Sunday, December 3rd: "Speaking Through Silence"

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First United Presbyterian Church

“Speaking Through Silence”

Rev. Amy Morgan

December 3, 2023

Luke 1:1-23 

1 Since many have undertaken to compile a narrative about the events that have been fulfilled among us, 2 just as they were handed on to us by those who from the beginning were eyewitnesses and servants of the word, 3 I, too, decided, as one having a grasp of everything from the start,[a] to write a well-ordered account for you, most excellent Theophilus, 4 so that you may have a firm grasp of the words in which you have been instructed.

5 In the days of King Herod of Judea, there was a priest named Zechariah, who belonged to the priestly order of Abijah. His wife was descended from the daughters of Aaron, and her name was Elizabeth. 6 Both of them were righteous before God, living blamelessly according to all the commandments and regulations of the Lord. 7 But they had no children because Elizabeth was barren, and both were getting on in years.

8 Once when he was serving as priest before God during his section’s turn of duty, 9 he was chosen by lot, according to the custom of the priesthood, to enter the sanctuary of the Lord to offer incense. 10 Now at the time of the incense offering, the whole assembly of the people was praying outside. 11 Then there appeared to him an angel of the Lord, standing at the right side of the altar of incense. 12 When Zechariah saw him, he was terrified, and fear overwhelmed him. 13 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. 14 You will have joy and gladness, and many will rejoice at his birth, 15 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. 16 He will turn many of the people of Israel to the Lord their God. 17 With the spirit and power of Elijah he will go before him, to 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.” 18 Zechariah said to the angel, “How can I know that this will happen? For I am an old man, and my wife is getting on in years.” 19 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. 20 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.”

21 Meanwhile the people were waiting for Zechariah and wondering at his delay in the sanctuary. 22 When he did come out, he was unable to speak to them, and they realized that he had seen a vision in the sanctuary. He kept motioning to them and remained unable to speak. 23 When his time of service was ended, he returned to his home. 

“We are none of us very good at silence. It says too much.” These words from Frederick Buechner remind us just how expressive silence can be. It can communicate clearly, but often what it communicates are those uncomfortable emotions we try to hide from the world. Our silence speaks volumes, and so we often just keep talking to try to drown out how we’re truly feeling. 

Silence may say that we are despondent. Old Zechariah had talked for years about God’s faithfulness. He declared over and over his love of God’s commandments. He said the prayers again and again. And yet, he and his wife, Elizabeth, remained childless. In his community, barrenness was a clear sign of God’s disfavor. After all these years, Zechariah didn’t know what else to do, what else to say, that might convince God to bless him with offspring. But he kept talking because silence might communicate his despondency.  

Silence may say that we are resentful. From the moment they were married, the questions started coming. When would their first child arrive? What would they name it? How would they raise it? Children were all anyone talked about. For years and years. And then the questions became even more painful. Why had God closed Elizabeth’s womb? What had they done to displease God? How could a man who seemed so righteous actually be sinful enough to die childless? Zechariah had engaged the questions, debated the possibilities, even asked for advice. But a quiet resentment began to build. He was annoyed by the intrusive inquiries. He was angry at the insinuations. If he was honest with himself, he felt God was being unfair. Zechariah had done everything he knew how to please God and live righteously. And yet, he and Elizabeth were being punished, seemingly for no reason. But these were not things one could say out loud. These weren’t acceptable feelings. So Zechariah kept talking because silence might betray his deep resentment. 

Silence may simply say that we are weary. Zechariah was getting on in years. His service in the temple had become rote. He was weary of the sameness of days, the lack of any hope for change. He was tired of having the same conversations with the same people, listening to the same complaints, the same stories, the same opinions. He was worn out and had nothing left to say, but he kept talking to hide his weariness.  

When Zechariah comes to the temple to perform his priestly duties, there is nothing but noise outside. Luke tells us that the whole assembly of the people was praying outside when Zechariah comes to perform the incense offering. Jews in the first century did not pray quietly. This was not an intellectual exercise or a private conversation with God. This was a communal activity that might involve singing, shouting, crying, and laughter. It was noisy and emotional. Just read through a few of the Psalms, the ancient prayers of the Hebrew people, to observe the range of emotion that could be expressed in just one prayer. 

Zechariah walks from this cacophony into the dim, still silence of the sanctuary. Only one priest could enter this part of the temple complex, so Zechariah entered it alone. Into this silence, he brought precious incense to honor God. Into this silence, he brought his despondency, his resentment, his weariness. In the silence, there was nowhere to hide these feelings. As he silently approached the alter, his silence spoke volumes. 

And suddenly, the silence is broken with a voice. A voice announcing unbelievably good news. Literally, it was beyond belief that a woman as old as Elizabeth could conceive and bear a child, especially a child that would be filled with the Holy Spirit from birth and turn people towards God and restore relationships within families. Zechariah could not believe this good news, even when it was delivered from the lips of an angel. 

Perhaps his weariness made Zechariah more vulnerable to fear and disbelief. Perhaps it caused him to forget the stories of Sarah and Hannah, barren women who were blessed with children. Perhaps weariness had made him impervious to hope. 

We are in a noisy season right now. There are Christmas carols playing in every shop and on the radio, and there are pundits shouting their fearmongering into our news outlets. There are wars and protests. There are advertisements and cell phone alerts. We have noise coming at us 24-hours a day from dozens of sources every minute. It’s so loud all the time that we can’t even hear ourselves think. 

But maybe that’s the point. Maybe we keep the noise playing, even if it’s just in the background, to keep the silence and all it says at bay. 

Because maybe our silence would say that we are despondent. We have tried to do the right things, vote for the right people, give to the right organizations, get the right job, join the right church. And still, our lives aren’t all we hoped they would be. Still, there is something we long for and don’t have. Maybe it’s just a sense of purpose or fulfillment. Maybe it’s a healthy, loving relationship. Maybe it’s a feeling of safety and security. Maybe it’s grandchildren. Or a better-paying job. Or a healthier body. Maybe we don’t even know what it is. This ill-defined longing can create an even deeper despondency than the lack of a particular thing. 

Or perhaps we keep the noise going because our silence would say that we are resentful. We resent other people questioning our truth, or our motives, or our actions. We resent the fact that we’ve worked hard, and the payoff hasn’t come. We resent that bad people prosper while good people suffer. We resent all the ways we feel judged by other people. We resent all the ways we feel judged by God. 

Or maybe we live in the noise because our silence would simply say that we are weary. We are tired of the bickering that paralyzes our government. We’re worn out by the demands to live our best lives and be our best selves. We are going through the motions of our lives, weary of the sameness of days, the lack of any hope for change. We are tired of having the same conversations with the same people, listening to the same complaints, the same stories, the same opinions. 

But perhaps, if we could enter into silence for a little while, we could hear what it is saying to us. We could acknowledge our weariness, give it space to speak. 

And maybe in that silence, we might even hear unbelievably good news. News that things that seem intractable will, in fact, change. Situations that seem hopeless will, in fact, get better. News that God is still faithful, still active, still drawing people toward life and restoring relationships. 

But our weariness makes us vulnerable to fear and disbelief. It makes us forget how God has been faithful in the past. It makes us impervious to hope. 

In the story of Zechariah, it appears that he is punished for his weariness, his disbelief, with a sentence of silence. But I wonder if this was actually a blessing. Zechariah must be silent, for months, so that his silence can speak. So he can recognize and acknowledge his weariness. And so he can find his way to hope. 

The words that lift Zechariah’s silence after the birth of his son are words he writes: “His name is John.” Zechariah has seen the angel’s good news fulfilled. His weariness gives way to rejoicing. And his first audible words are not spoken, they are sung. Zechariah goes from noise to silence to singing, from ignoring his weariness, to letting it speak, to rejoicing. 

This path is available to all of us who are despondent, resentful, and weary. In this noisy season, we can allow our silence to speak, we can acknowledge our weariness and stop trying to cover it up with carols and advertisements and news. And perhaps then we will hear the good news, that Christ has come into the world and is coming again, that things will not always stay the same, that new life is possible, that hope is ours to claim. And then, perhaps we will sing and rejoice. Perhaps this whole weary world will rejoice. Amen.