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Sermon - December 6th, 2009
Zechariah Speaks
Rev. Gwen Drake
Scripture: Luke 1:67-79
Prayer of Preparation: We give thanks, O God of sacred stories, for the witness of your word today. Through Scripture you challenge our assumptions, increase our awareness, nurture our imaginations, and touch our feelings. Bless the hearing of the word today. Speak to us and grant that by the power of your Spirit we may be hearers and doers of your word. Amen.
The season of Advent is the beginning of the church year. Last Sunday, the first Sunday of Advent was equivalent to New Year’s Day. The lectionary cycle, which is on an A, B, C, cycle changed to Year C last Sunday. Year C is when we look at Jesus’ life through the eyes of Luke. Where the Gospel of Mark is a condenser of words, the Gospel of Luke is an expander. Where Mark jumps right into the ministry of Jesus, Luke waits until chapter 2 before Jesus is born, chapter 3 when he is baptized, and chapter 4 when he starts his ministry. Mark was in a hurry to tell the story, as if his life depended on it. Luke uses the restraint of a masterful storyteller who knows how to capture and hold the attention of the reader.
The first two chapters of Luke are what many commentators call the Prologue. I would call it the prequel. The birth story of Jesus is not integrated into the rest of the gospel. The first two chapters of Luke seem to have their own unity. Nothing in the rest of the Gospel depends on the first two chapters for its meaning. Yet the prequel prepares us for the rest of the story. We are made to feel at home by Luke. The new story is embedded in the old story. The new is at the door, as new as a young pregnant Mary. The old is opening the door, old pregnant Elizabeth welcome Mary into her home. The new arrives as a fulfillment of the old. What is the same is God—God of the new and the old, God of Elizabeth and Mary, who is remembering covenants and making good on promises made. This prequel, the first two chapters of Luke builds anticipation of what is to come.
The story begins with the parents of the one who would announce the one who was to come, old Elizabeth and Zechariah. Luke is the only Gospel writer who tells us their story. They were of Aaron’s lineage, the priestly order that took turns serving the altar in the temple in Jerusalem. Their home was in the hill country. In another time they might have been a clergy couple. In this time, it was Zechariah who went into the family business. Elizabeth’s job was to have priestly children, only she didn’t, and in this time, it was her fault alone. Zechariah could have divorced her for it. He did not. They were good and faithful people.
Luke’s gospel ends at the temple and it begins at the temple. When Zechariah’s section of priests arrived for duty at the temple they cast lots to see who would do what. Zechariah got the most holy job. He alone would enter the Holy Place to burn incense. People came for prayer outside the Holy Place. The incense produced smoke that carried those prayers to God, perfuming them as they rose. The people prayed and waited for the priest to come out and bless them. It was a job no priest could do twice in his lifetime and some never got to do it at all. It was as close as Zechariah would ever get to the Holy of Holies. We might wonder why he was totally terrified when an angel appeared to him in such a holy place. Maybe his mind was somewhere else. Maybe he was focused so much on his professional duty, it shocked him to be interrupted. Probably angels were scary and intrusive creatures.
This story is deeply embedded in the Hebrew Scriptures. The barrenness and age of Zechariah and Elizabeth remind us of Abraham and Sarah. The visitation of the archangel, Gabriel reminds us of Daniel in the Lion’s Den. Zechariah saw the angel, was terrified, heard the message, and responded with exclamation and protest, “How will I know? We are too old to have children!”
It was one of those moments in your life when you say the absolute worst thing and you wish you could grab the words out of the air and put them back in your mouth. Some commentaries call Zechariah’s words the sin of disbelief or doubt. I think of it as something else—perhaps the failure of imagination or a fear of disappointment or even a habit of hopelessness. He and Elizabeth had waited and hoped for a long, long time until they, well, had given up. How was he to really know that this time would be different?
The angel answered, “I am Gabriel.” That was how he would know. And Zechariah was stricken speechless.
The people outside waited and…they waited. The speechless priest took awhile and I can imagine what was going on with him. What could he say? He had lost his voice, he could not even do his duty as a priest. Finally, he went out to them, giving them signs and gestures, in such a way, the people were sure he had received some kind of vision from God. His duty ended, Zechariah went home and Elizabeth conceived. Elizabeth praised God for finally smiling upon her.
Zechariah was silent, Elizabeth went into seclusion, and all of us reading Luke’s story wait expectantly for the birth of something incredible and glorious, waiting for the old to usher in the new.
Poor old Zechariah, so much so say, and no way to say it, for nine months! Although there is another way to look at this. (All you who make a living talking out there, listen up.) It seems entirely possible that Zechariah’s silence was a gift—yes, a gift. An enforced sabbatical, a nine month retreat of silence, his gestation time where seeds of hope were sown again in his soul. Maybe he had stopped learning with his mouth open. Certainly there was nothing, absolutely nothing he could say that would hold a candle to what was happening right in front of him. His muteness could have been the gift of wilderness for him where his dream was born.
Maybe we can learn something from Zechariah’s situation. Maybe it is time for us to claim the gift of silence. Maybe we need to stop talking so much, stop trying to explain so much, and learn to mute our mouths before the terrible mystery of God, listening to what the quiet has to teach us.
Okay, I’m not proposing we conduct church like a Quaker meeting or a silent retreat. I am saying that it is time, especially during Advent, to explore the idea that less is more. We live in a time of sensory bombardment. The television and internet gives us a zoom lens that brings us face-to-face with grief—more than most of us can bear—both images and words. All these images and words come at us with some kind of agenda, promising us things they cannot deliver, changing our minds, emptying our wallets. Zechariah’s words are our words, “How will we know that this is so?”
What would happen if we were able to become very still and quiet, creating an oasis of silence for people whose ears ache from the noise, whose heads hurt from sensory bombard-ment.
Zechariah had to learn the hard way. He could not speak until what the angel promised him had come true. He was forced to make room for reverence when even the right thing was left unsaid. He was silent and when he was given voice again, out came his dream, his words were of the imaginative prophet filled with the Holy Spirit. He spoke of God’s favor and salvation, mercy and promise. He announced the birth of the one would prepare the way of the one. He spoke of God’s tender mercy. He said the dawn would break upon us giving light to those who sit in darkness. He said, this, all of this, would guide us into the way of peace.
May God continue to break into our lives, lead us into the wilderness if necessary, and may we listen to the silence and find that way of peace. Amen.