M aking their way out of the Court of Women, an ancient woman sat at the base of a marble column near a series of stairs leading away from the Temple. Although she had the appearance of a beggar, she did not hold out her hand, she asked for nothing. She did not cry for alms. Her name was Anna and she had sat in this very spot every day since time past remembering. Some said she was over a hundred years old. Here in the Temple, she fasted and prayed, a woman of deep faith. Like Simeon, she waited.

When she saw Joseph and Mary approaching, holding the child, she held up her hand as if asking them to stop. While the young couple was anxious to leave, the commanding presence of this woman compelled them to stop yet again. Stiffly, with no small difficulty, she stood. One hand propped against the column, she beckoned with the other for them to approach her. Warily, they did. “I wish to see the child,” she croaked, her voice weak with years.

She made no attempt to hold Jesus. Her balance would not have permitted that. Yet, the urge to do so compelled her to reach forth her hand to touch the infant’s cheek. And with that solitary touch her visage radiated pleasure. Eyes of amazing blue, clear of the onslaught of age, gleamed at the baby. Her expression changed to one of wonder. Suddenly, inexplicably, she began to sing with the voice of a songbird . . .

Holy art Thou, O Lord!
Let now Thy Light
Precede the flight of angels
To ease the affliction of
Thy children.

The notes floated with such crystal clarity that all who heard stopped to listen. The delicate sweetness of each note, punctuated with stately elegance lifted the hearts of all who heard. Amazing incongruity, that a voice that could only croak above a whisper, could sing in such lovely triumph. One by one, others started to join the paeans of praise. Mary and Joseph looked about ill at ease at the attention. Those who sang with Anna did not know to whom or of what the notes pealed. Still, the sanctity and force of the old woman’s song caught them up. She knew. And that it seemed, is all that mattered.

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