Tis the season – when I have to suspend my disbelief and find new meaning, or maybe old meaning, in the familiar Christmas Story. When we read the Gospel of Luke’s version of Jesus’ birth, we often tell the story of Elizabeth and Mary, and we sing Mary’s song. In a few days we will read about the birth in a stable, the shepherds and sing gloria with the angels. 

Today as we read Luke – we focus on Zechariah, the father of John the Baptist. (500 years before this Zechariah, was the prophet Zechariah who gets his own book in the Old Testament. That Zechariah is a totally different person, not to be confused with this Zechariah, the father of John.) Even though Zechariah and Elizabeth prepare the way for Mary and the baby Jesus, just like John the Baptist prepares the way for the grown-up Jesus, we don’t pay that much attention to Zechariah. 

The writer of Luke tells origin stories like no other gospel writer. He tells us about John’s family and about Jesus’ family. It is curious because Zechariah, the father of John, doesn’t appear anywhere else in the gospels, or elsewhere in the New Testament. Only in Luke’s version of the story does John have a father. In the other gospels, John just appears in the desert, baptizing and calling people to repentance – without any back story.

Luke goes so far as to  name the ancestors of Zechariah and Elizabeth (Abijah and Aaron) as if to prove the generational faithfulness that they come from. Zechariah, a faithful priest, takes his turn serving in the temple. Elizabeth is also described as faithful – and yet they have never had children. (The writer of Luke, commonly understood to be a doctor, seems to know that fertility doesn’t have anything to do with faithfulness.)

One day, when Zechariah is doing his duty as a priest, when he is in the inner sanctuary, alone, he has the disturbing experience of seeing an angel. Zechariah is terrified (even though the angel starts with the traditional angel greeting, “Do not be afraid.”) Zechariah is definitely confused by the strange message that the angel brings – about a late in life pregnancy along with the role and leadership of this future child. 

I suppose in the moment Zechariah is too overcome to remember that ancient Abraham also had a visitor in his old age that said Abraham and Sarah would have a baby. Zechariah doesn’t laugh like Sarah did when she heard the impossible news, though he does ask for more explanation.

But when Zechariah asks how his wife could become pregnant when they are both so old, the angel gets upset and says “I. am. Gabriel. I stand in the presence of God, and I have been sent to speak to you and to bring you this good news.” How dare you disrespect the message that I bring from God. Because you have dared to question me, you will not speak again until this all occurs.

Fast forward a few verses when the same angel appears to Mary (though he doesn’t introduce himself this time – Luke just tells us it is Gabriel. ) Gabriel once again brings news of an inexplicable pregnancy. Like Zechariah, Mary questions the angel, “How can this be? I mean, I have not been with a man.” This time, Gabriel offers an explanation rather than chastisement and penalty. Does God, or does the angel, expect more trust from a priest than a young woman? Did Gabriel learn something from making Zechariah mute? Or is it that Mary says, “Let it be to me as you say.”

After Zechariah’s strange encounter with the angel, the faithful elders Zechariah and Elizabeth, go home to find new ways to communicate.  Zechariah still can’t speak but he somehow communicates to Elizabeth about what happened to him in the sanctuary. Zechariah still can’t speak when Elizabeth miraculously gets pregnant in her old age. Zechariah still can’t speak when Mary comes to visit and the baby jumps in Elizabeth’s womb. Zechariah still can’t speak when the baby is born. Then when Zechariah and Elizabeth take the eight-day-old baby to the naming and circumcision ceremony, an amazement occurs. 

Elizabeth, going against custom, introduces their son as John. The people think there has been a mistake, you can’t call the son of the priest Zechariah “John.” It doesn’t make sense. How will people know whose child he is? But Zechariah, humbling himself, communicates through writing that Elizabeth has it right. The child is not named Zechariah, after his father; the child is John. 

After almost a year of not talking, Zechariah begins to speak again. What is this miracle that allows him to emerge from the silence? Is it that Zechariah stands up for Elizabeth, reinforcing the idea that the name of the child is John? Is there some lesson that Zechariah has learned in listening for the past months, rather than speaking? Is it the work of the Spirit, as it so often is in Luke?

Last Sunday afternoon Mennonite Action was here for a training, “To Build our Courage.” I had to think of Zechariah as Nick Martin told a story. Nick said that in July 2024, when Mennonite Action wrapped up the 140 mile prayer walk for Palestine,  from Harrisonburg, VA to Washington DC, there was one last worship service in front of the White House. Everything was going really well until a “disrupter” showed up and started yelling, interrupting the prayers. 

As always seems to be the case with Mennonite Action, the group was prepared. They always designate someone as a “de-escalator,” a person who is prepared to engage with someone if they create a disturbance. On this day, the “de-escalator” was someone who had been walking with the group for many days – and had taken a vow of silence. How could a silent person prevent disruption?

As Nick described the situation, those of us gathered last week began to laugh. What good is silence when there is so much noise?  What good is silence in the face of angry yelling? The “de-escalator” had learned the power of silence. He approached the person who was yelling — and began to dance. The de-escalator moved closer, peacefully dancing and smiling in total silence. The disrupter sputtered and muttered and was so confused that they left the area. 

What an example of the power of silence. I wonder what unexpected experiences Zechariah has in his time of silence. Does he learn new ways to lead, new ways to be a priest? He certainly has time to think about what it will mean to be a father and new ways to show love.

It’s kind of wild that after all the months of silence, Zechariah bubbles forth with his long prophetic song. Or maybe it’s not a surprise. He has a lot to say after being quiet all those months. Perhaps he’s been studying, reading, learning new connections in his faith. His song has similarities to the song that Mary sings, which has echoes of Hannah’s song hundreds of years earlier, which sounds an awful lot like some of the psalms. This shouldn’t surprise us since all of these faithful descendants of Abraham would know the songs their people have been singing for generations and generations. 

You have raised up a mighty savior for us…
as you promised through…
the prophets of ancient times:
Salvation from our enemies
and from the hands of all who hate us.

As he celebrates his son, Zechariah sings as if this has already happened, “salvation from those who hate us.” Yet he lives amidst the Roman occupation; freedom is yet to come. Two thousand years later, the Jewish community around the world continues to feel and experience violent hatred. The “occupation” continues, oppression is prevalent. We all long for freedom. Zechariah goes on:

You have shown mercy to our ancestors
by remembering the holy Covenant…
granting that we, delivered from the hands of our enemies,
might serve you without fear,
in holiness and justice,
in your presence all our days.

There it is again, “delivered from the hands of our enemies.” Is this some pipe dream of Zechariah? Or has he seen, in his silence, what might be, what could be, what. will. be.

For more than 10 years, I’ve been gathering once a month with a group of people, at Judy and Marty’s house, to practice silence. (Even after ten years, I’m still not very good at it.) Sometimes though, in the silence we hold together, I catch a glimpse, feel the possibility, of what. might. be. In the silence, time doesn’t make that much difference. The Love that was, the Love that is, the Love that will always be, all blurs together. If peace is possible for this moment, maybe peace and love are possible in the next moment and on and on more broadly. 

I wonder if this is how it is for Zechariah. Deliverance from enemies, serving in the temple without fear, living justice and love in the world – it has to have been his ancestors’ experience at some point. And it can be, it. will. be. again. And his precious child will be part of it. 

“You child, will be called a prophet of the Most High.
You will tell people how to find freedom through forgiveness.”

In the mystery of the imposed silence, does Zechariah find that the peace and love that he so hopes for his people, for his own child, might really be possible. Zechariah’s song concludes:

Such is the tender mercy of our God,
who will bring the Rising Sun to visit us,
to give light to those who live in darkness 
      and the shadow of death
and to guide our feet into the way of peace.

I wonder if not speaking for all those months allows room for Zechariah to dream in new ways. To dream of his love for Elizabeth, to dream of who his son will become, to open himself to the tender Love and mercy of God. I wonder if he contemplates that delicate balance between the dreams a parent has for their child and the path the child must find for themself. Zechariah sings of liberation from the hands of enemies but tragically it does not come true for his own son. Surely Zechariah does not hope and dream for the cruel way his only child dies.

But Zechariah’s dream of feet guided in the way of peace is not just for his own family. It is for his whole community, for the communities that read his story. His dream is for all that receive the Rising Sun’s visit each day – and – those who live in darkness and the shadow of death.

Today is the shortest day of the year, the longest night of the year. We are living in literal darkness. And it is a season of danger for our immigrant neighbors, our neighbors who live in poverty, our neighbors who are threatened by the militarized carceral system, there is danger for our queer siblings, for Palestinian and Ukrainian people. Darkness and the shadow of death are all around. With Zechariah we pray: Such is the tender mercy of our God, who will bring the Rising Sun to visit us. 

In this season, as we pray with Zechariah that all may be delivered from their enemies, let us keep finding ways to live love in the world, to find ways to walk in peace. Even in the darkness. Even when we cannot find the words. Even when we have no words, let us live. Let us live Love.

Receive this blessing from Judy and the contemplative prayer group: 

Trust in Love at all times, O People. 

Pour out your heart to the Beloved. 

Let silence be a refuge for you.