December 8, 2011

Texts: Psalm 27, Malachi 2:10—3:1, Luke 1:5-17

The promise of a child comes as a surprise to a couple who never thought they would be able to... never experiencing the intense joy at the sound of their laughter, your own laughter when they remind you so much of yourself you are reminded that you were once God's gift to your parents, your tears and frustration when they touched on deep-ceded scars that you had forgotten existed.

Granted, at this time, there was no in-vitro fertliziation, no fertility drugs, no birth control, and an infant mortality rate that makes one wonder that any part of civilization survived.

I imagine Zechariah's journey in present day terms:

He drove to work, his coffee starting to fade from scalding to drinkable in his mug. He drove by the elementary school. He never told his wife, but this was part of his routine. Each morning, he would pause and watch the children playing at a distance. He would roll down the windows and hear their shrieks of joy, drinking his coffee and smiling. He wondered what one of his children would look like, if they would have Elizabeth's beautiful - yet chilling - eyes, if they would have his fathers deep belly laugh, if they would love him half as much as he would love them. He knew he couldn't dwell on these thoughts for too long. They had been to every fertility specialist in the state and some outside of the state. Nothing had worked. He had quit talking about children because each time, Elizabeth's eyes would well up with tears as though this was some sort of cosmic punishment that they - a priest and his faithful wife - should be barren. He put the car into drive, sniffed away his tears, and went to work.

He could have retired a few years ago, but continued working so that he could have something to fill his time. He wasn't quite ready to spend his days relearning to play pinochle or cribbage, just sitting around and waiting for death to come. Once at the office, placed his briefcase in his office, and went to make copies for the legal brief he would be giving later on in the day. The rhythm of the copy machine soothed him, bringing him back to the realities of the day. He sensed he wasn't alone in the copy room, and tensed up. A voice came: "Don't be afraid." Yeah right, as if that was a possibility. And then, he was sure he was hallucinating: "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 hte Lord. He must never drink alcohol; even before his birth he will be filled with the Holy Spirit." Now he was terrified. He didn't know whether to scream, to laugh, to cry, to run home to Elizabeth, or to just go about his day, testing to see whether this really happens. They were getting on in years, and that part of their lives had faded to happy memories of love and tenderness. He'd surprise her with her favorite bottle of wine this evening... because he just received a reminder that life is less about what happens along the way and more about celebrating each moment as an unrepeatable gift. He was reminded that Elizabeth was the greatest gift he had received; the shocking girl who always kept him guessing... and now God was going to keep him guessing as well. He spent the rest of the day chuckling to himself and shaking his head; this was too good to be true. But it was true... wasn't it?

(You know, and then he asks the angel how this is possible and is struck dumb, but that's beside the point!).