In the sanctuary of the Lord, it was relatively quiet, but Zechariah could still hear noise from the courtyard outside, echoing around him: the clamor of the crowds; the squawking and baaing of the animals; the soldiers’ footsteps, marching; and the musicians’ instruments.
Suddenly, right there inside the sanctuary of the Lord, Zechariah heard a loud and present noise. It was the angel of the Lord, and its voice overpowered all the sounds from outside.
We think of angels as being soft-spoken, but angels were God’s warriors and messengers. When they spoke, they spoke with POWER—enough power, that those to whom the angels spoke often shook in terror.
So I’m not surprised that, when the angel appeared to Zechariah, it was enough to make Zechariah forget all the stories that he had studied all his life: the story of Abraham and Sarah, for example; and the story of Jacob and Rachel; and the story of Elkanah and Hannah.
All those couples who, like him and Elizabeth, were childless well into their old age, yet who did eventually bear children through the miraculous power of God.
When the angel told Zechariah that he and Elizabeth would become parents, just like those other couples, Zechariah couldn’t believe it. “How will I know that this is so?” he asked. In other words: “Prove it.”
How quickly he forgot what God is capable of!
So the angel silenced Zechariah. The angel decided that it was time for a little less noise, at least from Zechariah. At least for a while.
And when Zechariah came out of the temple, he could not speak.
I don’t blame Zechariah. When there’s too much going on, too much noise, too much commotion, and too many thoughts for my brain to keep track of, I also forget things that I should have remembered. Sometimes there’s just too much input. Sometimes, I just need a little peace and quiet, to sort things out.
So I don’t blame Zechariah; and I don’t really think of Zechariah’s forced silence as a punishment. I think of it as an opportunity—an invitation—to dwell in the silence, to ponder, to wonder, to become aware.
It could be that I’m reading too much of my own situation into the gospel story. The Advent and Christmas season is a noisy time of year. There’s more noise, more activity, more commotion… and moments of peace and quiet can be hard to come by.
I wouldn’t want things to be quiet all the time. To everything there is a season; a time for laughter and a time for crying, a time for singing and a time for dancing, a time for speaking, and a time for keeping silent.
…At this time of year, it’s the times of silence that are in too short of supply.
Zechariah’s silence allowed him—and it allows us—to hear more clearly the voices of Elizabeth and Mary. With that male voice silenced, we get to better hear the voices of the women.
This happens a lot in Luke. Women are prominent among Jesus’ followers. Women are the first to proclaim the good news of Christ’s resurrection. Women are disciples and apostles.
Luke presents the gospel in such a way that women—and other marginalized voices—can be heard.
Even if it means silencing the male voice for a while.
I hope you can find some silence amidst all the noise of Christmas. Put on a coat and go for a walk, look at your neighbors’ Christmas decorations... Or, grab your favorite hot beverage and sip it in quiet contemplation—or while listening to some soft, instrumental music.
And maybe read the first few chapters of Luke’s gospel, pausing over each scene, each verse, because there’s far more there than we’ll get to hear in worship.
And in those quiet moments, think back to Zechariah, and Elizabeth; and the noise of Jerusalem; and the relative quiet of their home in the hill country just outside of the city…
Imagine their joy when Elizabeth confirms that she is, indeed, pregnant, just as the angel said.
Imagine their excitement when they see Elizabeth’s relative Mary making her way on the road toward their home in the Judean hills, and behold Elizabeth’s surprise when the baby in her womb leaps in greeting to the baby in Mary’s womb.
In your moments of quiet, think on these things. Think on the despair and the gloom and the hope and the anticipation that existed 2,000 years ago, and which exists today, as we look toward the coming birth of Christ, who brings peace to the world, peace to the hearts of all those who look to him.
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