"And now you will be silent and not able to speak until the day this happens because you did not believe my words; which will come true at the appointed time." (Luke 1:20 NIV)
I’ve long looked at Zechariah’s insisted silence as grace: God was kind enough to shut him up before he could say another word of unbelief. Timothy Keller proposes Zechariah’s muteness as personal proof: a God who can tame a tongue can also open an antique womb. Either way, Zechariah stopped speaking and most commentaries believe he endured temporary deafness as well. He came out of his prolonged temple duties making signs (v. 22), but at the naming of his son, the neighbors and relatives used signs to consider his preferences. It seems Zechariah wasn’t only silenced but also experienced silence. His angelic visitation in the Temple quieted his entire world for more than nine months. What a means to make way for a Savior!
"After this his wife wife Elizabeth became pregnant and for five months remained in seclusion." (Luke 1:25 NIV)
What I hadn’t put together until today is the additional quietude of his wife, Elizabeth. She elected, in the first half of her pregnancy, to get alone with the Lord. She chose solitude and stillness. She quietly reveled in her unexpected fertility and God’s abundant mercy.
I can about imagine how still this priest’s home fell. Parsonages are typically pretty happening places: counseling sessions, congregant dinners and drop-ins all occur with regularity. This couple had spent their entire lives devoted to ministry; without offspring to distract from their tasks. There had been no interruptions in meetings or toddlers under the pews. Zechariah had never had to bow out of a church commitment due to family interference. Their home had likely been a hub-but of ministry activity until it went abrubtly silent. They were awarded full months to consider the mystery in their hearts and minds alone. They couldn’t even discuss it properly with one another: they brought their wonderings to God alone.
Silence can be imposed or elected. Either way, it is a powerful way to prepare for Christmas. God is the loudest when we are the quietest. Silence and solitude – at least in some measure – seem to be just the way to make room for our Savior.
Mary, the mother of Jesus, wasn’t prone to broadcasting her feelings, either. Instead, she treasured them up in her heart, quietly pondering the Lord’s goodness to her. I wonder if she picked up this habit during her months with her Judean cousins? Either way, I’m convinced that quietude is a wonderful way to welcome the Savior.
I’m still appreciating my quiet advent. The absence of social media has made lots of space for devotional reading and reflection. The anniversaries of my mother and brother’s deaths are just around the corner and I feel prepared to face them bravely, with my soul secure in my Savior in this season.
Going still always makes way for more of God. When we finally grasp this concept, we stop resenting the invitation to silence and start relishing it instead. We begin to see stillness as a gift, rather than an obligation. An opportunity gained, not missed.
"This is what the Sovereign Lord, the Holy One of Israel says; "Only in returning to Me and resting in Me will you be saved. In quietness and confidence is your strength. But you would have none of it." (Isaiah 30:15 NIV)
Lord, please forgive us for our fight against quiet. Stillness is still tough for most of us. Our fears get loud in silence and we are still learning how to rest in You. Help us, this Christmas, to quiet our hearts and make a little more space for Your presence. Amen.