Luke 1:67-79
The silence of Advent is quiet, tranquil contemplation, an opportunity for peaceful spiritual preparation amidst the shopping, wrapping and hospitality of the season. But is Advent preparation meant to be gentle and serene? Perhaps...or is it possibly something more?
Having wrestled with today’s gospel for most of Advent, I have come to believe that the silence we are called to practice this season is uncomfortable. Earlier in the first chapter of Luke, where this gospel is situated, Zechariah has an encounter with the Angel Gabriel (Luke 1:5-22). He questioned and doubted Gabriel’s message and was rendered mute. Communication disconnected. Radio silence. Far from being a calm quietude that comforts and reassures, it is DISquieting, fraught with worry and anxiety. Zechariah, left to his imagination, which if anything like mine, was likely paralyzed by the plight in which he was entrapped. This illustration is a far cry from a bucolic “Silent Night, Holy Night.”
When one’s life falls silent (and not by choice), it can be isolating, suffocating…terrifying. Spiritually, it may be an insistence that there is more to be done than sit quietly for 15 minutes a day with a cup of cocoa and a book of Advent reflections (which is, without judgement, a worthwhile and important spiritual exercise). The silence of waiting, when placed in the context of faith can be a challenging enjoinder.
Yet, I see this particular silence as one that breaks open and brings forth vulnerability and fragility. Perhaps, to truly experience Advent we must risk and yield to a silence that reminds us we are not in control. A silence that plunges us into a darkness that seemingly offers no acknowledgement, guidance or response. It is a silence that bends and bows towards trust, to faith in God.
In his silence, Zechariah had to find new ways of believing, observing…of being in relationship with God and the world. He came to understand that a relationship is not a passive encounter. It demands problem solving and action, but it also requires patience and humility. It is more than just ticking off the boxes of offerings, prayers or lofty theological thoughts. Zechariah had to reshape, reform and author an authentic meaning of faith in God for himself. This awareness only became possible under imposed conditions. Within the turmoil of silence, Zechariah realized he was not in control of his destiny. No matter how carefully he planned, how devout he was, he didn’t fully know the true meaning of surrendering totally and entirely to God. He came to understand that attempts to remain in control of his personal narrative and destiny were never going to be sustained as they had always been. There was nothing more he could do. Nothing except submit to silence…let it shroud him; a silence of wonder, and an understanding of what it means to trust in God. It then became a silence of serenity, a silence of anticipation that morphed into a silence of joyful witness to faith. Ultimately Zechariah was catapulted into a realm of God calling him to proclaim his life, his faith.
Which (finally) brings us to today’s gospel reading where we discover that Zechariah has been released from his celestially imposed gag order and he bursts into exuberant joyful song.
I have gained a deeper understanding and admiration for Zechariah this Advent. Prior to this I’ve always seen him as the guy who had the audacity to question Gabriel and got what he deserved for his lack of faith. What I have come to appreciate is that he was an ordinary human who needed a push, who was reminded that God disrupts our lives, especially when we think we’ve got everything all figured out. Zechariah’s inflicted silence was a gift that invited him, through faith, to embrace a new life. The result is this beautiful canticle, an affirmation, a tribute of gratitude and praise. In this Benedictus, Zechariah exalts his son John, and professes the entrance of God as human who visibly and lovingly dwells among and within each one of us. I wonder if, without the silence he endured, would Zechariah have been able to come to this conclusion? Without the silence, could I?
The silence of Zechariah, the silence of Advent, reminds us that God beckons ordinary people into an extraordinary relationship that is all encompassing, all forgiving, and is filled with unconditional, abiding, gracious, merciful love. Advent silence might also be God stopping us in our tracks and imposing an obstacle for us to really listen, hear, practice and understand in order to fully embrace the grandeur and miracle of the Incarnation.
I hope that I can face the obstructions and silence into which I find myself colliding, rather than negotiate around or ignore them. Just perhaps, then, tomorrow and in the days to come, I might able to sing a single note like Zechariah, reflecting a faith in a loving relationship into which each of us is invited; a relationship with the humble Messiah who made an unexpected, unpretentious entrance into our world, who dwells among and within each and every human, and whose love reverberates throughout this gloriously created world. I hope that for each of us. Emmanuel.
Alexandria M. Egler, PhD
Executive Director of Mission, Ministry & Interfaith Dialogue
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