Zechariah — Andy James

a sermon on Luke 1:5-25, 57-66
preached on November 29, 2015, at the First Presbyterian Church of Whitestone

Advent is my favorite season of the church year. In the midst of the most commercialized, over-the-top, schmaltzy season of our broader culture, the church offers us a gift in Advent as we pull back and think about the process of preparation for the things ahead, remember the roots of our celebration of Christmas, and look for ways to embody the unique gift of being the people of God in this way in this time.

During these Advent days, we exist in a different sense of time. We set aside Christmas carols for a few weeks and gather around the new flame of this simple wreath. We step back from the hurried pace of these busy days to wait and watch and pray together. And we offer the world a reminder that we are always preparing for something more than just the next holiday—we are preparing for a new and different way of life that will come in the return of Jesus Christ.

The gospels of Matthew and Luke introduce us to several people who were a part of the first Advent, who were among the first to see this new way of life in its fullness. Matthew gives us the story of Jesus’ earthly father Joseph, and Luke tells us about Zechariah and Elizabeth, two of Jesus’ relatives who had their own son about the same time as Jesus, and then of course Mary, the mother of Jesus. These rich stories of getting ready to welcome Jesus can be helpful guides for us as we journey our way through our own season of preparation. So over this season, we will look at Zechariah, Mary, and Joseph, hoping to learn from their examples of preparation as we live in the different understanding of time in these Advent days.

Zechariah has always been one of my favorite figures in the Advent and Christmas story. He might be one of the lesser-known characters in the run-up to Jesus’ birth, but I think he is one of the most real and honest of them all. Zechariah was a member of the priestly order, and he took this role and work seriously. He lived righteously and blamelessly before God in a day and age when this old order was not exactly known for such things. Zechariah and his wife Elizabeth were “getting on in years,” as our translation puts it gently, and they had no children, a mark of great disgrace in that time.

As Zechariah took up his place in the rotation of priests in the temple, he received the honor of going into the inner sanctuary to offer incense. He had no idea when he went in that everything would be different when he came out. It all began pretty normally—the people were gathered around outside praying, and Zechariah offered the incense—but then an angel of the Lord appeared to him, shattering the normalcy of the moment and offering a startling new word to him. As the crowd stood by waiting outside, Zechariah listened as the angel told him the new things that would be ahead for him and Elizabeth: she would bear a son, to be named John; he would bring them great joy and happiness, then go on to “turn many of the people of Israel to the Lord their God” and “make ready a people prepared for the Lord.”

As exciting and hopeful as this news surely was, Zechariah was wary of becoming too hopeful. After all, he and Elizabeth had been praying and living faithfully for many years, hoping beyond hope that they would have a child, but their prayers had gone unanswered. Now, all of the sudden, how was he to believe all of this? Had he and Elizabeth suddenly gotten younger? What proof could he have that this might actually happen to them? His uncertainty was well-founded, but the angel would have nothing of it. The angel told Zechariah, “Because you did not believe my words, which will be fulfilled in their time, you will become mute, unable to speak, until the day these things occur.” And so Zechariah emerged from the temple, unable to describe his experience to anyone, longing for a way to make it clear that there was something new ahead for him, left to encounter the days of waiting and transformation in silence.

The months passed, and Elizabeth indeed became pregnant. She was visited by her cousin Mary, who was also expecting her first child in entirely unexpected circumstances. Zechariah remained mute throughout the birth of their son and even until they prepared to circumcise him on the eighth day. Elizabeth had insisted that they name the boy John, as the angel had instructed Zechariah, but the men in the family did not take her seriously since there was no other relative with that name. They were all ready to name the child Zechariah, after his father, until Zechariah wrote to them, “His name is John.”

Only then was Zechariah’s imposed silence ended. His questioning was now over, and he fully acknowledged the incredible gift that God had given them. He then offered an incredible song of praise that formed the basis for our last hymn, finally expressing all the emotions and joys that had been spinning in his head for nine months, giving voice to his praise for the history of faithful people and prophets in the life of Israel, naming God’s call to be a prophet for his son even from this early age, and claiming that his son’s birth was the beginning of a new day for God’s people as

the dawn from on high will break upon us,
to give light to those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death,
to guide our feet into the way of peace.

Zechariah’s story and song are incredible gifts for us in this season of Advent as we prepare our hearts and minds to welcome Jesus and live in the different understanding of time that this season offers us. First, his example of patient yet hopeful waiting can set an example for us. In these days when so much seems to be in need of change, in our lives where we long for a new and different way, in our world where so many seem to sit in permanent darkness, we can join Zechariah in his patient, faithful waiting. We can listen carefully to God’s voice inviting us to trust that there is a different way ahead, that the seemingly-endless litany of woe before us will not go on forever, that the dawn from on high will break upon us and God will guide our feet into the way of peace. And we can do the big and little things that we know how to bring about change in our world. We can raise awareness of those places and people in our world who are in great need. We can encourage those in positions of power to act with wisdom and hope for the betterment of all people. And we can change our patterns of life so that we offer as much as we can to make the world more in the image of the kingdom that God is bringing into being even now around us.

But Zechariah’s example can also inspire us to take hope when we hear God speaking. Now we are certainly unlikely to encounter God in the voice and presence of an angel in the way that Zechariah did, but God still speaks among us. God still speaks among us in the gift of the Bible, giving us wisdom and guidance for the living of these days. God still speaks among us in the faithful proclamation of God’s servants, inviting us to live into this new sense of time and join in making way for the new life that comes among us at Christmas. And God still speaks among us in those who walk beside us along life’s journeys, guiding us through difficult days and supporting us as we seek to take new paths together.

And finally, Zechariah’s story and song remind us that we are called to sing our songs of praise to God loud and clear every day. Even when we might still be uncertain, we raise our songs of praise to God, not just for the things that we have seen with our own eyes but also for the promise that lies ahead. Even when we are still waiting, we join our voices with Zechariah’s for the wonder of God’s presence in our midst over so many ages, for the gift of those who call us to prepare the way of the Lord in these uncertain days, and for the gift of God in Jesus Christ, who comes among us to make all things new.

So as we enter these Advent days, may God strengthen us for this time of preparation by the witness of faithful servants like Zechariah, so that we might wait for this great celebration of Christmas with patience and hope, greet the voices of these days with expectation and joyful participation, and raise our songs of praise for all the gifts of God in our midst, even as we prepare our hearts and lives and world to welcome the great return of Christ, who is coming soon to make all things new. Lord, come quickly! Alleluia! Amen.

a sermon on Luke 1:67-79 for the Second Sunday of Advent
preached on December 9, 2012, at the First Presbyterian Church of Whitestone

Some years ago, back in seminary, I found myself silenced by laryngitis for nearly a week. It started as one of those late spring colds—you know, the gentle tickle in your throat when you wake up a little stuffy in the morning—but pretty soon I knew something else was going on. I kept on going through that day, speaking and singing normally, until that night after choir practice, when I knew something was really wrong. All of the sudden, the pitch of my voice dropped, but I tried not to be worried about it.

The next morning, I had something to worry about. I could not speak at all. Well, yes, I could talk briefly, but speaking for more than a minute was painful, and singing was certainly out of the question. I asked everyone I knew for their magic cures, and within twenty-four hours I had nursed my voice back to a softer version of “normal,” but my disregard for its tender state soon brought me back to silence.

During those four or five days that I had no voice, I was supposed to sing a solo on Saturday and then sing with the choir on Sunday for the last time before leaving for the summer. It was a pretty major inconvenience for me, but about a week later, I could talk without sounding like I was whispering all the time. Thankfully it’s been a long time since I felt like that, but I’m always afraid that I’m only one stuffy nose away from another week of silence.

In our scripture today, Zechariah had one major case of laryngitis. It all started one day when he drew the short straw among the priests and went into the sanctuary to offer incense to God. He took a bit longer than expected in there, and when he finally emerged, he couldn’t answer everyone’s questions about what had happened because he was entirely unable to speak. The people knew that something important had happened, but they had no way of knowing what, because Zechariah could not tell them. Zechariah went home when his term as priest was over—probably a bit earlier than expected because he couldn’t talk—and he and his wife Elizabeth were finally able to conceive a child after years of being barren.

While Zechariah was silenced, Elizabeth could speak about what she knew, for she had had her own visit from the angel Gabriel. She celebrated with her relative Mary who came to visit and share the news of her own miraculous conception and the coming birth of Mary’s son Jesus. They both cried out with great joy and amazement about what God was doing in their midst, about all the things that would soon come into being through the two children that they were carrying. Even through all of this commotion, Zechariah, the priest, the spokesman for God, the proud father, the one who normally would be first to speak, remained silent, watching and waiting in the midst of a moment of great joy, hoping for a moment when he could speak again.

The silences in our lives may not be cases of laryngitis—like my springtime affliction—or sudden muteness after encountering God—like Zechariah. We might be so stunned by something happening around us that we do not know how to respond. We might be ordered to remain silent to protect some sort of secret that cannot be revealed. We might be so bound by grief and loss that words cannot emerge from our mouths. We might be so constrained by the limitations of the world that we cannot speak what we really want—and need—to say. We might be called to speak words so dissonant with what we hear around us that they would fall upon deaf ears.

In these moments, sometimes silence may actually be the right thing to do. Sometimes we need to offer quiet space in the uncertainty of the moment. Sometimes we must allow others permission to be quiet so that they can be faithful to their experience and understanding of God. Sometimes we need silence to find safe places to express our deepest feelings. And sometimes we are called to conserve our voices so that they might be heard more completely in another moment. Nonetheless, even all these good silences must eventually be broken, for God calls us all to speak words of joy and praise and hope and love and peace.

After many months, Zechariah broke his forced silence with the words of our scripture today. His words were not his own—it was more than clear by then his words could only come from some other place—but these words came to him from the Holy Spirit. Suddenly, Zechariah moved from complete and utter silence to loud and joyful song:

Blessed be the Lord God of Israel!

He was finally able to speak all the words that he had been wanting to say ever since his encounter with the angel in the temple where he learned that he would be a father. All that had been promised to him had been realized, and since there was no longer any doubt about these things, his imposed silence was ended. Zechariah could finally offer praise to God and express all the ways in which God’s faithfulness would be realized in the world through the birth of his son John the Baptist and the coming Jesus.

When he finally spoke again, Zechariah could only give thanks to God for what he had finally seen—for his dreams of a child that had been realized, for his hopes for Israel’s future that would surely become reality in the life of Jesus, for the ability of the people to serve God faithfully and without fear. In the tradition of the great prophets, Zechariah claimed the promises of God for his own generation, speaking of certain salvation, great mercy, a faithful covenant, and fearless service as grateful response.

Although these words echo the prophets and the psalms, they also move beyond these promises of the past. They are more than fulfilled in the life of this “mighty savior” but also point toward the joyous future that surely lies ahead. No longer must the people sit in darkness or wait for God’s redemption to come. Such glorious redemption has come and can only bring new life to those in darkness and peace to those who remain at the hands of their enemies. Zechariah recognized the great joy of finally having a son, but this personal joy was far surpassed by his gratitude for what God was beginning to do throughout the world that would find expression in these two children.

So at this beginning of the story of Jesus’ life, we see its ending described already. In Zechariah’s song, the promises of God are laid out before us and called fulfilled long before we can even begin to imagine how they might take shape in our midst and form the new creation that is already moving toward us. Zechariah’s prophetic words speak to us out of his silence—and penetrate our own silence—as words of hope and promise of what is to come in this world and the next.

Now, we must ask, can we speak these words today? Can anyone today offer such prophetic calls to recognize God at work in our midst? Can anyone today recover from a case of laryngitis to immediately offer joyous and prophetic song? Can anyone today emerge from silence to claim this sort of God at work in the world today, a world where God seems absent from everyday concerns, a world where God seems simply used to support some political, economic, or religious agenda, a world where God seems inseparable from some people and entirely unavailable to others? Can anyone today hope to move beyond seemingly endless war to see God “[guiding] our feet into the way of peace”?

I believe that Advent is a wonderful time to break the silence around us and speak of the incredible grace and love of God that comes into our world at Christmas and is present with us every day. These are days when it becomes clear that we must break the silence even amidst everything that encourages us to keep quiet, even when it hard to be faithful in changing days, even when things around us make it hard for us to be heard, even when it seems best that we should simply be silent. Silence is probably the easier choice here—the choice Zechariah probably would have made were it all up to him, the choice we too probably would make if we could have it our way—but, just as during Zechariah’s time, the Holy Spirit continues to call us to speak out of our silence, to remember God’s great promises, to celebrate God’s good gifts, and to proclaim the continuing and coming reign of Jesus Christ our Lord in all that we say and do.

So blessed be the Lord God of Israel,
who has looked favorably upon us
and has redeemed us
and has shown us mercy,
that we might serve God without fear,
in holiness and righteousness all our days.

By the tender mercy of our God,
the dawn from on high will break upon us,
to give light to those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death,
to guide our feet into the way of peace.

Thanks be to God! Amen.

Zechariah: Waiting in Silence and Hope

Breaking the Silence