First Sunday in Advent
“Hope” — Rev. Brent Gundlah
First Reading (Lamentations 3:55-57/NRSVUE)
Gospel Reading (Luke 1:5-13/CEB)
Technology allows us to keep track of all sorts of things these days and so I’m happy to report, since I save everything I write, that this is the four hundredth sermon of my ministerial career. Don’t get too fired up — with me it’s generally about quantity, not quality, and never has that statement been more true than it is today (as you’re about to find out).
Anyway, on Monday of this week, as I was looking for other things to do so I didn’t have to sit down and write what I’m sharing with you now, I decided it would be a good idea to get all of the church’s Christmas decorations out of the storage room in the basement. I figure that if I were going to procrastinate with respect to one thing, I might as well be productive with respect to another; it was like I was doing something wrong and atoning for it at the same time — which, I must say, was pretty efficient on my part.
It hard to explain but, as I was walking up the stairs carrying the umpteenth box full of greenery and lights in a church that was occupied at that moment only by me, I suddenly felt a little like Zechariah in today’s second reading from the opening verses of Luke’s Gospel.
“During the rule of King Herod of Judea there was a priest named Zechariah who belonged to the priestly division of Abijah. His wife Elizabeth was a descendant of Aaron,” is how it begins.
To put this story in some context, King Herod (otherwise known as Herod the Great, even though he wasn’t, in many respects, all that great) reigned in Judea from thirty-seven BCE to four BCE and this particular story probably takes place shortly before Herod’s death, sometime around six or seven BCE. Herod the Great’s ancestors and descendants were involved in the governance of this region from before Jesus’s birth until after his death.
As I mentioned a couple of weeks ago, one of the only really great things that Herod the Great did was oversee the construction and expansion of the Temple Mount in Jerusalem; indeed, under Herod, it doubled in size over a period of just eighteen months. And it took a lot of people to take care of a gigantic place like that, which is where Zechariah comes into the story.
He is a member of the order of Abijah, which was the eighth of twenty-four groups of priests who each served twice annually for a period of one week at the temple doing things like setting up incense offerings alone inside the sanctuary of God while the people went about their business outside. The priests inherited their jobs by birthright (all the way back to the days of the twelve tribes of Israel, in fact). As it turns out, Zechariah’s wife Elizabeth had priestly lineage too.
The priests on duty were the only ones allowed to enter the sanctuary, while you all are here in this sanctuary today and can pretty much come and go as you as you please (provided you have a key fob to get in the building, that is).
Nonetheless, I could identify with Zechariah when I was here alone last Monday trying to get a jump on decking these halls for Christmas. Sure, he had incense, but I had plastic pine sprigs and electric candles — and that’s kind of the same, isn’t it? But, if I’m being honest with you, the parallels between my life and Zechariah’s pretty much end right there.
I say this because as Zechariah is inside the sanctuary doing the job that a priest was supposed to do, an angel of the Lord shows up to give him some news. Zechariah is, understandably, a little taken aback by this — actually, Luke tells us that “he was terrified” and that “fear overwhelmed him.” And this makes complete sense, because angels generally don’t drop in while you’re at work to chat — even when you happen to work in a place like this.
The news that the angel is there to share is that Zechariah’s prayers have been answered — his wife Elizabeth will bear him a son, who is to be named John. Why does the angel tell them what the name of the baby will be? Presumably because that’s what God wants his name to be. And why is that? I have no idea. But this isn’t the first time this has happened in the Bible and it’s certainly not the last.
Zechariah and Elizabeth apparently have done all of the things that they were supposed to do; indeed, Luke tells us that, “Both of them were righteous before God, living blamelessly according to all the commandments and regulations of the Lord.” Nonetheless, they had no children (the reason for which, surprise surprise, in this very patriarchal society gets pinned on poor Elizabeth); and because they weren’t getting any younger, it was unlikely they would have any. But all of that is about to change.
If what I’m about to say sounds kind of awful, well, that’s because it is: in that society at that time, having a child — especially a male child — was a big deal. And if you didn’t happen to have a child, you felt less than because you were made to feel less than. In the verses that follow today’s reading, Elizabeth conceives and gives thanks to God for her seeming good fortune in a weird way, saying, “This is what the Lord has done for me when he looked favorably on me and took away the disgrace I have endured among my people.” Like I said, it sounds awful.
But this idea that one’s fortune — good or bad — was God’s way of imposing judgement based upon one’s moral worth has always been a complicated thing in the biblical tradition. On the one hand, God blesses Abraham for his fidelity to his covenant with God by giving him both abundant descendants and enormous wealth. On the other hand, God lets Job know, in no uncertain terms, that this isn’t really the way it works.
But this idea that God rewards us for the good things we do and punishes us for the bad, always proved to be kind of a tough one for the Israelites, who were living under oppression and in exile, to shake; throughout the Bible, they always seem to wonder what they’ve done to deserve the bad things that have happened to them (as people and as a people). I dare say it still remains hard for us not to understand the joys and the challenges of our existence in this way.
It would be really easy to read today’s story through such a lens, and conclude that Zechariah and Elizabeth are finally reaping their just reward for their lifetime of exemplary behavior and good works — but that’s not really the point.
The point is that God shows favor to ordinary people (especially those at society’s margins), going so far as bring them into the plans for making things right in the world — we see this over and over again in both the Old Testament and the New. And Zechariah and Elizabeth, despite the fact that they are morally righteous, despite the fact that they are part of the priestly caste, are still marginalized in this particular society simply because they don’t happen to have any children. They are not royalty, they are not society’s movers and shakers; in many ways, they are just like you and me.
In any event, as I was in this sanctuary last Monday, organizing all of this Christmas stuff, thinking about this text, comparing myself to Zechariah and realizing that such a comparison went only so far, I have to tell you that I was kind of glad that it did go only so far.
I mean, would it have been cool if an actual angel of God came in to chat while I was setting up those trees over there? Sure, I suppose — and it would have been even cooler had said angel been willing to spot me on the ladder so I could climb up there and hang those banners.
The thing is though, God’s angels don’t generally come here looking to share small talk (or to help us put up decorations). More often than not, they come here on God’s behalf in order to recruit folks to help do God’s work in the world — work that is often risky and difficult. The son that Zechariah and Elizabeth will raise — John, you know, John the Baptist — could certainly attest to that.
But, as anyone who’s ever been in that position knows full-well, it’s pretty hard to say no to the angels when they do come a-calling. And when I thought about all of this, I suddenly I felt a little relived to be in here all by my lonesome, without the company of the heavenly host — I mean, at least no one was going to ask anything of me, right? Maybe that’s what Zechariah was really terrified of and overwhelmed by in the Temple that day. And given what’s going to happen in just a few chapters to the son he’d prayed for for so long, Zechariah had good reason to feel what he felt.
So, for me, it was a bit of a relief to feel like I might be off the hook because I hadn’t had a face-to-face encounter with an angel; but that relief was pretty short-lived because I know that I wasn’t, in fact, off the hook.
Let’s face it: this kind of direct engagement with the divine is a pretty rare phenomenon. Zechariah has it here and Mary will before the end of this same chapter and Moses did and Elijah did and Jacob did and Paul eventually will. But part of the reason we continue to read stories about them thousands of years later is that they are so unlike anything most people have actually experienced.
Would it be easier if we all had an angel or a burning bush or a voice from the heavens to point us in the right direction, to tell us what we’re supposed to do, to show us what we’re in for? Maybe. Would it great to meet God in an obvious way when you’re out for your evening walk, or when you’re walking down aisle nine at the grocery store, or, dare I say, even when you come to church on Sunday morning? Sure, I suppose. But, if we don’t, does that mean that God is not present in our lives, that God isn’t calling us to do things, that God is not telling us exactly what’s expected of us, that God is not recruiting each and every one of us to help do God’s work in the world?
Come on, really? Do we not hear it when we gather in this sanctuary to engage with God’s word every single week?
Do justice, love kindness and walk humbly with your God.
Love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your strength, and with all your mind; and your neighbor as yourself.
Whatever you do for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me.
Love one another.
It seems pretty clear. And if we really believe what we say when we declare that God is still speaking then maybe we’re not listening as closely as we should be. Or maybe it’s just easier for us to pretend that we don’t actually hear what God is saying.
Make no mistake about it, though, when it comes to heeding God’s call upon our lives — whether we hear about it from the angels mouth or read about it in here — none of us is ever off the hook.