Advent is a season of waiting, and a time to prepare. The waiting is well underway, as we find ourselves beginning the second week of Advent. For some, the time of waiting and preparation is welcome, as there is so much to do - decorating and rehearsing and shopping and wrapping and baking and preparing for travels or for guests to arrive…oh good, it’s only December 8! Phew! For others, the time of waiting and preparation is already dragging - what? It’s only December 8?! Christmas is so far away!
Today’s texts from Luke have something to say about waiting and preparation in this season and beyond. In each one, the focal characters are both preparing for an arrival and being prepared themselves.
Perhaps you caught that today’s psalm wasn’t a psalm at all, but rather a song from the first chapter of the Gospel of Luke. It’s a song sung by Zechariah, and the child addressed in the latter part of his song is his son, who we know as John the Baptist.
Zechariah was a priest in the Temple in Jerusalem. He and his wife Elizabeth had waited and prayed and hoped over many years for a child, to no avail.
But one day, while Zechariah was offering incense to God in the holiest part of the Temple, an angel of the Lord appeared to him. The angel announced that, finally, their prayers would be answered - Elizabeth would bear a son, and his name would be John. Zechariah was terrified, and also skeptical. He said to the angel, “How will I know that this is so? For I am an old man, and my wife is getting on in years.” Well, the angel - who was not just any angel, but Gabriel - didn’t much appreciate the questions and skepticism. And because Zechariah didn’t believe Gabriel’s words, the angel declared that he would “become mute, unable to speak, until the day these things occur.”
So, for nine long months, Zechariah was silent. I imagine he had much to ponder over those months of waiting. Perhaps, unable to speak, he became better at listening. Perhaps the imposed silence meant that he could take time to craft and shape the words that otherwise he would have rushed to say. And while I imagine it was a time of frustration and helplessness, of reflection and hopefulness for Zechariah, it was also an experience that was shaping and preparing him. Yes, in this time of waiting, perhaps he was being prepared to better notice and experience God’s surprising and unexpected work.
When the day came that the baby was born and brought to the temple as was customary, Zechariah and Elizabeth named him John, just as Gabriel had declared. And then? Then Zechariah’s “mouth was opened and his tongue freed, and he began to speak, praising God.” Filled with the Holy Spirit, Zechariah sang these words of promise.
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| Photo by Kelly Sikkema on Unsplash |
The song, which the Church calls the Benedictus and sings during the Morning Prayer liturgy, begins with praise for God. It begins with praise for a God who comes near, a God who makes promises, a God who shows mercy, a God who brings about freedom and flourishing for God’s beloved people. Zechariah, faithful priest that he was, knew this God, knew these foundational stories. And yet, in the moment, when it was terrifyingly up close and personal, he had forgotten.
He had forgotten about the ways God had been faithful to God’s people. He had forgotten about the times God had done the impossible - giving a child to Sarah and Abraham, though they were too old. Freeing God’s people from enslavement in Egypt, even though Pharaoh was powerful and stubborn. Leading the people through decades of wilderness wandering, even when they turned away and broke the covenant. Hearing the cries of the poor and vulnerable, even when they went unnoticed by the rich and powerful of the world. Defending God’s people, even when the opposing armies were bigger and stronger.
So Zechariah’s song begins with praise for God, but then it shifts to a promise, a prophecy, about his brand new son. I can picture Zechariah, there in the Temple among those gathered for the occasion, with eyes only for the baby resting comfortably in his arms, softly singing these words of hope – “you, child, shall be called the prophet of the most high, for you will go before the Lord to prepare the way.” See, Zechariah had listened, had mulled over Gabriel’s words those nine months previous. Gabriel had announced, “He will turn many of the people of Israel to the Lord their God. With the spirit and power of Elijah he will go before him, to turn the hearts of parents to their children and the disobedient to the wisdom of the righteous, to make ready a people prepared for the Lord.”
Yes, from the time those words were sung over him, John, too, was being prepared. From a young age he was out in the wilderness, an a place and experience that would help him see the way the landscape is shifted and changed by wind and water and creatures. Away from the hustle and noise of the city, John would be attuned to the chirping of bugs and the rustle of the wind and the still, small voice of that same God who had spoken to Elijah and the prophets in the past. Away from the customs and traditions of culture and politics and religion, perhaps John was better able to question, better able to invite others into something new.
As his ministry began, the word of God came to John. From that wilderness place, John invited others into an experience of repentance, of change, of being shaped by the God who shows up in surprising and unexpected ways. From that place, John showed how the waters of baptism and the wind of the Spirit shape and carve away and change us, lifting and leveling so that sightlines to the new thing, the dawn from on high breaking up on us, might be clear and visible for all. John pointed to the one who was coming, Jesus, the one who calls us away from sin and death and draws us into life, and freedom, and love.
Like Zechariah, like John, in this Advent season, we, too, are preparing and being prepared to better notice and experience God’s surprising and unexpected work. Amid the frantic busyness of the season, hear an invitation to slow down, do less, carve out time for reflection and silence - Christmas will still come, God will still show up, apart from what we do. In a season focused on spending and consuming, hear a reminder that you are beloved and worthy apart from what you earn, produce, or own. In a season where the days continue to grow shorter as night falls earlier and earlier, hear the promise that God indeed dwells with those who wait in darkness and amid the shadow of death, and promises that the dawn is coming.
God still comes near. God still prepares us, opens us, to listen and watch and notice how God is present and active, even in ways that are unexpected or seem impossible. God still listens to our prayers, still shines on us when we dwell under a blanket of darkness and amid the shadows of death. God still guides us when we are too stubborn or too fearful or too uncertain to see the way. In this time of waiting, God is with us.
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