Anna Chaplaincy ministry lead Debbie Ducille reflects on the feast of Candlemas.
1 February 2026
Encounter in the temple
The true light that gives light to everyone was coming into the world.
John 1:9 (NIV)
As I write, the light outside is fading fast: January days feel short and the nights long. I am a little envious of my friend leaving the damp, murky British winter behind, flying back to her New Zealand home and enjoying the liveliness of a southern hemisphere summer.
But I realise that, while I miss the quality of light we enjoy in the rest of the year, I have no desire to lose the symbolism and experience of these grey months. Winter invites us to ponder on rich contrasts – on precious light and deep darkness, decay and secret growth, dull despair and bubbling hope. And what better sight is there than those first green shoots of snowdrops, emerging through fallen leaves and claggy soil? I value these sensory gifts, alongside the rhythm of the church’s year, mapping so meaningfully on to our seasons.
Candlemas is a perfect example of this ‘mapping’. A feast observed by the Anglican and the Roman Catholic Church, it commemorates the presentation of Jesus at the temple. Significantly, this takes place 40 days after Jesus’ birth, reflecting Mary and Joseph’s observation of the law, and is celebrated on 2 February, the traditional ‘cross-quarter’ day marking the exact midpoint between the winter solstice and the spring equinox. It signifies the return of light and the approach of spring.
Winter invites us to ponder on rich contrasts – on precious light and deep darkness, decay and secret growth, dull despair and bubbling hope.
The coming of the light
So, at Candlemas, we are invited to remember the coming of the light of the world to all the world, received in the temple built for God’s glory and worship, as a vulnerable baby. We hear again the story of this young family making an impoverished sacrifice, noticed by two older people from very different circumstances, both in what might be termed the ‘winter’ of their lives.
And yet, the Christ child was eagerly anticipated by Simeon and Anna and now they rejoice in his arrival and speak words of prophecy over him. Immanuel has come! By their words and actions in this moving, truly intergenerational encounter, Simeon and Anna encourage us to look back to the astonishing birth of Jesus – the manger – and forward to his costly, sacrificial ministry – the cross.
There was also a prophet, Anna, the daughter of Penuel, of the tribe of Asher. She was very old; she had lived with her husband seven years after her marriage, and then was a widow until she was eighty-four. She never left the temple but worshiped night and day, fasting and praying. Coming up to them at that very moment, she gave thanks to God and spoke about the child to all who were looking forward to the redemption of Jerusalem.
Luke 22:36–38 (NIV)
The physical lives of these two faith-full elders may have been drawing to a close, but their spirits, as Luke makes clear in his account, were fully alive: a reality captured beautifully in this poem by Nicola Slee (reproduced with kind permission):
Anna
I’ve learnt to live on little.
My body has long forgotten a husband’s ardent embraces,
and there were no children to take me into their homes.
My home has become the Temple,
my bed a dark corner under one of the portico’s pillars.
I’ve no possessions to speak of.
I’ve learnt to live in silence,
every day offering my emptiness up
to mingle with the incense of the sacrifices burning on the altar.
I live on what the pilgrims give me
from the remains of their cooked meat,
when the priests have taken their fill.
I’ve learnt the passage of time,
how the speeding years
slow to one endless moment
that is never accomplished,
how the mind and the body hold themselves
patiently in readiness
while the waiting goes on growing.
I’ve learnt how the Word comes
rising like fire from a thrown spark
or dropping like a stone
into the stilled mind’s surface.
Old as I am, and hollowed out by
prayer and silence and weeping and fasting,
I live for that quickening,
for the pouring that will rise up and overflow all containment,
that my own thirst may be kindled,
my body leap into flame.
In that moment, I’m a young girl again,
and the Word fills my arms like a lover,
sucks at my shrivelled breast like a baby,
pours down my body like fire,
like the dousing of water.
Candlemas and Anna Chaplaincy
In Anna Chaplaincy, the same two aspects of later life – the physical and the spiritual – are held with compassion and respect. Old age undoubtedly brings many challenges: physical and/or cognitive decline, loss, anxiety, and grief as well as the big questions that inevitably arise as we approach the end of our earthly lives. Great old age may be increasingly common in this country, but is not for the faint-hearted.
Yet, as the Australian academic Elizabeth Mackinlay observes throughout her work, ‘Spiritual growth is not simply possible in later life, it’s likely.’
The calling of every Anna Chaplain is to seek to accompany a person, regardless of their beliefs or values, in this significant season: being present, listening, affirming their story and their value, honouring their wisdom and experience, and encouraging their spiritual vibrancy and growth to the very end of life.
As we celebrate 11 years as a national movement, Anna Chaplaincy as a ministry of presence is now offered by hundreds of extraordinary women and men, called and sent out by their local churches throughout the UK. A significant number are older themselves, widowed and with their own experience of loss, just like Anna. Theirs is a vital work, and the need for this ministry is only growing in every community in the country.
As author and theologian Martyn Percy has said:
‘Anna Chaplaincy is a profound, prescient, and prophetic sign for our age… Anna Chaplaincy – in seeking out older people, the lonely and the isolated, does exactly what Jesus would have us do: and in so doing, we might challenge and transform our contemporary society. The work of Anna Chaplaincy is a vital sign of the Kingdom of God, and on the cutting edge of ministry today.’
We can radiate the light and love of Christ in our homes and communities, whatever our age, just as Anna Chaplains and Anna Friends do, week by week.
Time to pause
Whether or not it is part of your own church tradition, Candlemas is a wonderful time to look back with gratitude and forward with hope. Traditionally, candles were blessed on this day for use in the church and at home, with families placing a lit candle in their windows on Candlemas night, symbolising the presence of Jesus as the light in their hearts and homes.
Over the years, I have taken part in various Candlemas services where candles have been distributed for this purpose. But one service stands out. I was particularly moved by a different approach in Portsmouth Cathedral two years ago. Rather than taking the candles away as a sign of Christ’s light with us, we were invited to leave the service candles at the door, and to go into the night as the bearers of Christ’s light ourselves.
A candle burning in the darkness is a beautiful sight: it melts as time passes but the flame continues to burn to the end and is a telling image for our lives. We can radiate the light and love of Christ in our homes and communities, whatever our age, just as Anna Chaplains and Anna Friends do, week by week.
