1 Maccabees 13:41–42

1 Maccabees 13:41 — "In the one hundred seventieth year, the yoke of the Gentiles was taken away from Israel."

The "one hundred seventieth year" is reckoned according to the Seleucid Era, placing this event in 142 BC. The author of 1 Maccabees is a precise, annalistic historian; his use of the formal regnal calendar signals that something of constitutional weight has occurred. This is not merely a battlefield victory — those have been recorded throughout the book — but a juridical transformation: Demetrius II of Syria formally withdraws the tribute demands and military garrisons that had defined Gentile suzerainty over Judea since the days of Antiochus III. The word "yoke" (Greek: ζυγός, zygos) is theologically loaded throughout Scripture and Second Temple literature. It evokes the language of servitude and covenant violation: to bear a foreign yoke was understood as the consequence of Israel's infidelity (cf. Lev 26:13; Jer 28:2–4). Its removal, therefore, is not just political liberation but a sign of restored covenantal standing before God. The author's brevity here is itself expressive — "was taken away" in the passive voice implies a divine agent working through human instruments. This is consistent with 1 Maccabees' literary theology: God's name is never invoked directly, yet his providential hand is understood to be everywhere operative.

1 Maccabees 13:42 — "The people began to write in their instruments and contracts, 'In the first year of Simon, the great high priest and captain and leader of the Jews.'"

The adoption of a new dating formula in legal documents is, in the ancient world, one of the most concrete expressions of sovereignty. To date a document is to declare whose time it is — whose reign orders public life. By abandoning the Seleucid regnal year in favor of "the first year of Simon," the Jews enacted independence in the most prosaic and durable of ways: in business transactions, property records, and contracts. This is liberty made institutional. The threefold title conferred on Simon — "great high priest," "captain" (strategos), and "leader" (hegemon) — is historically significant. Simon is not called king; that title remains too fraught with Davidic expectation. Yet the accumulation of these three roles — sacral, military, and civil — effectively concentrates in one figure the authority that had been fragmented or suppressed under foreign domination. Typologically, the Church Fathers were quick to see here a prefigurement of Christ's own threefold munus (office): priest, prophet/leader, and king. Simon, of the tribe of Levi rather than Judah, cannot be the fulfillment; he is a sign that strains toward the One who will bear all three offices perfectly and eternally. The "first year of Simon" also resonates typologically with inaugural moments throughout salvation history — the first day of creation, the first year of Jubilee — moments when old bondage ends and new freedom is formally inaugurated.

Catholic tradition reads this passage within a sweeping theology of liberation that finds its ultimate meaning in Christ. The Catechism of the Catholic Church teaches that the history of Israel is the preparation and figure of the redemption Christ accomplishes (CCC §522, §762): every partial liberation in the Old Testament — from Egypt, from Babylon, from the Seleucid yoke — is a real but incomplete anticipation of the liberation from sin and death won on Calvary.

The threefold title of Simon is especially rich for Catholic theology. The Catechism explicitly teaches that Christ fulfills the Old Testament offices of priest, prophet, and king in his own person, and that by Baptism, the faithful share in this triplex munus (CCC §783–786). Simon's accumulation of the high-priestly, military, and governing offices in one person serves as an Old Testament "type" — a concrete, historical reality that points beyond itself. St. Thomas Aquinas, commenting on the nature of priestly and royal offices, noted that their union in one person was always provisional in Israel, awaiting the One in whom these offices would be united without contradiction or limit (Summa Theologiae III, q.22, a.1).

Pope Leo XIII, in Annum Sacrum (1899), and Pope Pius XI, in Quas Primas (1925) — the encyclical establishing the Feast of Christ the King — both drew on the Old Testament pattern of sacral kingship to argue that Christ's sovereignty is not merely spiritual but encompasses every dimension of human life, including its political and legal ordering. The Jews dating their contracts to "the first year of Simon" is a mundane but profound gesture: it says that time itself belongs to the one who governs us. For Catholics, every year is, ultimately, "the year of the Lord" — anno Domini — because Christ has removed the ultimate yoke.

Contemporary Catholics live between two liberations: the yoke of sin was broken decisively at Baptism, yet the full freedom of the children of God awaits the resurrection. This passage invites an examination of the "dating formulas" we use — not on contracts, but in the implicit assumptions that order our daily lives. Whose time are we living in? Whose calendar governs our decisions, our anxieties, our ambitions?

In a culture that relentlessly dates its documents to the regnal years of productivity metrics, social-media cycles, and market quarters, the Christian is called to reorient time around Christ's lordship. Practically, this might mean recovering liturgical time — living consciously within Advent, Lent, Ordinary Time — as a counter-cultural act of declaring that "it is the year of the Lord," not the year of any earthly power. It also challenges Catholics who feel crushed by systemic, social, or interior "yokes" to believe that liberation is historically real: God acts in time, removes actual burdens, and inaugurates genuinely new eras in the life of a soul, a family, or a people. Simon's freedom was hard-won through years of faithful, costly resistance. So, too, is ours.