redemption in these dark and evil days.
This reflection is part of “A Messianic Advent,” a five-part series tracing the songs and voices surrounding the Messiah’s birth. Up next: Anna’s Witness | The Redemption of Jerusalem. How it is so, desperately, needed.
When Captives are Set Free
When captives are set free, we rejoice—but the silence that followed October 7 reveals how deeply the church needs repentance, courage, and faith.
Two years ago, in the final hours of the biblical holiday Sukkot—the Festival of Tabernacles—the nation of Israel was brutally attacked. More than 1,200 people were murdered, and 251 civilians were taken hostage.
One week ago, in the first hours of Sukkot this year, I gathered with a few others to pray for the peace of Jerusalem—and especially for the fate of those still held captive.
Today, in the final hours of Sukkot, all of the living hostages were released.
That is a miracle.
Praise be to the God who has not forgotten—and will never forget—his people.
“The whole company that had returned from exile built temporary shelters and lived in them. From the days of Joshua son of Nun until that day, the Israelites had not celebrated it like this. And their joy was very great.”
— Nehemiah 8:17–18
The Wounds That Remain
Two years of war have marred the land and the people who call it home. Though the gunfire may grow quiet, the wider war unleashed globally on October 7, 2023, remains unresolved.
Hamas’s attack left families shattered. Iran has attempted to annihilate Israel multiple times directly and through its proxies on every side. The entire civilian population has lived in-and-out of bomb shelters or displaced from their homes altogether, while the young soldiers of the IDF have faced unimaginable danger to bring the captives home.
While Hamas hid behind their own children—in schools, hospitals, and UN facilities—the IDF stood in front of them to defend their nation and innocent life. 891 Israeli soldiers have been killed. The grief is deep. And yet, in the midst of so much death, God has answered prayer.
When the war subsides, I pray that all who call Israel home—Israeli and Arab—can find some measure of rest. But the trauma will remain for a long time, and the ache of what was lost will not easily fade.
The Silence That Spoke Louder
It is the silence that will be most difficult for me to forget—the near-total absence of moral clarity from much of the Western world, and from mainstream Christianity, including Christian media and the voices of prominent leaders, both national and local. I wish it were not the case, but that silence only amplified the volume of death chants and calls for Israel’s annihilation, nourishing fertile soil for antisemitism’s resurgence across the world.
It grieves me to say that in the past two years, I have never been more ashamed to be connected with Christianity. At the same time, I have never been more committed to live faithfully within it.
I have prayed often for God’s forgiveness, that he would soften the church and draw us to corporate repentance. No one is beyond his mercy, but I fear many hearts have hardened against his word.
The Cost of Silence
In the past two years, Christianity has shown that it prefers private reflection to collective repentance, indifference to conviction, and solitary prayer to shared intercession. We are told to speak less, avoid controversy, and “focus on Jesus.” Yet to be the peacemakers our Lord blessed means stepping into places that are anything but peaceful.
I fear that much of Christian leadership has remained silent not out of a desire to lead well, but out of refusal to lead when it matters most. In the face of evil, many have stood speechless—some from ignorance, some from unbelief, and some from fear.
It has come at a devastating cost.
It has left Jewish believers feeling abandoned by the Body of Messiah that claims to be grafted into their story.
It has emboldened the wicked, convincing them that a weak-kneed Church will not contend for truth when truth is costly.
It has confused a watching world—people who do not know Jesus—who now see a faith unwilling to name evil unless it is fashionable or politically convenient.
And perhaps most tragically, it has profaned our witness to the God of Abraham—the God we worship—who hears the blood of Abel crying out from the ground.
On the matter of Israel, Christian leadership confused silence for virtue and neutrality for wisdom in the very place where God has spoken most clearly. The Prophets would weep. Like the complacent of Amos’s day, we were not “grieved over the ruin of Joseph” (Amos 6:6).
But taking a political or theological stance that has no place for Israel does not grant us license to avoid naming evil for what it is—especially when that evil wounds the very people through whom our faith first came, including many Jewish followers of Jesus.
Yet the silence of many has made the courage of a few all the more radiant. I am deeply encouraged by the pastors, leaders, and ordinary believers who have chosen to speak and act with both righteousness and compassion. They have endured opposition and public shame, yet have stood firm in calling the nations to bless Israel, pray for her peace, and intercede for her enemies and all innocents in the crossfire.
Faithful in the Face of Evil
As believers, we are not called to outrage, activism, or to turn our pulpits into political platforms. But we are called to condemn evil, to cling to what is good, and to take up the cause of the vulnerable as if it were our own.
Every generation faces the spirit of Amalek. In ours, it looks like Hamas. It looks like the attack on the Manchester synagogue on Yom Kippur. It looks like the emboldened darkness that now calls good evil and evil good. Yet even as we name evil for what it is, we must guard our hearts from becoming what we condemn.
You can grieve loss on every side.
You can pray for the peace of Jerusalem without condoning every political or military action.
You can mourn innocent lives and still believe God’s covenant stands.
And while we wait for his justice, our call remains the same: to love what God loves, to stand where he stands, and to hope in what he has promised.
The Deliverer Who Will Come
Today, I rejoice in the release of the captives and the glimpse of relative stability, prayerfully, returning to the land. I also grieve the tragic witness the church has offered in these days.
But the story of captivity is not over.
Jesus echoed the prophets, who foresaw a final day when Israel would again be surrounded by the nations. Just as God raised up deliverers in Egypt, we hold a blessed hope that he will send his Messiah once more—not as the suffering servant, but as the king who brings justice and peace.
When that day comes, it won’t be a peace deal brokered by pompous and fallen diplomats. It will be Jesus Messiah who sets free the captives and brings the Lord’s favor, forever.
Until then, we rejoice greatly in the God who never forgets what he swore.
Psalm 126
When the Lord restored the fortunes of Zion,
we were like those who dreamed.
Our mouths were filled with laughter,
our tongues with songs of joy.
Then it was said among the nations,
“The Lord has done great things for them.”
The Lord has done great things for us,
and we are filled with joy.
Those who sow with tears
will reap with songs of joy.
Those who go out weeping,
carrying seed to sow,
will return with songs of joy,
carrying sheaves with them.
All scripture quotations are ESV.
What Does It Mean to Stand With Israel?
As bombs flew over Iran toward Israeli soil, the world watched, unsurprised, as the Iron Dome lit up the sky.
As bombs flew over Iran toward Israeli soil, the world watched, unsurprised, as the Iron Dome lit up the sky. The scales of the Middle East shifted again, deepening the political and humanitarian nightmare. Christians look on with questions:
How should believers respond to the events in the Middle East?
Should we pay attention, and why?
Are biblical prophecies unfolding?
Is Jesus coming back soon?
Do we take a side—and if so, which one?
Among Christians who “stand with Israel,” many do so from sincere compassion. They recognize Hamas’s attacks as evil and stand with the Jewish people because of their pain. Others are motivated by politics—Israel is our ally, so we defend her. Still others stand because Israel factors into “end-time” events, wanting to be on the Lion of Judah’s side when the Day of the Lord comes.
Covenant Connection
This relationship is central to Scripture yet often overlooked—or denied—in Christian teaching. If we stand with Israel only for politics, compassion, or eschatology, we risk missing the heart of the Father.
To stand with Israel as Gentile followers of Jesus means embracing a covenantal connection with the Jewish people.
As believers, if we only stand with Israel because we are politically motivated to do so, or because we don't want innocent people to get hurt, or because we have a static, eschatological-only use for the land of Israel and the Jewish people, then unfortunately, I believe we are standing for the wrong thing. Our sentiments may be well-intended, but alone they are alienating us from the Jewish people and from the heart of the Father Himself.
“Covenant” may sound vague or religious, but the Bible is clear: God is knitting believers from the nations together with His chosen people, Israel. For as much as we quote the book of Ephesians, it often seems as though we have missed it's central point:
“…remember that you [non-Jews] were once separated from Messiah, alienated from the commonwealth of Israel and strangers to the covenants of promise, having no hope and without God in the world. But now in Messiah Jesus you [non-Jews] who once were far off have been brought near by the blood of Messiah. For he himself is our peace, who has made us both [Jew and non-Jew] one…that he might create in himself one new man in place of the two, so making peace…you can perceive my insight into the mystery of Messiah…This mystery is that the Gentiles are fellow heirs, members of the same body, and partakers of the promise in Messiah Jesus through the good news.
Ephesians 2:12-16, 3:4-6 (paraphrase)
God, in his great wisdom, is unveiling a new man made up of every tribe, nation, and language, that originates in Jesus, the Jewish Messiah, and grows from the root of the Jewish people.
It's easy to translate this to "Jews accept Jesus, get saved, convert to Christianity, and join the body of Christ." But that is a backwards understanding of the text.
Instead, it is Gentile believers who join themselves to Israel’s God through her Messiah. God has a plan to redeem the nation of Israel and the Jewish people and reveal himself to them by his timing and design. God has always invited non-Jews to play an intricate part in that plan while retaining their unique ethnic identities.
God Has Not Forsaken Israel
Israel is precious to God—the apple of his eye, his firstborn, the people on whom he set his love. Nothing has changed since the days God spoke those words through Moses and the prophets. It didn't change at the cross or the resurrection, and it remains unchanged today.
But many Christians have not been taught this. We’ve been taught that the Bible’s story centers on us and our sin, with Jesus offering forgiveness and heaven. Yet on Israel and her Messiah, the Bible presents a far bigger story—one many of us are unprepared to receive.
Paul warns Gentile believers not to become arrogant:
“Israel has experienced a hardening in part until the full number of the Gentiles has come in…what will their acceptance be but life from the dead? … Do not consider yourself superior to the other branches. You do not support the root, but the root supports you” (Romans 11, paraphrase).
This is not a “free pass” for Israel. Paul trusts God’s plan to bring them to redemption and warns Gentiles to honor the root that supports them.
The prophets echo the same call. Amos rebuked those who “do not grieve over the ruin of Joseph” while living in comfort (Amos 6). The Psalms call us to “pray for the peace of Jerusalem” (Psalm 122). Like Ruth cleaving to Naomi, or Jonathan binding himself to David, those who fear God seek the good of his people, even in their darkest hour.
A Covenant Stance
To stand with Israel as believers means committing ourselves to God’s purposes for his chosen people regardless of their nation’s current condition. We can adopt shoulder-to-shoulder stance of covenantal loyalty—honoring Israel’s suffering now and proclaiming her vindication to come. This is not blind support for every government policy or military action. Compassion and covenant are not enemies; we can still be moved for the innocent and believe in God’s covenant.
In great faith, we can step forward into the role of preparing the bride saying, "I'm going to join myself to you. I'm going to stand in truth and love for you when you are crumbling and burden by your mistakes. I'm going to cry out for you when you are too weak to whisper and intercede when you are too rebellious and arrogant to see the One who holds your victory. And I'm going to do this because your Messiah took compassion on a dog like me. I'm going to honor you as the greatest of all the brothers because your brother honored me. And he has not forgotten you."
Isaiah foresaw the day when Egypt, Assyria, and Israel would together be “a blessing on the earth” (Is. 19:24). The nations will stream to Jerusalem to learn God’s ways (Is. 2:2-3). We are invited to participate in that future now—by aligning our hearts with his covenant plan.
Our Choice
We can ignore this message and stay comfortable—scrolling past headlines, singing our worship songs, and congratulating ourselves for theologically explaining away the blessing that belongs to our brother.
Or we can humble ourselves. We can remove our Christian-centric lenses, thank God for the message that brought us this far, and take the next step—asking him to give us ears to hear what he is saying through his Word, seeking its wisdom to make sense of the world’s stage today.
We can join ourselves to his people: stand with them in truth and love when they are weak, pray for them when they cannot pray for themselves, intercede when they are rebellious, and to love in the face of hate. We can honor them because their God had compassion on us.
To stand with Israel this way will be a steep learning curve—a rollercoaster of faith. But our Lord promises: “The one who endures to the end will be saved.”
“Who is a God like you, who pardons iniquity and passes over the rebellion of the remnant of His possession? He does not retain His anger forever, because He delights in unchanging love. He will again have compassion on us…You will give truth to Jacob and unchanging love to Abraham, which You swore to our forefathers from the days of old” (Micah 7:18-20).
May we have ears to hear the Spirit, humility to seek the truth, and endurance to stand in courageous love.