Waiting, Watching, and Serving Without Fear - The Song of Zechariah
A sermon by Rev. Aaron Fulp-Eickstaedt at Immanuel Presbyterian Church, McLean VA
Luke 1:67-79
This year we are doing something a little bit different with our Advent wreath lighting liturgy. We’re basing it on the various songs in scripture associated with the birth of Jesus—the song of Zechariah, the father of John the Baptist; the song of Mary, Jesus’ mother; the song of the angels at Jesus’ birth; and the song of the church over the centuries. We’re working with the theme of songs in our Advent devotionals as well. Our children have a devotional booklet based on carols and for the adults we also have Advent meditation book—Hark, the Glad Sound—based on songs heralding the coming of Christ. It’s a song-filled Advent indeed.
On the first Sunday of Advent, the lectionary readings treat us to apocalyptic images of the world falling apart and the moon turning to blood and so forth. Since we already heard a text like that a few weeks ago, I thought it might be nice to focus on the song of Zechariah today. Also known as the Benedictus, the words of Zechariah at the birth of John the Baptist were more poem than song. We don’t know if Zechariah sang those words, but in the centuries since Jesus birth those words have been set to music in a variety of ways.
As you hear them, bear in mind that--according to the story--the priest Zechariah and his wife were childless and well past childbearing age when Elizabeth became pregnant. Luke wants us to make the connection to Abraham and Sarah, another older couple who experience a miraculous conception. When Zechariah is told by the angel that Elizabeth will conceive, he doesn’t laugh as Sarah did. He says, “How can this be?” And from that point forward, he is struck dumb, unable to talk for nine months. It’s only at the birth of John that his speech is restored. Listen now for what he says:
Then his father Zechariah was filled with the Holy Spirit and spoke this prophecy: “Blessed be the Lord God of Israel, for he has looked favorably on his people and redeemed them. He has raised up a mighty savior for us in the house of his servant David, as he spoke through the mouth of his holy prophets from of old, that we would be saved from our enemies and from the hand of all who hate us. Thus he has shown the mercy promised to our ancestors, and has remembered his holy covenant, the oath that he swore to our ancestor Abraham, to grant us that we, being rescued from the hands of our enemies, might serve him without fear, in holiness and righteousness before him all our days. And you, child, will be called the prophet of the Most High; for you will go before the Lord to prepare his ways, to give knowledge of salvation to his people by the forgiveness of their sins. By the tender mercy of our God, the dawn from on high will break upon us, to give light to those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death, to guide our feet into the way of peace.”
Now listen to a portion of Psalm 25, the psalm appointed for this day. As you do, listen for echoes of Zechariah’s song. Remember that as a priest, Zechariah would have been well familiar with the words of this song:
To you, O Lord, I lift up my soul.
O my God, in you I trust; do not let me be put to shame; do not let my enemies exult over me.
Do not let those who wait for you be put to shame; let them be ashamed who are wantonly treacherous.
Make me to know your ways, O Lord; teach me your paths.
Lead me in your truth, and teach me, for you are the God of my salvation; for you I wait all day long.
Advent is a time of waiting. Waiting for Christmas to come, waiting for the baby to arrive. Waiting for the in-breaking of love into the world—that promised in-breaking that has not yet fully arrived. Advent is a time for waiting.
Waiting is not something most of us like to do. I know I don’t. Standing in line makes me impatient— increasingly impatient as I age. Being stuck in traffic, knowing that there’s nothing to be done but to sit and wait for an accident to be cleared, or for cars to merge from three lanes into two or two lanes into one… it gets to me.
I’m not big on waiting. What about you?
None of us likes to wait.
The old priest Zechariah and his wife Elizabeth knew what it was to wait. They’d been waiting on a Messiah to deliver their nation from its enemies all of their lives. They and their people had been subject to the occupation of foreign powers for generations.
In their personal lives, Zechariah and Elizabeth knew a little about what it meant to wait, too. They’d probably given up on waiting to have a child--even though the text says that Zechariah had been praying for a child, they’d probably given up. That ship had sailed. What the book of Genesis said about Sarah was true also for Elizabeth. She was old, advanced in years, and it had ceased to be with her after the manner of women. She was post-menopausal. Even the hot flashes were past.
Sometimes deliverance comes when you’ve almost given up expecting it. When it does, you almost can’t help but sing about it. That’s what happened with Zechariah. But I wonder how he made it to that point. I wonder what sustained him along the way.
A friend of mine this week posted something from the priest Richard Rohr. It goes like this:
Prayer is sitting in the silence until it silences us
Choosing gratitude until we are grateful
And praising God until we ourselves are an act of praise.
I like that.
Maybe what sustained Zechariah--and what sustains us--is not just continuing to praise until we ourselves are an act of praise, or choosing to be grateful until we actually become grateful, but continuing to sing until we ourselves are a song.
Zechariah’s song at the birth of John the Baptist—a child for whom he had prayed—speaks of his birth as God visiting and redeeming his people, raising up a horn of salvation that we should be saved from enemies. It is a very earthy and earthly hope, the kind of thing that you would expect from someone who knew what it was not just to wait but to be threatened and oppressed as he or she waited.
Zechariah’s song goes on to speak of being delivered from the hand of enemies so that the people might serve without fear. There’s something about this song that just feels so contemporary to me, this longing to be delivered from the hand of enemies so that people might serve without fear.
This Advent I want to encourage each of us to look for signs of the in-breaking of God’s Kin-dom into the world. Look for signs that that promised day we wait for and hope will one day come when all people will live in peace. Look for signs that it is, in fact, coming. Just like Mary and Joseph up there in the balcony edging their way week to week up here to the table. As we wait—let’s watch.
Watch for signs this Advent of people around you serving without fear: showing hospitality, embodying love, extending forgiveness, helping the poor and vulnerable.
Do one thing more: don’t just watch for those signs. Be a sign of Christ’s coming yourself. Let your feet be guided in the way of peace. While you wait and watch, do the work. In Jesus’ name. Amen.