Zechariah: From Priest to Speechless to Prophet

The account of the nativity in the Gospel of Luke (Luke 1:5-25, 57-80) begins with the story of Zechariah, a priest and therefore a Levite. His division of priests was on duty, and he was chosen by lot to serve as the incense burner – the priest who went into the temple to burn incense to the Lord.

This is what we know about him: he was elderly; his wife Elizabeth had not been able to bear children; he and his wife were “upright in the Lord” – they observed all of the Lord’s commandments and regulations “blamelessly.” They lived in the hill country of Judea, but he would occasionally have duties at the temple in Jerusalem. Sometime priests like him would be chosen for burning incense. And so he’s chosen and his does his job.

As the incense burns, and the aroma fills the place, and as the smoke rises, Zechariah sees a figure standing to the right of the altar, and it scares him to death. No one else was supposed to be there; no one else could have entered except through the front door. The account says it was an angel of the Lord, but Zechariah was likely so scared witless he didn’t know what he was seeing until the angel spoke.

At first the angel doesn’t identify himself. He simply tells Zechariah not to be afraid, and that his prayers have been answered. Elizabeth will bear him a son, whom will be named John. The child will be joy, and the child will be set aside for God’s work. No alcohol will touch his lips, and he will be filled with the Holy Spirit from birth. And he will do great things for God and his people.

We then get another glimpse into Zechariah. He asks the question that most if not all of us would ask. You have to be kidding, right? I’m old. My wife is old. How can I be sure of this? He doesn’t say it this way, but it sounds as if skeptical Zechariah is asking for a sign. (One’s reminded of Sarai in the Old Testament laughing when the strangers tell her husband Abram that she will bear him a son.)

Then the angel’s tone changes. He tells Zechariah his name – Gabriel (he will be the same angel to tell Mary that she will bear the Messiah). And because Zechariah did not at first accept what Gabriel was telling him, he will give him a sign of sorts – Zechariah won’t be able to speak until his son is born.

When he returns home, he communicates with Elizabeth, likely by writing. And she accepts the message immediately. If anyone had a reason to be skeptical, it was Elizabeth. But she accepts it for the blessing that it is. Nine months later, she gives birth to a son.

Eight days after his birth, they bring him for circumcision and to receive his name. The expectation is that he will be named after his father. No, says Elizabeth, he will be named John. They turn to Zechariah, and he writes the name “John.” Immediately he can speak again, and the first thing he utters is a prophecy.

“Blessed be the Lord God of Israel,
    for he has visited and redeemed his people
and has raised up a horn of salvation for us
    in the house of his servant David,
as he spoke by the mouth of his holy prophets from of old,
that we should be saved from our enemies
    and from the hand of all who hate us;
to show the mercy promised to our fathers
    and to remember his holy covenant,
the oath that he swore to our father Abraham, to grant us
    that we, being delivered from the hand 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
    in the forgiveness of their sins,
because of the tender mercy of our God,
    whereby the sunrise shall visit us from on high
to give light to those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death,
    to guide our feet into the way of peace.”

(English Standard Version)

We don’t know if Zechariah lived to see his son become John the Baptist. But it was enough for him to know and to speak what his son would do.

Related:

Pastor Brian Schulenberg has a one-act, one-actor play, I’m Speechless: Zechariah’s Story, that tells the story of the account in the gospel in simple, easy-to-understand language.

Pen scratches to scroll

Pen scratches to scroll;

the woman brings the bowl, the jug

as he waves her away:

the words flow too well.

The scratches are the only sound

as the pen stains the scroll

with words,

a precise hand without

ornate flourishes.

The point is not to write

what will impress the eye

the point is to write

what will be read,

always.

Photograph by Teodoro S. Gruhl via Public Domain Pictures. Used with permission.

Sitting, with pen

After Acts 1:1-8

The doctor sits, pen in hand,

hesitating before the emptiness

stretched in front of him. One

part completed, one part left.

He feels a small chill, as he

often does these days, this time

grown shorter. He pulls his cloak

closer, as the scroll beckons.

He begins this task set

before him, this work to be read

by only one, one friend and

he wonders if it will be shared

as the nib of the pen finally

touches the untouched scroll.

Part of this he knows himself,

part he does not, so he talks

he reads, he listens, he writes

letters to those who saw

although he ranks grow thin.

While he writes, Pompeii

is buried, Jerusalem falls,

emperors come and go, wisps

on an unforgiving wind

only the words last

only the words survive.

Illustration by George Hodan via Public Domain Pictures. Used with permission.

Slippery grace slips away

It’s fitting that Andy Stanley chose the end The Grace of God with the story of the prodigal son.

It’s a familiar story. The younger of two sons asks his father for his inheritance, squanders it in riotous living, repents and returns home, hoping to work as a servant. The father welcomes him with open arms, and orders the fatted calf to be slain for the celebration dinner. The dutiful older son resents this favorable treatment for his brother, and his father has to take him to taks for his attitude. We don’t learn what happened after that.

When I’ve studied this passage (Luke 15) before, and I’ve heared preached many times. We usually focus on the younger son, or the father, or the older son. For some reason, reading the account as told by Stanley, it struck how like both sons we are.

We are the prodigals, and we are the dutiful sons – and often at the same time. It’s the genius of the story – we can identify with both sons, because we are both sons. We are the prodigal who indulges in sin, and we are the obedient older son who keeps faithfully at what’s set before us.

And there’s tension between these two sons, these two ideas, and Stanley calls it the tension of grace. “It’s this tension that makes grace so slippery,” he says. “Perhaps it’s this tension that has driven churches and Christians through the centuries to add to and subtract from grace. There’s something in most of us that screams, It can’t be that easy. But as much as we want to qualify grace, it can’t be qualified.”

We identify with the prodigal, because we are sinners. And his repentance was genuine, and recognized by that father as genuine.

We identify with the obedient son, because we have all been there. Like Martha washing the dishes and preparing the food while Mary lounges around with Jesus, we wonder why our contribution isn’t being recognized. After all, the older son stayed with the father, stayed at the homestead, and worked beside his father while his brother indulged himself in pleasures (however fleeting).

And there it is – that tension. We want the younger son to be forgiven, because we were forgiven. But shouldn’t he have to prove himself? Couldn’t God make this a little harder?

It’s helpful to remember the context for the story. Jesus had been teaching and preaching, followed by large crowds wherever he went. He was especially popular among the tax collectors and known “sinners,” and that rankled the Pharisees and the teachers of the law.

So Jesus tells them three parables – the lost sheep, the lost coin, and the lost, or prodigal, son. All three stories have the same point – the importance of the sinner who repents. Telling three stories with the same point punched the point home. Saving the story of the prodigal son for the last really punched it home – there was no evading whom Jesus was talking about.

The interesting thing about Jesus was that his listeners always understood his message, even when it was clearly aimed at them. The Pharisees got the point of the story. They knew Jesus was talking about them.

And no matter which son we chose to focus on, Jesus is still talking about us.

Led by Jason Stasyszen and Sarah Salter, we’ve been reading The Grace of God. Today’s discussion concludes the book. To see more posts on this final chapter, “How Sweet the Sound,” please visit Sarah Salter at Living Between the Lines.

Painting: The Prodigal Son by Rembrandt (circa 1669). Hermitage Museum, St. Petersburg. 

Gabriel's Song

I sing my song

in a circle of radiance.

You stand among fanged lions.

You dream cloudless visions,

you young man full

of faith.

You are esteemed, highly.

You walk the temple stones.

You hope for a son, still,

you old man whose gnarled voice

I still.

Your prayer is heard.

You work the olives and the hearth.

You gaze shyly at your betrothed,

you young woman full of oak

and faith.

You are favored, highly.

I sing my song

in a circle of fire.

At TweetSpeak Poetry, we’ve been talking about angels this month. And since the month is almost over, I thought I better add something angelic. Well, sort of angelic.

This poem is also submitted for Open Link Night at dVerse Poets. The links will be live at 2 p.m. Central time today.

Photograph: 13^th century Georgian icon of the Archangel Gabriel.