The World in Solemn Stillness Lay: Zechariah

As Zechariah finished packing his things for the journey from the hill country of Judea to Jerusalem, Elizabeth nervously stood nearby. The journey would likely take only a few hours, but he would be gone for two full weeks. Elizabeth knew that she would be worried the whole time while she waited.

But waiting was something they both knew intimately. For some 500 years, they and all of Israel had been waiting for the Messiah to arrive. Since the days of the prophets, they had been waiting for someone to show up and lead…differently. The prophet Isaiah had promised that he would come as a suffering servant, leading through quiet strength…not kicking butt and taking names but patiently outwaiting and outwitting the warmongers. The prophet Amos suggested that one would lead with justice, caring for the poor and the vulnerable, the widow and orphan and immigrant. His namesake, the prophet Zechariah, had suggested that he would show up in humble form, riding on a donkey while the Department of War rode in on their chariots and steeds of military might. Now, 500 years later, Zechariah and Elizabeth watched as the oppressive Empire swaggered their way to destruction. They yearned for the Messiah to come and show them a better way. They prayed for Emmanuel, God with us, to arrive. They waited for the tyranny to end and someone who cared about the people to show up. Zechariah and Elizabeth knew what it meant to wait.

In more ways than one. The night before he was to leave, they ended up talking again about the pain of not being able to have children together. Early on, there had been pregnancies, but they lost more to miscarriages than they could remember. Over time, as both of them seemed well past the age of having children, each of them began to wonder if maybe…it simply wasn’t to be. That reality was heartbreaking to imagine. In their time and place, failure to have children was a complex torrent of emotions: the grief of lost pregnancies and lost dreams for the future…the fear of being without physical and social protection in old age, without children to provide that care…the shame of being told that barrenness was a spiritual punishment for something that they had done wrong. In the midst of all of these emotions, Zechariah and Elizabeth waited. Lamented. Grieved. Hoped for a day when their prayers for a child…would be answered. They knew what it meant to wait. A long hug and a final kiss…and Zechariah was on his way to the city.

It wasn’t a long journey, but it was long enough for him to think about yet another way that he waited. His waiting was not about politics and family. It was, in a word, vocational. The role of priest was not a professional choice, but a family assignment. Both he and his wife Elizabeth had been born into priestly families, meaning that their family history expected them to participate in regular priestly duties. In their hometown, that meant that Zechariah was presumed to minister and lead worship in the community, caring for the daily spiritual needs of those whom he lived alongside. Blessing them in their joys, caring for them in their struggles, guiding them in their questions. But it also meant that he occasionally served in the “big time,” at the Temple for a two-week period. Many of the tasks were mundane and not very memorable. But there were certain tasks, including entering the Holy Place, that was considered a great honor. The priest who was allowed to perform this duty was chosen by lot, knowing that once they performed the duty, it was likely that they would never have the opportunity again. Zechariah had never been chosen, and again, at his age, he wondered if he ever would.

These thoughts circled through his mind as he turned the corner and saw the gleaming Temple on the mount, and it caught his breath. It always did. His mind began racing through all of the things that he would need to do once he arrived. He laughed to himself…maybe he wasn’t very good at waiting. In fact, while he waited, he sure kept pretty busy! In his waiting, he was known for his actions. Zechariah was described as a righteous and holy person, in his community and in his family. He knew how to care for others, and lead others. Until Messiah came, he knew how to live out of Messiah principles of justice and righteousness. Of worship and prayer. Of humility and grace. Until a child came, he knew how to be faithful to his wife and family. Until his turn in the Temple came, he knew how to be faithful to his calling and vocation. “Time to get to work,” he whispered to himself, as he heard the first sounds of the city, alive and active.

What are you waiting for? I would guess that a lot of us are like Zechariah…we wait in some rather complicated ways. Nationally and politically, we yearn for our leaders to demonstrate humble, servant, justice-building leadership. In our personal and family lives, there are griefs and disappointments. Maybe we like Zechariah and Elizabeth hope for a pregnancy that hasn’t arrived. Perhaps we have children and yearn and wait for something on their behalf—a healthy relationship, mental or physical health, a child of their own. Maybe we want something for our parents or other family members…their health or even an answer to their prayer for their journey on this earth to be complete. Or, like Zechariah, maybe we are waiting vocationally. We want a new job, or any job, or a new career, or an opportunity to prove ourselves. My guess is that a lot of us are a lot like Zechariah and Elizabeth…we know what it means to wait. What are you waiting for?

A second question: How are you waiting? The last few months, we have been talking about Faith in Action. And some of our stories have reminded us that our action must be grounded in contemplative waiting. Now, from the other side, our theme of Advent waiting tells us what is basically the same truth: sometimes we wait actively. We are faithful, as Zechariah and Elizabeth were faithful. We move forward, even if we don’t know what the end result will be. Enuma Okoro, who wrote our Lunch and Learn devotional this year, about this story, says it this way:

“When the circumstances of our lives suggest that God is calling us to a season of waiting, we rarely put all other aspects of our lives on hold. Waiting on God is not a call to quiet resignation and thumb twiddling. Rather, even as we might be called to quiet reflection, we are also invited to wait on God while pursuing our other activities and commitments.”

Zechariah and Elizabeth knew what it was to wait. But they also knew how to wait actively.

Zechariah could hardly believe it when he saw the cast lot point to him. It was finally happening. Years and years of patience, and now, he would be able to serve! He would offer the burnt offering, actually entering into the Holy Place on behalf of the people. The worshippers would offer their prayers in the courtyard, and the priest would enter a special place in the Temple, where no one else was allowed in that moment. He would enter, on their behalf, presenting a burning offering that put off smoke, symbolizing those prayers lifting up into heaven. Now that it was going to happen, he was on pins and needles like a schoolboy…it felt like it took forever for the moment to arrive.

But when it did, it was not exactly what he expected. He prepared the burnt offering, and the smoke began to rise up to heaven. He heard the prayers of the people, and with honor and reverence he entered into the Holy Place. And…there was a dude. A guy already in there. Now, of course, Zechariah had never been in the holy place to offer the burnt offering before, so his first thought was “is there always a dude in here? No one has ever talked about a dude before, and someone probably would have brought it up.” But this didn’t just look like a guy who took a wrong turn somewhere. This was a dude. Zechariah had never seen an angel before, but if he imagined what an angel looked like, it would be this. And sure enough, the dude explained that he was, in fact, a messenger of God, and even introduced himself as Gabriel. But that was just the beginning. As Zechariah stood in the holy place, representing the prayers of the people, the angel informed him that his own prayers had been answered. He and Elizabeth would give birth. But that wasn’t all. She would give birth to a prophet who would usher in the Messiah! It was like all of his waiting…for a blessing for their nation and people…for a blessing for their family…for a blessing in his spiritual work…had all come to fruition at once! He started to turn and run out of the Holy Place, to tell everyone the good news.

But then he paused. He would likely think back to that pause many times over the next nine months. “Why didn’t I just walk out the door?!?” he likely asked himself. But he didn’t leave in that moment. He turned back: “How can I know that this will happen? For I am an old man, and my wife is getting on in years.”

Perhaps at that moment, the heroes of the faith had entered his mind. Since he was a boy, he had been taught the stories of the Biblical heroes who had been given a similar, unbelievable message from God. And almost every one of them was pretty skeptical. Abram told God that he was pretty old and God might not know how science works. Sarah just outright laughed out loud when the messengers said she was going to have a baby. Moses outright argued with God, because he didn’t think he was the right guy to free his people. Gideon did not think that he was a mighty warrior. Zechariah, in that moment, wanted what they got: something that would remind them, empower them when their work became hard, convince themselves and others that this was really God’s message. Abram needed the symbol of circumcision to seal the covenant. Moses needed a staff. Gideon needed a fleece that was wet when everything else was dry (and vice versa). Perhaps all of this was going through Zechariah’s head when he paused and turned back. He wanted a thing. A symbol. A gift that would remind him and others that this moment was true.

And so Gideon gave him one: “…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.” Abraham and Moses and Gideon all received gifts signifying the promise of God. In Gideon’s final words to Zechariah, he gives him the gift of silence.

This isn’t usually how we interpret this story, is it? We tend to poke fun at Zechariah for being too dumb to trust the angel standing there in front of him. But again, it is Enuma Okoro who opens our eyes to a new way to see the story:

“What if the silence God bestowed on Zechariah was not fully punishment but also an odd blessing? What if God was offering Zechariah nine months to sit with the news, to ponder God’s words, and to process the stupefied awe in which he surely found himself? What if the time of formal silence was God granting Zechariah the gift of some necessary internal solitude in preparation to receive the miracle and to dwell in God’s faithfulness?”

She’s convinced me! If you look again at the text, it does not say that Zechariah’s muteness was technically even a punishment. The angel doesn’t say, “God is angry with you,” or “how dare you question God.” It just says “because you did not believe…” I would argue that each of us, from time to time, needs a gift from God to be able to believe. And I would argue that more and more in our society, that gift might be the gift of silence.

As we have discussed throughout the series, silence seems to be the gift that we so often throw away. As soon as we are away from our screens and our devices for even a few moments, we get anxious and fidgety. As soon as we get a spare moment of margin, we fill it with digital distractions. When we experience silence, it frightens us. Perhaps what we most deeply need this season is a visit from an angel, offering the gift of silence.

Ben Weissenbach wrote our Purple Team book for this month, North to the Future, An Offline Adventure Through the Changing Wilds of Alaska. Weissenbach is in his early 20s and laments that he and so many in his generation have spent too much time in front of screens. We think that we have experienced the world because we saw it on “reality TV.” We think that we are having deep experiences because we poke buttons and manipulate images. He laments an “attentional shift” that causes us to miss what is in front of us, because we fill it with so much flashing blue light and noise.

Spiritual guides, psychologists, and 25-year-old sages alike have told us that there is wisdom in fasting from our screens, from our media, from our noise, and regularly scheduling time for silence. If we don’t schedule it, it doesn’t happen. If we don’t have a plan, the noise will gladly rush back in. Start with an hour. Then half a day. Maybe more. Most of us are not ready for nine months yet, but what would it take for us to get there? Our Advent waiting is almost over. But the opportunity to stop talking and listen, to stop scrolling and see, has only just begun.

How has God gifted you with silence?

What will you do with the gift?