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.