Publications > Sermons

And You, Child

Rev. Cindy Maddox
December 11, 2005

Luke 1:67-79

Elizabeth and Zechariah are getting on in years, and they have prayed and prayed for a child, but no child has come.

In the early years of their marriage, I imagine it went like this. They wait with great expectation for her monthly cycle to come -- or, rather, they wait for it to NOT come. "Have we been chosen?' they ask each other. "Have we been chosen to bring a child into the world?"

But in a few days Elizabeth feels the life-blood leaving her, and she has to tell Zechariah that no child is on the way.

"Maybe next month," he says as he gathers her into his arms. "We will try more," he says with a grin.

As the years pass, the heartache increases. Elizabeth sees all the babies around her, and she mourns her emptiness. She waits expectantly, but then the bleeding begins,
and she doesn't have to say a word to Zechariah. He can see by the look on her face that no child is on the way. "Maybe next month," he says as he gathers her into his arms. "We will keep trying."

After many years, Elizabeth has stopped expecting. She still prays, but she and Zechariah no longer count the days each month. It is too painful. And their lovemaking has lost its joy. Does God not bless their union? Is God not pleased with their love? "Zechariah, is there some sin in me?" she asks. "Why does God leave me barren?"

Zechariah has no answer...because he has no answer to the other disappointment in his life. Zechariah is a priest, and he has never been chosen to offer the incense and pray the daily prayers with the people.

You see, every direct male descendant of Aaron was a priest, which meant primarily one thing: there were way too many priests! They were divided into 24 sections, or orders, and each order would serve in the temple for one week twice a year. With the exception of the high holy days, this was the only time a priest would serve.

When the order gathered in Jerusalem, they separated out those who had already
been chosen to offer the sacrifice and the daily prayers. Then they cast lots to see who was called by God that day. Each order had about 1000 men, so some men would serve their whole lives as priests and never be chosen. And the lot had never fallen on Zechariah.

In the early years of their marriage, I imagine it went something like this. Zechariah is preparing to go to Jerusalem for his service in the temple, his first since they've been married. He has been praying that he would be found worthy to be chosen by God. Elizabeth sends him on his way with a kiss and a prayer.

When he returns a week later, she runs out to greet him. "Well? Did the lot fall on you?"

"No," he answers with a smile. "Maybe next time. But you'll never guess who was chosen. Old Jacob. We had feared this might be his last year. He was so filled with joy."

As the years pass, the discouragement increases. He has still not been chosen to enter the sanctuary, and he has not been chosen to father a child.

Zechariah has been praying that God would reveal to him why these two joys don't come to him. Elizabeth hugs him before he leaves. "My prayers are with you," she whispers in his ear.

When he returns a week later, she walks out to meet him. But she can tell by the look on his face that he was not chosen.

"You'll never guess who was chosen," he begins, trying to smile. "Young Caleb. Jacob's grandson. In his first year. He was so thrilled."

The whole story is about waiting: waiting for a child, waiting for an opportunity to serve,
waiting for the promise to be fulfilled. So it is definitely an appropriate text for Advent, the season of waiting.

The problem is, we're not so sure what we're waiting for. Are we waiting to watch our children's faces light up as they open their presents? Are we waiting for the family to gather and sing carols and laugh over dinner? Are we waiting to see if our sweetheart followed directions and bought us what we asked for?

Or maybe we are like Elizabeth. We long for new life within us. We long to give birth to something that is lasting. We feel empty and barren, and we wonder what we have done to deserve this punishment. We are waiting and waiting and nothing seems to be happening.

Or maybe we are like Zechariah. We want to answer God's call upon our lives. We are ready and willing, but we don't seem to be given the opportunity to serve, to do what we feel we're supposed to do. We long to be in God's presence, and we never feel invited. We are waiting and waiting and nothing seems to be happening.

Fortunately, the story doesn't end there.

After many years. Elizabeth sends Zechariah off for another week of service in the temple. She hugs him and tells him she will pray. He prays, too - -all the way to Jerusalem. "Oh God, let the lot fall on me. Oh God, find me worthy. Oh God, bring me into your presence. Maybe in your sanctuary I will understand.?

When the lot falls on him, he can't believe it. And he can't help himself -- he begins to cry. The old priests around him pat him on the back. The young guys clap. He has finally been chosen. And he will serve well.

But when he enters, things are not like he expected. Beside the altar an angel is waiting. The angel tells him that his prayers have been heard, and Elizabeth will bear a son. And not just any son, but one who has been set apart to prepare the way for God's coming -- to prepare the way for the Messiah.

Zechariah wants to laugh, but he knows better than that. So instead he says, "How will I know that this is so?"

It seems like a strange question. Well, you'll know when your wife gets pregnant! But that's not what he is asking. He is saying, "When I leave this place, when I no longer have an angel standing in front of me, how will I continue to believe if it doesn't happen right away? How will I know it wasn't all a dream?"

Well, the angel makes sure of that. Zechariah will be unable to speak until the child is born.

The people are waiting expectantly for Zechariah to come and say the prayers. He is a long time in coming. And when he does, he isn't even able to speak.

The other priests want explanations, but Zechariah just wants to run home and tell Elizabeth.

But how will he explain it, when he can't even speak? He wishes he had broken the law and taught her how to read. (She always wanted to learn!)

As he nears their house, there she is. The grin on his face must show all the way across the yard!

She runs to him -- or moves as quickly as her old legs will carry her -- and she falls into his arms. "Oh, Zechariah, the lot fell on you at last! Oh, come and tell me all about it."

And Zechariah says...

[Preacher's note: Here I mimed Zechariah telling Elizabeth about the angel's proclamation. Sometimes I just can't resist going for a laugh.]

It takes them quite a while, but she finally gets the gist of it. She is staring at him in awe and wonder and delight. And he is staring at her with a passion she hasn't seen in quite a while. He takes her hand, and he leads her to their bed. They remember that, child or no child, their union has always been blessed by God, that their intimacy has always been holy. There is great joy.

But there is still silence.

Why is there silence? Zechariah has just been declared worthy -- not only of offering the sacrifice and daily prayers, but of raising the child who will become the prophet who will announce the Messiah! This is no small honor.

Why, then, after all this time waiting to be able to make the sacrifice and pray with the people, does he find himself without a voice? It seems a contradiction. An affirmation of his calling and a denial of his one and only opportunity to fulfill that calling,
all in the same day!

He was prepared to serve. He wasn't prepared for silence.

Neither are we. We spend a lot of time preparing to speak. We don't prepare for silence. In fact, many of us don't even like silence.

But something important happens in the silence. We find God. We find ourselves. The silence -- the wilderness -- brings readiness. Readiness for the task at hand and the task ahead.

And the task before Zechariah is quite a big one. He needs the time of silence to prepare. So here he is, for at least nine months, if not more, unable to speak.

But the story doesn't end there. When John is born, Zechariah makes up for lost time. He is credited with speaking some of the most beautiful words in the entire Gospel:

Blessed be the Lord God of Israel, who has looked favorably on the people and redeemed them...God has shown the mercy promised to our ancestors, and has remembered God's holy covenant...so that we might serve God without fear.

His time of silence has certainly prepared him well. He went from being terrified of the angel in the temple to saying we can serve God without fear.

He still has plenty of reasons for fear. Because the story doesn't end there.

He and Elizabeth now have the awesome task of raising this promised child. How do they do that? How do they raise their son so that he will become the person God has created and called him to be? How shall they prepare the child who is to prepare the way?

Those among us who are parents probably ask similar questions. But it is a question for all of us. How do we as a church help to shape and form people who will prepare the way of God? How do we as individuals contribute to the spiritual formation of those around us? How are we preparing God's ways?

Are we giving knowledge of salvation through forgiveness?

Are we showing the tender mercy of our God so that dawn will break upon all people?

Do we walk so that others may follow in the way of peace?

Zechariah says to John:

And you, child, will be called the prophet of the Most High, for you will go before God to prepare God's ways.

But I don't think Zechariah is talking only to John. Because the story doesn't end there.

We still wait with expectation for the Christ to be born in and among us. God is still speaking. God is still calling. God is still anointing...

And you, child, will be called. And you, child. And you, child.

And you, child, will be called.