Two Rivers Pastoral Charge
Sunday December 17, 2023 (Fourth Sunday of Advent)
Scripture Reading: Luke 1:5-20
(This year, our Advent theme is focused on midwifery and birth. Each week, we
will hear the story from the bible of someone who was a midwife, or who
encountered a midwife. The waiting, the longing, the pain of the “not yet” –
all of our Advent themes – are captured in the metaphor of a midwife, in the
metaphor of birth.)
My name is Zechariah, of the tribe of Levi, a descendant of Aaron, and a priest in the eighth division of Abijah. My wife, Elizabeth, is also a descendant of Aaron, and I suspect that she would be an even better priest than I am, except that our laws forbid women from entering the most holy parts of the temple where God-whose-name-is-holy resides.
We were married when we were very young, and we grew up together and we grew old together. When we were first married, we assumed that we would have a large family just like most of our neighbours, but as the years passed, that dream slowly faded.
Elizabeth was heart-broken. She told me that she felt as though she had failed at the most important thing that she was supposed to do. My heart broke to see her heart broken. I told her that I wasn’t angry with her, that it didn’t matter. I told her that God-whose-name-is-holy is mysterious, beyond our ability to comprehend, and that we might never understand why we hadn’t been given the gift of children.
We were determined not to let our grief drive us apart, and instead we let our shared grief bring us closer together.
I am speaking to you today, but there was a time – nine months to be precise – when I wasn’t able to speak. It began when I was serving in the temple in Jerusalem, and it was my turn to enter the holy of holies where God-whose-name-is-holy resides. I had been in there before, and it was always an honour, but this day was different.
Even though the events of that day are burned into my memory, it is hard for me to put words to what I experienced. I remember that the room was filled with flames and feathered wings and it felt like there were eyes in every corner of the space, watching me, and something was spinning that made me feel dizzy to look. I knew that it must be an angel, a messenger from God-whose-name-is-holy, and I felt terrified. I was sure that I was going to die, right there in the holy of holies.
And then I
could sense this being speaking to me, though I’m sure that it wasn’t with
human words. I was told, “Don’t be afraid.” As if I could leave my terror
behind at the door! But maybe I felt a little less afraid, for I was able to
work out the next part of the message, telling me that Elizabeth and I were
going to have a son, and that he will be named John, and that he will go about
the world, pointing all people towards God.
Now I know that angels are messengers of God-whose-name-is-holy, so I knew that
this message must come from God-whose-name-is-holy, but still. I also know that
according to the way of women, Elizabeth was at least 10 years past this being
possible. We would have welcomed this news when we were young, but now that we
are old, it felt cruel to taunt us with this.
But when I told the angel that I didn’t believe the message, these were the last words I spoke for 9 months. The angel told me that because I didn’t believe the good news, I wouldn’t be able to speak again until the good news was fulfilled.
And when I left the holy of holies, as hard as I tried, I wasn’t able to speak a single word.
I went home to Elizabeth. I told you earlier that she would probably make a better priest that I am… well, she had no difficulty believing what the angel had told me. Using the unspoken language that grows between people who are friends as well as spouses, I was able to tell her about the angel’s visit, and a few weeks later when she suspected that she was carrying a new life within her, she didn’t seem surprised at all.
We kept mostly to ourselves through the months of her pregnancy. I was ashamed that my voice had been taken from me due to my lack of faith, and Elizabeth was content to stay at home where it was just the two of us. Her kinswoman Mary paid her a visit, and I let the two of them spend time alone together, but for the rest of those 9 months, it was mostly just Elizabeth and me.
When the time came for our baby to be born, I was just as terrified as I had been in the presence of the angel. I know that even young women can die when delivering babies. I didn’t know what I would do if I lost Elizabeth. I ran out to find our village’s midwife, and even though I couldn’t speak, I was able to communicate what was happening… though I suspect that she already knew what was happening when I showed up at her door!
The midwife came back with me to our house, then sent me out of the house to wait for it all to be over. I believe that most men go share a drink with friends while they are waiting, but I couldn’t do that. I couldn’t abandon Elizabeth after all that we’d been through together. And so I sat down on the ground outside of our house to wait. And wait. And wait.
It's hard to wait for something that you long for and dread in equal measure. And I didn’t know how long the waiting was going to be. And even though the angel had told me that this child is going to be important to God, I still didn’t fully trust the angel’s message, and I was terrified that I was going to lose both Elizabeth and our baby.
I could hear Elizabeth’s cries inside the house through those long hours of waiting. The midwife sent her apprentice out a couple of times to fetch things – water, herbs, clean linens.
And just when I thought that I couldn’t wait any longer, I heard Elizabeth give a loud cry, and then there was silence. And then I heard the most beautiful sound in the world – the cry of a newborn baby. And then I heard the voices of the midwife and her apprentice, and yes, Elizabeth’s voice too, singing a song of praise, and I knew that everything was going to be OK.
I wasn’t able to speak right away. I was able to hold my son, and look at his face and his perfect fingers and his tiny toes, but he wasn’t able to hear my voice at first. On the eighth day, according to our custom, he was circumcised, and Elizabeth insisted that his name was John. Our family tried to dissuade her, telling her that there was no one named John in either of our families, and wouldn’t she rather he be named Zechariah after his father? But she insisted, and then I found a writing tablet, and I wrote on it, “Elizabeth is correct. His name is John.”
And in that moment, once all that the angel had told me had come true, my tongue was released and I was able to speak and sing and praise God-whose-name-is-holy!
I am not a prophet. I had never before been given a God’s-eye vision of the world. But that day I was given a glimpse of God’s plan for the world. I spoke to all the people gathered, saying “Blessed be the Lord God of Israel, for he has looked favourably on his people, and has redeemed them. He has raised up a mighty saviour for us in the house of his servant David.” And then I spoke to my child, to John, saying “You, child, will be called the prophet of the Most High; for you will go before the Lord to prepare his ways, to give knowledge of salvation to his people by the forgiveness of their sins.”
Because we are old now, I don’t know if Elizabeth and I will live to see the day when our son will prepare the way for God-whose-name-is-holy, but what we will do is raise him to know, to love, and to revere God-whose-name-is-holy, so that he can do his part to do whatever God-whose-name-is-holy calls him to do.
And isn’t that all that any of us can do; to serve God-whose-name-is-holy with whatever gifts we have been given?
Angels probably don’t look the way
the way they are usually portrayed!
After all, every angel begins their message with
“Do not be afraid!”
(Try searching Google for images of
“biblically accurate angels” – this was
one of the less-disturbing images I encountered!)
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