I accidentally attended a Catholic Midnight Mass service over Christmas (I say 'accidentally' because I'm not Catholic!). Amongst some of the other things I found exciting – such as holy water in the entrance hall and the mass beginning precisely when I thought it was about to end (there was a long, carol-filled "warm-up") – I learnt that Christmas is not over until 2 February!

But why extend Christmas for so long? (Isn't one day of compulsory family time enough?)

It is because of a thing called Candlemas, a feast celebrated by a number of traditional Christian communities.

They keep their Christmas fire burning in the shape of a crib at the front church for a whole forty days - something that less traditional congregations might regard as obtrusively overstaying its welcome.  And then on the final day everyone brings a candle along to church to mark the end of the celebrations.

I quite like it - but perhaps I am just biased because I enjoy Christmas and I think it would be fun to keep a tree in the house for forty days.

Christmas continues so long because these communities stream their nativity straight from the Gospel of Luke, and season one – which documents the birth of Jesus – extends right up to Luke 2:21-38.

It starts with Mary and Joseph trekking to the temple in Jerusalem to dedicate Jesus to the LORD and to make Mary's purification offerings – which can only be made after a forty day "cleansing" period.

This is why the cribs stay out and the candles are burnt: to keep to this Christmas timeline which climaxes at Jesus's birth but only closes at his presentation in the temple. It's the obvious answer, right?

But we can tend to fast forward these bits because we don't understand the Jewish birth ritualism and can find these verses about the law confusing. Instead, we like Jesus's first presentation in the temple because that's where we meet Simeon and Anna, whom everybody loves.

Indeed, Simeon and Anna are two enigmatic Israelites eagerly anticipating Israel's redemption who are extatic when they recognise it in the chubby cheeks of the (screaming?) Christ-child brought to the temple by a working-class couple from Nazareth.

You can hardly listen to a sermon on this part of the Nativity without the preacher singing Simeon and Anna's praises because aren't they just such great examples?

But of course, as with everything at church that we love, there is a theologian nearby to tell us that we're not exactly right. And in this instance, that theologian might not be entirely wrong.

Simeon is great, almost without parallel. He is righteous and devout; God-fearing, law-obeying, people-loving. God told him that he would not die until he saw the Messiah, giving him by consequence an esteemed prophetic position as "watchman". And Luke gives Simeon one of the best character references imaginable: the Holy Spirit's presence on him (and at a time when this was very rare!).

Anna is also great, also almost without parallel. She is righteous and devout; practically living in the temple, praying night and day, and fasting with a fervency that would put even Pharisees to shame. A widow for most of her life (making her feat of devotion all the more remarkable as widows had it hard in first century Palestine), Anna ranks among only four other female prophets mentioned in Scripture – and this was at a time when Israel had been without a prophet for four hundred years(!).

So what is the issue? Anna and Simeon are outstanding examples of religion done right. Should we not try to emulate them?

Of course we should.

But if there is one thing to imitate in Simeon and Anna, then it isn't their devotion to God but their unrivalled, unwavering, unimpeachable witness to who Jesus is (which only comes about because of their devotion).

That is the main reason why Luke tells us how good they are: not to make us feel inadequate, but to make us know that Simeon and Anna's testimony is true.

Jesus is the centre of this temple-story. Before anything else, Luke wants us to look at Jesus and worship him, not Simeon and Anna – they are just there to help us along the way. They are credible witnesses to the Christ-child, so we listen to what they say and let ourselves be amazed.

Much like Simeon and Anna, we inhabit a world desperate for redemption and thirsty for life.

We know that we find this in Jesus. And we celebrate with Simeon and Anna that our eyes have seen God's salvation, the kid who is King (although isn't actually a kid anymore).

Jesus has given us his "living water". Now this living water flows out of our very own hearts – and we can hardly keep it to ourselves.

Except ... have you ever been offered water by a less-than-pleasant-looking person? You don't particularly want it.

And I often wonder if that is what it is like when we offer people the "living water" that we find in Jesus?

I know that it's a common gripe (and for that I'm sorry), but maybe it's an urgent one: we might need to clean up our act if we want people to take our water seriously.

Typically at this point a list of wrongdoings would normally appear, a catalogue of failures would rear its ugly head. But not now.

It's not that such lists do not exist. They do. Collectively and individually. It's just that I don't always think that they're helpful: we are anaesthetised to them. We know what they will say, and we know who we think the culprits are (not ourselves, normally); therefore we do not engage with them.

That doesn't help anybody. Instead, I invite us to prayerfully examine ourselves - as a Church and as individuals.

Are we giving credible witness to Jesus right now? Do we care? Do we even know who Jesus is?

Are we living in a way that makes the Gospel seem true? How might we change that?

And then it's time for us to believe in the Gospel that we preach.

There is good news: God loves us, and His salvation is at hand. Imagine what it would it look like if the whole Church lived like that for a day.

Simeon and Anna were not high-profile. They didn't need to be. We don't need to be. All they did was herald the King. They recognised Jesus as Lord and lived such godly lives that what they said about him was considered true beyond doubt.

I think we can probably still learn from them – whether it's Christmas time or not.

Archie Catchpole is a student at London School of Theology.