Week 1 Reading
Zechariah’s Song | Luke 1:5-25, 57-66
That moment.
That moment when the angel—no, the Almighty Himself—took my voice from me, stopped my words, said “You will not speak”—it was as though a great cog in the inner workings of my heart and mind clapped into place, a part of my soul life I did not know had come loose. I am a religious leader—a priest born into a family of priests—a Levite, a descendent of Aaron. My earliest memories are a collage of my father’s priestly robes, brilliant with gilded thread; the deep tones of a ram’s horn followed by the shuffle of a community moving as one to worship; the temple steps, firm and ascending beneath my small feet; and always the pungent odors of incense and burnt offerings. Surely, my whole life was steeped in the task of serving God. For so long I thought belief in Him was enough, that reverence is all He requires. I believed and I revered, but that day, in the sanctuary, He asked for something more.
“I am Gabriel!” His messenger boomed. “I stand in the very presence of God. It was He who sent me to bring you this good news!” Even now, months later, my cheeks flame at the memory. I had been shamefully bold. The news that God had heard my prayers—prayers of so many dull, desolate years—seemed impossible, utterly absurd. My wife and I are so old. How could there be a child for us? No, such an old prayer...almost as aged as we ourselves... no, it could not be. I did not have the faith to accept this fanciful promise. So, out of the overflow of my heart, my mouth had spoken. My words had rushed out, had flown at the angel. There had been no time to beautify them, no time to dress them in solemnity or decorum. Set ablaze with years of disappointed longing, I had demanded of Gabriel, “How can I know this will happen?” And that was when he said: “Since you didn’t believe what I said, you won’t be able to speak until the child is born.”
Oh, the deep internal shift!
Nine months of learning began then. While Elizabeth, my wife—wrinkled with age and blooming with new life—conversed for us both, I sat quiet with only God to hear my musing. Again and again, I recalled Gabriel’s message; and each time, its sweetness sank deep and then deeper into my being. God’s graciousness became striking, like a bright pebble flashing beneath a water’s rippling surface. As I went about my days silently, God whispered into my thoughts, impressed truths I was slow to see. He reminded me of the angel’s first words: “Don’t be afraid, Zechariah! God has heard you, Zechariah! You will have great joy, Zechariah!” On that day, Almighty God had dispatched His chief warrior to set in motion our deliverance, to make way for the long-awaited Saviour, to bring news so holy and glorious it cannot be matched. Yet... yet...He had paused out of concern for me. “I have been with you in your hurt,” He seemed to say, “felt your sadness, heard your questions. Give me your faith because, just as I love the world fiercely, so I love you.”
One thought clamoured to another, each one building on the wonder of the last. The angel’s tidings were with me constantly, waking to sleep. His words wove through my subconscious, twining themselves in my every thought. I tried to tell Elizabeth. I scribbled and gestured, at times to her exasperation, wild in my want for her to understand. “Our baby,” I cried in my head, “will precede the coming of the Lord! Our son,” I yelled soundlessly, “will prepare the people for Someone greater!” The prophecies shone hot in my mind. I basked in them endlessly. Joy was massing in me—filling my lungs, pushing at my throat, pressing on my tongue. So what if the visitors who came to rejoice with Elizabeth heard my strangled belly laugh? So what if they saw a dumb old man lifting his arms in glee? Let them think what they would. Belief has always oriented my life toward the eternal and reverence has moved me to obedience; but faith—that once mislaid cog—now spurs me to confidence that what I hope for shall indeed be.
What I hope for? Simple...I hope for the coming of two people. Every day I wait in expectancy. And the longer I sit in stillness, the more decided I become: When the Lord opens my mouth again, oh yes, I will give thanks for my boy, John. But even on that happy day, my son will be second. First, before anything, I will shout of the coming Saviour, our Redeemer at hand. All God says is true! Praise the Lord, the God of Israel...