Do Not Be Afraid: Zechariah

November 27, 2016 - First Sunday in Advent

Luke 1:5-25

In the days of King Herod of Judah, there was a priest named Zechariah, who belonged to the priestly order of Abijah.  His wife was a descendent of Aaron, and her name was Elizabeth.  Both of them were righteous before God, living blamelessly according to all the commandments and regulations of the Lord.  But they had no children, because Elizabeth was barren, and both were getting on in years.

Once, when Zechariah was serving as priest before God and his section was on duty, he was chosen by lot, according to the custom of the priesthood, to enter the sanctuary of the Lord and offer incense.  Now at the time of the incense offering, the whole assembly of the people was praying outside.  Then there appeared to him an angel of the Lord, standing at the right side of the altar of incense.

When Zechariah saw him, he was terrified; and fear overwhelmed him.  But the angel said to him, “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.  He must never drink wine or strong drink; 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.  With the spirit and the power of Elijah he will turn the hearts of parents to their children, and the disobedient to the wisdom of the righteous, to make ready a people prepared for the Lord.”

Zechariah said to the angel, “How will I know that this is so? For I am an old man, and my wife is getting on in years.”  The angel 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.”

Meanwhile, the people were waiting for Zechariah, and wondering at his delay in the sanctuary.  When he did come out, he could not speak to them, and they realized he had seen a vision in the sanctuary.  He kept motioning to them, and remained unable to speak. 

When his time of service had ended, he went to his home.

After those days, his wife Elizabeth conceived, and for five months she remained in seclusion.  She said, “This is what the Lord has done for me when he looked favorably on me, and took away my disgrace I have endured among my people.” 

Sermon:  “Do Not Be Afraid: Zechariah”

I always thought I feared the worst.  I think we’re somehow conditioned in this way: to prepare for the most negative outcome, as if this saves us from disappointment (spoiler alert: it doesn’t.).  I thought I feared my wife Elizabeth dying before I did.  I thought I feared being an ineffective priest in the order of Abijah.  It took a slightly-pushy angel to show me that I was wrong: I did not fear the worst, after all.  I feared the best. 

Ah, I haven’t said who “I” am yet, have I?  I am Zechariah, husband to Elizabeth, father to John...but that comes later in my story.  Back to that pushy angel:

I was doing my priestly duties for the incense offering, going about the decent-and-in-good-order rituals of honoring God on behalf of my people.  To be honest, sometimes we priests get into a bit of a routine with these sorts of things, and so I did not expect anything unusual to happen.  I was looking forward to getting it done well, praying for my wife, and then joining her for a nice lunch with our extended family, and perhaps a little nap, if I was lucky. 

Until a pushy angel showed up.  I wish that being a man of the cloth meant I was open to receiving such an interruption.  I was not.  The appearance of that angel shining like an exploding star terrified me to my core.  I was actually foolish enough to believe that this was the most afraid I’d ever be.  The next moment turned out to strike even greater fear in me.

He sensed my fear, this angel, and said, “Do not be afraid, Zechariah, for your prayer has been heard.” 

I anxiously wracked my brains for what I had last prayed for: my knees to stop aching?  Liz to be healthy as she got older?  A nice new set of robes?  Then, an uneasiness began to grow in my stomach.  I suddenly knew what prayer he meant.  Liz and I had prayed for days, then weeks, then months, then years, for a child. 

And finally, our souls weary from hoping that long, we stopped praying for a child, and began to pray for acceptance of our simple life the way it was.  So, as the angel said his next words, they were already echoing in my terrified heart, “It’s a boy, Zephaniah!  His name’ll be John, and he will bring joy like you’ve never known.  He will be great in God’s eyes.” 

You’d think that when God finally answers your deepest, most secret prayer, you’d rejoice.  But joy was not my instinctive feeling.  I felt even deeper fear, especially for Liz at her age.  “How can this be?!” I cried.  “I’m downright old, and Liz isn’t exactly a spring chicken, either!”

The angel didn’t seem to be dissuaded by these practical and rational fears.  “Do you know who I am?” he pushed. “I am Gabriel, kind of a big deal in God’s house, and I’m bringing you good news today!  But you can’t see past your fears.  So I’m striking you mute until that child of yours is born.  You need to see that God’s blessing is beyond your rationality, and perhaps if you can’t talk, you’ll get there sooner.”

I told you he was a pushy angel.  And mute I was, for all 9 months, making my first sounds with my newborn son.  Now, we’ll not ask Liz which was a greater blessing: a child of her own she’d longed for, or her chatty, nervous husband being unable to speak for the entirely of her pregnancy! 

I’ll tell you this, though: a person can do an awful lot of thinking when they’re not able to talk.  I replayed that encounter with Gabriel over and over again.  I pondered the God who was listening to each of those heartfelt prayers for a child for all those years.  Mostly, I examined what it was that made me so very afraid to have my prayer answered.  I came to an unexpected conclusion, one I hinted at in the beginning of my story to you today. 

I don’t think we human beings fear the worst, after all.  I think we assume we do: we do our risk assessments and praise predictability, trying to minimize pain and loss at all cost.  Entire industries exist because they want us to fear the worst, telling us we need stronger security, bigger weapons, more suspicion of those who differ from us.  We digest all that fear and all that anxiety, and wind up feeling like we’re always choosing between lesser evils.  But deep down, beneath all the negativity and pessimism and conditioning, I think we have a deeper fear.  And that fear is of the best.

We fear the unplanned joy and the inopportune grace of God coming in the startling appearance of angels.  We fear a God who actually listens when we pray and sometimes, when it’s least convenient or practical, answers.  Here’s what I learned about this kind of fear in my many months of silence:  it can do just as much damage, perhaps even more so, than fearing the worst. 

Think about it: how deadly is this fear to our sense of expectant hope this Advent season?  How does our fear of God’s unpredictable joy, our most visceral, private prayers answered, keep us living smaller lives than we should, being stricter with our forgiveness than we should, having a faith fueled by pessimism and not the wild hope God can bring?  Fear of the best can actually imprison our souls until we worship not God, but predictability and safety.

Now, an angel might not strike you mute this Advent season, but I encourage you to practice intentional silence and ponder to yourselves: what “best” are you terrified of?  How have you in your life traded daring hope for lesser roads of certainty and security?  What angels has God put in your path to remind you to dream bigger, to love extravagantly, to live bravely? 

New life is coming to you, friends, just like it came to Liz and me.  If you miss it, it won’t be because it’s not there; it will be because you’re too busy talking and not listening, too preoccupied with playing it safe, to recognize it. 

Take it from me, your life will be so much richer if you live it expecting, and not fearing, the best, and if you listen to angels along the way (even the pushy ones).  Amen.