Simeon’s Blessing | The Consolation of Israel
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.