To Simeon, nothing about this morning felt any different than thousands of mornings. A rooster crowed in the distance. The predawn light revealed the shape of the darkened hills. The bleating of goats and braying of donkeys percolated throughout the region. The ovens of the nearby bakery coaxed weary citizens out of their slumber. Jerusalem rose to life.

For decades, Simeon had trudged from his quiet guest room on the outskirts of Jerusalem, through the hustle of the awakened town, to the busy temple precincts at its center. Another day, another gathering for morning prayer.

Today, after a simple breakfast of bread and figs, he walked alone and couldn't help but notice how much the crowds had thinned. These were certainly not the days of revival the old prophets had said would arrive. The Jewish religious leaders had suffocated the spiritual breath of the populace, and now only a handful of true worshippers remained. Simeon himself felt he was running on borrowed time. Had God really spoken to him so many years ago? Would he really live to see the great deliverer the Jewish scriptures had promised? As time passed, so did his health, and Simeon was not so sure he would live to see the arrival of Jerusalem's deliverer.

One thing he was sure of was Israel's need for deliverance. The Roman Empire had stretched its tentacles into every aspect of life in Jerusalem, and the Greek culture steadily eroded even the strongest morals. Simeon had watched many friends neglect the daily worship and the festivals God had prescribed. He had witnessed Israelite businesses steadily neglect the Sabbath. He had quietly observed the clear delineation between godly and godless evaporate. Yes, there were some who waited for Yahweh to redeem his people—he knew he'd see Anna on the temple mount that day—but most Israelite devotion to God had turned into a lethargic enterprise (Luke 2:38). The holy God had been turned into a side-hustle lucky-charm on the fringe of "real life" instead of an all-consuming fire at the center of his people. Yes, deliverance was needed, but Simon grew tired in his long wait for it.

Still, he clung to his promise. The Holy Spirit had shown him that he would not die until the Messiah-Deliverer-Christ had come. Simeon was sure that, with his own two eyes, he would bear witness to the final hope, Israel's great salvation. From the time he'd heard that promise, he kept his head up and his eyes open. He was alert, waiting for the promised Savior. But like a sentry deep into the night, Simeon had grown weary of waiting. Day after day ticked by. Weeks turned into months, which turned into years, which turned into decades. Still, the deliverer had not arrived. Politicians arose, and religious leaders surfaced that made Simeon wonder, but none of them ever materialized into the one who would set God's people free from their tyrannical Roman overlords. And slowly, imperceptibly, Simeon's hope waned.

As he passed the merchants at the city gate on his way to the morning sacrifice, Simeon wondered how many of these days he had left in him. He had not lost his vigor for studying the Scriptures—today's meditation was going to be on the prophecies at the end of the Isaiah scroll. He still loved Yahweh with all his heart, mind, soul, and strength. But he thought the deliverer would have come by now. Passing through the outer courts, Simeon neared the altar and saw a few hundred worshippers gathered. As a priest cried out on their behalf, people raised their hands in prayer. But Simeon felt alone. He couldn't help but see the Roman soldiers in the distance, watching over the affairs of the Jewish temple. Their fortress, looming over God's house, stood as a constant reminder that God's promises had not yet come to pass.

Still, as the people prayed all around him, Simeon's heart warmed, and his disillusionment thawed. A fresh supply of hope was delivered to his desperate soul. He began to believe again. By the time prayer was over, Simeon was a new man, a version of his younger self, once again eagerly awaiting the deliverer God had guaranteed. It might be this year, it might be next decade, but Simeon had newfound resolve—the deliverer would arrive.

It was at that moment a little family caught his eye. He had seen thousands of parents like these over the years—fatigued from the sleepless nights that come with a newborn but eager to dedicate their babies to God according to the Law of Moses—a way to commemorate the new little additions to their families.

But there was something different about this mother, father, and baby that drew Simeon. The father emanated a quiet confidence that Simeon—having watched thousands of men come to worship in that temple—interpreted as the fear of the Lord. The way he carefully guided his young bride and baby through the busy courts, his eye set on the place of dedication, reminded Simeon of Yahweh's protection of his people.

But it was the mother that stood out most to Simeon. He'd seen countless women joyfully praising God for the new life he had blessed them with—they would all dedicate their children to the Lord, but this mother looked as if she felt she was truly giving her child to Yahweh's service. Her face was young, but it was also severe. Simeon sensed that her thoughts were full as she carried her child through the busy square. It had been a long time since Simeon had seen such intensity in the face of a worshipper on the temple mount.

If that was a baby boy in her arms, it would have been forty days since the child had arrived. Simeon thought they looked rather poor, and their choice of pigeons as their sacrifice confirmed his suspicions (Luke 2:24, Lev. 12:8). Their offering indicated that this was their firstborn, and as they dedicated their child to God, Simeon quietly cheered the scene. Perhaps a holy remnant remained in Israel after all.

With that, a new thought rushed upon Simeon. The Spirit of Yahweh God was upon him, and in holy boldness, he approached the pilgrim family. What was he doing? Why was he moving toward them?

As he did, his eyes locked with the mother's and then darted down to the baby boy in her arms. Could it be? This child, this poor family, these humble and anonymous worshippers, were they the key to the promise God had made? This was not a military general. This was not a great politician. This was not a brilliant scholar. This was not even a prophet from the wilderness. This was a baby, a child, still needful of his mother's breast.

But as Simeon drew nearer, he began to know what God had always known. The deliverer would not come in might and glory but in quiet humility. The Messiah was a baby, and Simeon beheld him wrapped in swaddling clothes.

Like an ancient prophet, Simeon took the child in his arms. The mother and father seemed to expect such an encounter—as if this wasn't the first time strangers had celebrated this boy, as if this child was destined to attract the attention of God-seekers like Simeon.

Willingly, they handed the child to the old man. As the baby's warm body pressed against his chest, Simeon began to sing, "Lord, now you are letting your servant depart in peace, according to your word; for my eyes have seen your salvation" (Luke 2:28-30). While Israel quietly seethed for a glorious champion to arise and cast down the Empire, Simeon looked at this impoverished couple from Nazareth and realized what he saw. God's salvation, in the flesh, was squirming and cooing in his aged arms. Somehow, in some way, God would save his people with—or through—this child.

But Simeon's song had only just begun. As people began to gather around him and the little family, he continued singing about this child as the one who would reach Jew and Gentile alike (Luke 2:30-32). His thoughts became clear: this Messiah/Christ-Deliverer/Savior that the ancient Israelite prophets had predicted would save not only Israel but the world. He would bring revelation to the nations. He would deliver peace on earth. He would become the glory of humanity.

As Simeon sang, he could not have known that this baby's mother had sung her own song when her child had first started growing in her womb. In her song, she had praised God for being her Savior—and now Simeon was declaring that the Savior God was in his arms (Luke 1:47). Simeon sang his song of salvation with all his heart. It was a song of paradox: a modest infant from a nowhere town with nobody parents would save the world.

As the child's parents marveled, Simeon became grave. He looked back into the mother's eyes. She did not flinch when he told her that this child's destiny was to cause many to either rise or fall. He announced that though many would oppose him, this child would grow to reveal the deepest thoughts of human hearts. And with tender care, Simeon took her hand and told her that, because of this boy's life, a sword would pierce her very soul (Luke 2:34-35). This child, mighty in God, would become the rejected cornerstone the prophets foretold, and his rejection would cut to the core of his mother's soul. Simeon hated delivering this news to this young woman. She was almost a child and certainly had not been hardened by the pains of life. How could he break her heart with a prophecy of such despair?

But as Simeon looked at her face, he saw a strange combination—her tears welled up, and resolve appeared with them. She nodded in agreement. This woman already knew what Simeon had only just discovered. She gripped Simeon's hands in return, signaling that she understood. Somehow, through pain and agony, this child of hers would become the deliverer and Savior all of mankind required.

His song complete, Simeon now knew. God's deliverance was packaged in a way he did not anticipate, but it had come in the form of this child. Though his life would divide people all the way to the inner being, he was here—the one world had waited for had come.

It is this child we celebrate this Christmas Eve. He is Jesus. Paradoxically, the baby in the manger is the great Savior of the world who will one day consume all the kingdoms of this world and establish a reign that never ends. On that day, we will know him as the Wonderful Counselor, the Mighty God, the Everlasting Father, and the Prince of Peace (Is. 9:6-7). And because he came as a baby so many centuries ago, we sing with Simeon and all the saints—our eyes have seen God's salvation.