Praise for the Unfolding Story
Luke 1:57-80
It's been nine months since Zechariah has made a sound. No words. No singing. No
liturgical chanting of the Torah in the Temple. No talking in his sleep in the
middle of the night. And no advice (which was probably convenient for his wife
Elizabeth, since his silence lined up precisely with her entire pregnancy.)
Nothing. No sound at all for nine months.
And then, at a circumcision naming ceremony, these holy and miraculous words just pour out. They suddenly burst forth in the presence of the people, like they've been stored inside Zechariah, like they've been forming inside him with cells and sinews and life of their own.
This song of praise is suddenly born among the people in Zechariah and Elizabeth's own living room. And everything large, cosmic, and magnificent about God breaks into this particular moment. This song of praise at once large and expansive, and at the same time, particular and specific to these people, this party, and this child who is indeed to be named John.
It's a song of great praise.
And, you know, that's a big deal because up until this point, Luke, the author, has pretty much depicted Zechariah as an Old Grump! Yep, a really Old Grump.*
But Zechariah also had a few reasons to be in that place. Zechariah and Elizabeth had known great pain. They longed to be parents, but for many years, their hopes led to nothing but disappointment. And as their pains are told in Luke's story, Elizabeth even says that she has endured disgrace among her people simply because she remains childless. But suddenly, all of that is about to change when Zechariah receives an unexpected visitor. Zechariah was a priest, and when he was serving in the sanctuary, a messenger from God appeared to him. That messenger's name was Gabriel, and he said, "Do not be afraid, Zechariah, for your prayer has been heard. Your wife Elizabeth will bear you a son, and you will name him John. You will have joy and gladness, and many will rejoice at his birth, for he will be great in the sight of the Lord. . . Even before his birth he will be filled with the Holy Spirit. He will turn many of the people of Israel to the Lord their God."
Incredible news, right? But like us, Zechariah was not quick to believe everything he hears, especially something that would be so miraculous, especially something that would speak to his disappointment. Sometimes, we prefer the certainty of misery to the misery of uncertainty.** How could he possibly trust this incredible announcement? Zechariah said to Gabriel, "How will I know that this is so? For I am an old man, and my wife is getting on in years." An Old Grump. But I think we can understand his reservations.
And he was about to have reason to become grumpier. Gabriel replied, "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. But now, because you did not believe my words, which will be fulfilled in their time, you will become mute, unable to speak, until the day these things occur." And there you have it. Grumpyville for nine months. Maybe this wouldn't be so great for Elizabeth after all…
Who knows what happened during those nine months? What we do know is that Elizabeth did conceive a child who would be named John, a child in fact, who would grow up to become famous as John the Baptist, issuing cries for repentance along the River Jordan, teaching that the Kingdom of God is about to come near, and preparing the way of the Lord Jesus. This child was with Elizabeth for nine months, and as he remained silent, words of praise were forming inside Zechariah too.
So they were all in the living room. Simple enough. Maybe Elizabeth and Zechariah had argued as they were in a rush to get their place ready for a party. (In that case, the silence would be helpful for Elizabeth). They were tired, new parents at an old age. And to bring some modern sensibilities into the moment, maybe party favors were strewn all over the place. And friends were gathered alongside that really annoying uncle who regularly embarrasses himself.
In such a simple and mundane moment, Zechariah was about to be freed. When he wrote down the name of his newborn son - JOHN - his tongue was freed and he began to sing words of great praise – words about God's large, unfolding story with the people of Israel and ways that this large story was sweeping into the present moment in the life of this child.
A new child was before them with great promise, and Zechariah was newly born too.
I love moments like these. I love the moments when God's large story of love, commitment, and new life, breaks into the present moment, and we are restored and sent forward as new people. I love those moments because they happen all the time! And perhaps what I love most of all, is that every single moment - no matter how mundane - is ripe with the possibility of significance. Martin Luther trekked off to his bathroom of all places and read the Book of Romans there (I'm not making this up) and in the process, he has a Life Aha big enough to ignite a church reformation. A woman gets on a bus on a mundane Thursday, but this time, Rosa Parks won't sit in the back. In another living room 13 years ago, a question is raised that will eventually change our life and witness as a church: "What are we going to do to become a multicultural congregation?" Our lives are filled with moments like these - moments pregnant with possibility, and in this season of Advent, we remind one another to wait and watch for them. That is what we do together.
So here we are in our living room, the place where we gather weekly, and whether we've been expecting much or whether we're fixated on distractions this morning, God is in this place among us. God's large story breaks into this sanctuary every Sunday, and we are new people because of it. Now sometimes we’re like Zechariah and Elizabeth’s friends. “You can’t name him John! You need to choose a family name! We’ve always done it that way. . .” Sometimes we’re like that. But at other times, we are made free by God’s Spirit, and we are able to praise God for all the amazing gifts of our lives. We are able to praise God for all the amazing gifts of this congregation.
Nothing. No sound at all for nine months.
And then, at a circumcision naming ceremony, these holy and miraculous words just pour out. They suddenly burst forth in the presence of the people, like they've been stored inside Zechariah, like they've been forming inside him with cells and sinews and life of their own.
This song of praise is suddenly born among the people in Zechariah and Elizabeth's own living room. And everything large, cosmic, and magnificent about God breaks into this particular moment. This song of praise at once large and expansive, and at the same time, particular and specific to these people, this party, and this child who is indeed to be named John.
It's a song of great praise.
And, you know, that's a big deal because up until this point, Luke, the author, has pretty much depicted Zechariah as an Old Grump! Yep, a really Old Grump.*
But Zechariah also had a few reasons to be in that place. Zechariah and Elizabeth had known great pain. They longed to be parents, but for many years, their hopes led to nothing but disappointment. And as their pains are told in Luke's story, Elizabeth even says that she has endured disgrace among her people simply because she remains childless. But suddenly, all of that is about to change when Zechariah receives an unexpected visitor. Zechariah was a priest, and when he was serving in the sanctuary, a messenger from God appeared to him. That messenger's name was Gabriel, and he said, "Do not be afraid, Zechariah, for your prayer has been heard. Your wife Elizabeth will bear you a son, and you will name him John. You will have joy and gladness, and many will rejoice at his birth, for he will be great in the sight of the Lord. . . Even before his birth he will be filled with the Holy Spirit. He will turn many of the people of Israel to the Lord their God."
Incredible news, right? But like us, Zechariah was not quick to believe everything he hears, especially something that would be so miraculous, especially something that would speak to his disappointment. Sometimes, we prefer the certainty of misery to the misery of uncertainty.** How could he possibly trust this incredible announcement? Zechariah said to Gabriel, "How will I know that this is so? For I am an old man, and my wife is getting on in years." An Old Grump. But I think we can understand his reservations.
And he was about to have reason to become grumpier. Gabriel replied, "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. But now, because you did not believe my words, which will be fulfilled in their time, you will become mute, unable to speak, until the day these things occur." And there you have it. Grumpyville for nine months. Maybe this wouldn't be so great for Elizabeth after all…
Who knows what happened during those nine months? What we do know is that Elizabeth did conceive a child who would be named John, a child in fact, who would grow up to become famous as John the Baptist, issuing cries for repentance along the River Jordan, teaching that the Kingdom of God is about to come near, and preparing the way of the Lord Jesus. This child was with Elizabeth for nine months, and as he remained silent, words of praise were forming inside Zechariah too.
So they were all in the living room. Simple enough. Maybe Elizabeth and Zechariah had argued as they were in a rush to get their place ready for a party. (In that case, the silence would be helpful for Elizabeth). They were tired, new parents at an old age. And to bring some modern sensibilities into the moment, maybe party favors were strewn all over the place. And friends were gathered alongside that really annoying uncle who regularly embarrasses himself.
In such a simple and mundane moment, Zechariah was about to be freed. When he wrote down the name of his newborn son - JOHN - his tongue was freed and he began to sing words of great praise – words about God's large, unfolding story with the people of Israel and ways that this large story was sweeping into the present moment in the life of this child.
A new child was before them with great promise, and Zechariah was newly born too.
I love moments like these. I love the moments when God's large story of love, commitment, and new life, breaks into the present moment, and we are restored and sent forward as new people. I love those moments because they happen all the time! And perhaps what I love most of all, is that every single moment - no matter how mundane - is ripe with the possibility of significance. Martin Luther trekked off to his bathroom of all places and read the Book of Romans there (I'm not making this up) and in the process, he has a Life Aha big enough to ignite a church reformation. A woman gets on a bus on a mundane Thursday, but this time, Rosa Parks won't sit in the back. In another living room 13 years ago, a question is raised that will eventually change our life and witness as a church: "What are we going to do to become a multicultural congregation?" Our lives are filled with moments like these - moments pregnant with possibility, and in this season of Advent, we remind one another to wait and watch for them. That is what we do together.
So here we are in our living room, the place where we gather weekly, and whether we've been expecting much or whether we're fixated on distractions this morning, God is in this place among us. God's large story breaks into this sanctuary every Sunday, and we are new people because of it. Now sometimes we’re like Zechariah and Elizabeth’s friends. “You can’t name him John! You need to choose a family name! We’ve always done it that way. . .” Sometimes we’re like that. But at other times, we are made free by God’s Spirit, and we are able to praise God for all the amazing gifts of our lives. We are able to praise God for all the amazing gifts of this congregation.
So let’s have a time of praise this
morning in our own living room. This can
become a pep rally moment, and even God’s Presbyterian Frozen Chosen might join
in with an Amen or two. Amen?
For a church filled to capacity last
night with guests who have so much to teach us, and for the resounding music of
hope and praise that happened here, Amen?
For children who are singing with spirit
and. . . sunglasses. . . who teach what it means to be a person of trust and
joy in this world, Amen?
For a vibrant Spanish Language Ministry
that is growing and unfolding with strength in the midst shared meals,
empowerment, and a new tradition of posadas that will happen here next Saturday
night, Amen?
For doors of a Chapel that are flung
wide open to our city in a new Sunday Evening Worship service, where bread is
broken every week and the “Spiritually Hungry but Institutionally Suspicious”
are invited into community and love, Amen?
For people who struggle through this
season because memories and losses are difficult, but who know in their gut,
that when they come here, they are loved to their core and provided with deep
purpose, Amen?
For a congregation that is growing with
strength as God’s Spirit gets inside our bones invites us to take risks and
live our lives on behalf of this neighborhood and this world, Amen?
For God’s story sweeping up our own
story, Amen! Amen! Amen!
-Associate Pastor Renee Roederer and the Community at Pasadena Presbyterian Church* I owe Robin Gallaher Branch for this observation and description which I found in Feasting on the Word: Preaching the Revised Common Lectionary, Year C Volume 1.
** This powerful phrase and observation comes from The Boy Who Was Raised as a Dog and Other Stories from a Child Psychologist's Notebook: What Traumatized Children Can Teach Us About Loss, Love and Healing by Dr. Bruce Perry.
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