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In the Expecting series, Pastor Mark Medley invites us into a scene that both warms and unsettles. In Luke 2, the aging Simeon steps into the temple, takes the infant Jesus in his arms, and sings of a salvation “prepared in the presence of all peoples,” a light for the Gentiles and a glory for Israel. Then he turns and says the words we feel but rarely name: this child is appointed for the fall and rising of many, and the secret thoughts of hearts will be revealed. The moment splits the room—and the heart. Jesus is the cornerstone and the stumbling stone, the sure foundation for those who entrust themselves to him and the rock of offense to those who cannot bear his way.

Mark traces the contours of Simeon’s life to ask how a person becomes the kind who can hear God in a long silence, respond at the Spirit’s nudge, and die satisfied. Luke calls Simeon righteous and devout, waiting for the consolation of Israel, with the Holy Spirit resting on him. God had told him he would not see death before seeing the Lord’s Christ, and the same Spirit led him into the temple at the exact moment Mary and Joseph arrived with their offering. Simeon did not stumble into a holy moment; he walked into it after years of simple day-by-day faithfulness. Mark loves that detail. A walk with God, he says, is step after step—small, consistent decisions shaped by God’s commitment to us and our reciprocal commitment to him. That walk affects where we go and when; Simeon’s habit was to be in the house of the Lord, and his readiness made him sensitive to the Spirit’s timing.

Mark honors Anna in the same breath. She is the prophetess who worshiped with fasting and prayer, the widow who could have grown bitter and distant but kept showing up. She arrives right when Simeon does, and in their shared devotion a quiet revelation becomes public praise. Mark pauses to thank the Annas and Simeons in our midst—the seasoned saints who keep valuing the house of God and model a kind of joyful endurance that forms deep roots. Corporate worship, he notes, becomes powerful when private worship has already done its deep work.

If worship is revelation, response, and relationship, Simeon embodies all three. God revealed his purpose to this man: the Messiah would be the light to the nations and the glory of Israel; he revealed a personal promise that Simeon would live to see the Christ. Simeon responded by stepping into the temple at the Spirit’s direction. Over time, those responses became a relationship—righteous, devout, attentive. Mark presses the very ordinary beauty of this: the Holy Spirit’s leading meets us in the places we already value, in the habits that shape us when no one is watching. And sometimes, not always, faith becomes sight and we get to hold the promise in our arms.

But the tenderness of Simeon’s song carries a sharp edge. Mark lingers over Simeon’s words to Mary and the prophetic paradox Isaiah saw long before him. In one place Isaiah speaks of a tested cornerstone, a precious and sure foundation laid in Zion; in another he speaks of a stone of stumbling and a rock of offense. The difference is not in the stone but in the posture of our hearts. Many of us have been offended by people, Mark says with a smile, but have you ever felt offended at God? Have you faced a season where the love and sovereignty of God seemed to collide with your pain? If you have not, he suggests gently, you may not have followed very far. This is not cruelty. It is surgery. God sometimes permits a hard word or a confusing season to expose what rules our hearts so he can heal it.

To show what persistent faith looks like when a stumbling stone appears, Mark tells the story of the Canaanite woman in Matthew 15. Desperate for her daughter’s deliverance, she meets a hard sentence from Jesus about the bread that belongs to the children. She does not slink away or lash out; she answers, “Yes, Lord, yet even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their masters’ table.” She climbs over the offense and finds mercy on the other side, and Jesus calls her faith great. Mark does not minimize that exchange; he names the tension and insists that God knew exactly how to lead her into a deeper trust. The same is true of us. When confusion or offense cools our praise, bringing our questions to God and repenting quickly when conviction comes reopens the door. Mary’s posture—pondering and saying, “Let it be to me according to your word”—becomes a path forward.

Mark also names a thief with a long history of trying to drain worship of its power. Scripture portrays Lucifer as the anointed one near the throne who reached for glory that was not his, saying, “I will ascend…I will make myself like the Most High.” Pride turned him into an enemy, and he continues to whisper accusations and distractions that steal what rightly belongs to God. In contrast stands Jesus, who did not grasp at equality with God but emptied himself, taking the form of a servant, being born as one of us, and humbling himself to death on a cross. That is the heartbeat of Advent: humility that lifts us. This is why heaven’s song centers on the Lamb and why Simeon’s heart could overflow with peace—promise seen, promise held, promise trusted.

Because we live between songs—Simeon’s song of fulfillment and the church’s song of waiting for Jesus’ return—Mark gives a practical framework for guarding our worship from theft and making our Sundays count. He calls it PRIME. Prepare throughout the week so that Sunday is not culture shock. Simeon came into the temple in the Spirit because he walked with the Spirit in ordinary days. Preparation looks like letting the word of Christ dwell in you richly, praying, keeping your schedule in a way that honors the gathering, even going to bed in time to arrive without hurry. Mark laughs as he recalls a church in Ghana that locked the doors at the start of worship to keep late arrivals from distracting others; we will not be installing new locks, he assures, but the point stands. Coming ready is an act of love.

Repent so accusation cannot muzzle your voice. Many of us are kept at a distance by a guilty or vaguely guilty conscience. First John promises that if we confess our sins, God is faithful and just to forgive and cleanse. Repent quickly—toward God and toward one another—and step into worship under grace instead of under a cloud. The enemy is loud, but the blood of Jesus speaks a better word.

Invest instead of spectating. In the temple Mary and Joseph did not come empty-handed; they brought the offering appointed in the law. Jesus is our once-for-all sacrifice for sin, but Scripture still calls us to bring sacrifices of praise, thanksgiving, service, generosity, and even our broken hearts. Mark encourages a very embodied worship: sing, raise your hands, kneel, be silent, encourage a brother or sister, bring a scripture or a song when appropriate. Like David, refuse to offer God what costs you nothing. When you invest, you care, and you look for the fruit of what you have sown.

Minister to God by fixing your attention on Jesus. Worship is to the Lord, not to an audience, and not to our preferences. Mark jokes about “audience distraction disorder” and suggests a simple cure: sit where you can focus, starve the urge to scan the room, and trust that other people are thinking about Jesus more than they are thinking about you. Simeon took Jesus in his arms and blessed God. In our gathering, we set our eyes on Christ and do the same.

Enter in quickly. Do not wait for your favorite song or for the third chorus to finally thaw you out. Simeon came in the Spirit; he did not come to the temple to find it. Step toward God from the first note, the first line, the first breath. Give yourself wholeheartedly, and let love lead your obedience. None of this is legalism. It is love answering Love. We do not prepare, repent, invest, minister, or enter in to earn acceptance. We come as the accepted in Christ, free to bring the sacrifice he is worthy to receive.

All of this lands in the larger contrast Mark highlights as the lens for Advent. Scripture sketches the “I will” of Lucifer—grasping upward—and the self-emptying of Jesus—pouring himself out in humility. God’s wisdom often runs counter to our instincts, and his way is to lift the humble. For that reason, the Father has highly exalted the Son and given him the name above every name, so that every knee in heaven and on earth and under the earth will bow, and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord. Simeon understood it, which is why he could say with a full heart, “Now you are letting your servant depart in peace.” His satisfaction was not merely that his eyes had seen; it was that his heart had settled on the One who fulfills promise and reveals hearts.

Mark ends by bringing this home. Are we satisfied? Not numb or resigned, but satisfied in Christ even as we expect more of his presence and power. This is the gift held out in Advent: salvation not only seen historically but received personally, a life reoriented around the worship of the Son. In this season of Expecting, may we refuse the theft of offense, accusation, distraction, and apathy. May we become participants rather than consumers, voices rather than observers. And may our praise become prophecy as we prepare, repent, invest, minister, and enter in—answering Love with love, and finding that the humility of Jesus lifts us into joy.