Daily Advent Meditations from St. Stephen's Episcopal Church
December 21, 2015 | IV Advent, Monday
Ps 61, 62, 112, 115; Zeph 3:14-20; Titus 1:1-16; Luke 1:1-25
Silence, forced or voluntary, can be a blessing or a curse.  Today, our Gospel lesson brings us again to the story of the miraculous news the angel Gabriel delivers to Zechariah at the temple.  For over 400 years, the people of Israel have waited to hear God's voice and there has been overwhelming silence. Many believe that God has forsaken them and that the promise of a messiah is an empty one. Zechariah, a humble country priest, has been chosen by lot, to go to the temple and officiate in the prayers and offering of incense. This is a "once in a lifetime" experience for any priest, but for Zechariah this must have been an extraordinary gift.  He and his wife Elizabeth are "righteous in the sight of God," yet they are childless.  
 
As Zechariah begins his service in the temple, the angel Gabriel appears and delivers extraordinary news. Elizabeth will bear a son named John, who will be filled with the Holy Spirit and make the people ready for coming of the Lord. Overwhelmed by this message, Zechariah is awestruck and questions Gabriel.  Gabriel chastises Zechariah for his unbelief and says that he will remain silent until the baby arrives. For at least nine months, Zechariah is mute - he must communicate in a different way and he must listen. So this silence is a wonderful gift of time for Zechariah to hear the message to renew and restore his faith in God's promise. In silence, he waits, watches and prepares -- his Advent time.
 
For folks like me who enjoy conversation, silence can be off-putting. Yet, if I allow myself to get lost in the silence of prayer or of a beautiful morning walk, I am still. I am open to hear, to see and to experience the world around me and the role I have to play in God's creation. The poet Wendell Berry says it like this:
 
The Silence by Wendell Berry

Though the air is full of singing
my head is loud
with the labor of words.
 
Though the season is rich
with fruit, my tongue
hungers for the sweet of speech.
 
Though the beech is golden
I cannot stand beside it
mute, but must say
 
'It is golden,' while the leaves
stir and fall with a sound
that is not a name.
 
It is in the silence
that my hope is, and my aim.
A song whose lines
 
I cannot make or sing
sounds men's silence
like a root. Let me say
 
and not mourn: the world
lives in the death of speech
and sings there.


Carol Dickinson