Quiet! God at Work
By Rev. Dr. Jason Byassee
Sunday, November 30, 2025
Reading: Luke 1:5-25 & 57-66
Good morning and blessings for Advent. In this season, we put ourselves in the position of Israel longing for a saviour. We deploy some of our best hymns, all full of desire. Just as Israel hoped to be redeemed from Roman occupation, so now the church longs for the world to be redeemed from sin and darkness. God came once in Jesus Christ, so we trust God will come again to make all things right.
This Advent and Christmas we focus on some characters who don’t show up in the nativity play. Today we get Zechariah, a priest in the temple, John the Baptist’s unlikely father. His name recalls the Old Testament prophet by the same name. My Jewish friends pronounce it Ziccariah, which sounds cooler. He promises this one day:
Thus says the Lord of hosts: In those days ten men from nations of every language shall take hold of a Jew, grasping his garment and saying, ‘Let us go with you, for we have heard that God is with you.’
Once you start talking Bible with Jewish friends you won’t wanna stop. A friend I was in Israel with asked me recently, did you know Jesus appeared before the high priest in the temple? I did, but I’m good at Bible nerd trivia since I went to seminary. She said we Jews also remember the high priestly leadership negatively. It was corrupt, did you know we have that in common? No, I didn’t. Basically, there were four kinds of Judaism in 1st century Judea: the Sadducees, aligned with the temple and its power. The Essenes (the Dead Sea scrolls folks), against the temple. The Pharisees, who took Judaism out of the temple and taught it in villages. And this weird end-of-the-world sect called Christianity that included gentiles. Once the temple is destroyed the folks aligned with and against the temple have no reason to exist. But the Pharisees and Jesus’ people have futures and are the forebears of Judaism and Christianity today. We’re so much closer than we are far apart.
Zechariah is a priest in the temple. There are lots of them, so this might be his only chance in his career to serve at the altar of the holy of holies, and to make sacrifice for Israel’s sins. Zechariah and his wife are exemplars in Israel: holy and devout. But they’re childless, and aged.
Some writer described being a novelist this way: you take your characters, whom you love, and stuff them into the blender (grrr!). Being good Jews and being childless is a contradiction: these two are devout, and so they shouldn’t be barren. This is a little different than us Christians—for us, singleness can be a higher state than marriage. Jesus is single, Paul is too. We believe the only one you have to marry is Jesus Christ. That makes marriage to another person not strictly necessary for us. But to be childless in ancient Israel is a disgrace. That’s a hard word, disgrace. Because all God is, is grace.
So, Zechariah is in the temple making offering. There he is, in the artist’s imagination, looking important. And suddenly an angel. And he’s startled. Wouldn’t you be? The angel tells him not to be afraid. Which, of course, makes things worse. Elie Wiesel, the great novelist and holocaust witness, says that when an angel shows up telling you not to be afraid, watch out, that means a big assignment is on the way.
Guess what Zechariah? Your prayers have been heard; Elizabeth will have a child. He will be great. Filled with the Holy Spirit. He’ll return people to God, and he’ll heal the alienation between parents and children.
Any alienation within families in here? As families start to gather for Christmas? You bet. This child will heal frayed relationships. And he’ll get people ready for God to arrive.
You’d think Zechariah would be ready for this moment: from a priestly line, like Elizabeth, trained his whole life, dressed to meet God in the temple. But no. He fumbles. How can I know that this will happen? For I am an old man, and my wife is getting on in years?
I love this response. ‘Oh, uh, see, this is a problem. I work here. I come every day. And one thing that never happens is an angel doesn’t show up with new news from God about saving the world. This isn’t happening. I have a master’s degree in divinity to prove it!’
It could be us you know. What if God showed up here at TEMC in a special way, would we see it? What if God shows up in our lives, say, in the kitchen, or in our daily routine, do we have eyes for it? In our workplaces, would we notice? What if, say, one of us took the Lord’s name in vain. I’m sure none of you fine people would, but maybe someone else. And then what if God appeared. You called? Here I am. Ahh! Zechariah is representing Israel in the holiest place in the world. He wears the priestly garment with jewels over his heart representing the twelve tribes of Israel. He has bells on (literally!) and a rope tied around his leg. In case his fellow priests don’t hear the bells anymore, they can pull him out—he’s been struck dead in God’s presence. Ancient Israel approached God in the temple like we would a nuclear reactor: with a vast safety apparatus, and even then, with trepidation. And God says ‘okay, great, here I am, with news.’ And the priest in charge says ‘nah, this can’t happen.’
So, God says, you’re not allowed to talk anymore. It’s the perfect punishment. If God’s people can’t listen for God, we shouldn’t speak.
Zechariah is the polar opposite to Mary. He’s the right person to meet God. Right education and priestly lineage. In the right place. Doing the right things and he blows it. Mary is the wrong person. She’s the wrong gender. She’s the wrong age. She’s got no formal education. No power. She lives nowhere important—in Nazareth. She’s not in the temple; she’s minding her own business. She’s got no husband. And when the same angel goes to her to announce an impossible pregnancy, no doubt depressed because the last exchange with Zechariah went so wrong, she gives the right answer. Yes. I’ll be filled with God. All the right people get everything wrong. And the wrong person gets everything right, and Mary starts to swell with God’s presence. The world is about to be made new.
We’re entering the noisiest time of the year. I know the songs say it’s the most wonderful time of the year. Maybe. But it’s certainly the loudest, the most frenetic. Jobs ramp up. Get gifts for everyone and travel to or receive guests. All with maximum holiday cheer required. I don’t think Christmas music here has crept into stores in September quite yet, but it has fully invaded October. Apparently at Harrods in London Christmas stuff comes out in August. Or so the Globe and Mail depressed me by reporting. One thing we don’t do this time of year is grow quiet. Listening for God to speak. Think of our worship in this space. We’re full of talking, like I’m doing now. Singing, which we’re excellent at. One thing that doesn’t mark our worship is silence. T.S. Elliot, great poet, asked when will the word be heard? And answered, not here. There is not enough silence. God will not talk over us. Can we turn down the voices, exterior and interior, and tune in to God? One of you told me you plan not to hurry this season. Good luck. But I love what you called it: you’re planning a quiet rebellion.
Elizabeth becomes, in that great King James phrase, great with child. She who was old and barren visits the maternity ward as a patient. She will give birth to Israel’s last and greatest prophet, John the Baptist, who will prepare the way of the Lord. John, we’re told, will never drink strong drink. No Christmas party season for him. That is, he’ll be a Nazirite, like Samuel and Samson before him, set apart for a special task in Israel. He’ll have the spirit and power of Elijah. You may remember Elijah was taken up to heaven in a chariot of fire, he managed to cheat death. So, both Jews and Christians figure, before the messiah comes, Elijah will come to prepare his way. John the Baptist is Elijah all over again. Our Jewish neighbours set out a chair for Elijah on Passover. You never know when the living prophet may turn up. Even Zechariah’s silence is an old story in the Bible. The Psalm sings, “Oh Lord, open my lips, and my mouth will declare your praise.” We can only speak because God opens our mouths. It’s striking—the only reason we have words at all is to praise the Lord.
A friend of mine and his wife were getting on in years, like Elizabeth and Zechariah. They’d had their children who were nearly grown. And they got a surprise. Their teenage daughter was pregnant. What to do with this unexpected intrusion of life? They weren’t imagining grandparenthood just yet, but when is timing ever perfect? They agreed to raise this grandchild, with their daughter’s help. Their friends were amazed—weren’t you going to travel, be free? Yes, we would have liked that. But we’re Christians. We hear stories all the time of God’s timing and ours not being the same. This blessing came out of season. But we’ve changed diapers and stayed up nights before. As they say in the black church, God doesn’t always come when you want, but he’s always on time. And what is true freedom? It’s being bound to love.
If you want stories of well-planned pregnancies, the Bible ain’t your book. But if you want stories of more life than you can stand, more life than is strictly reasonable, it is.
John the Baptist having a miraculous birth is in line with our forebears in Israel. Every child is a miracle, of course, none of us should be here mathematically speaking, but some stretch the definition of “miracle” a bit farther. Show me a great Israelite who doesn’t need a miracle to get born. Go ahead. I’ll wait. Abraham and Sarah can’t get pregnant. God moves. And she has Isaac. Isaac and Rebekah can’t, and God delivers Jacob. Jacob and Rachel can’t, and then they parent the 12 tribes and more. Hannah can’t conceive. God works, and she has Samuel. This tradition of miraculous babies has its fulfillment in Jesus. Barren couples in Israel, plus divine promise, makes for impossible children. But husbands are involved in these conceptions (minimally). Mary is so trusting, and God is so creative, that Jesus gets conceived with no human father at all.
In Christianity we have often made the mistake of thinking faith is about believing stuff. That’d be like saying engineering is about believing in math. Uh, okay, that’s a start, but can you build a bridge that will hold us up? Faith is about doctrine, teaching, sure, but it’s about so much more. Here’s a better summary of faith: what do you crave? What do you long for? Mary longs for a child so much she gives birth to our saviour. Elizabeth and Zechariah crave a child and birth the last prophet. You and I should long for a world redeemed. Made right by God. Careful now, that longing in our foremothers made their feet swell and their backs ache, got them pregnant, sometimes in their 80s. God’s promises come through us and enlist us and put us to work. I’ve preached to 80-year-olds, 90-year-olds, 100-year-olds, one 110-year-old, and they often joke in response to sermons like this: I am so glad I’m done with that baby-having nonsense. I always warn them: have you read these stories? Are you sure you’re retired from the baby-having business?
When we believe, when we trust, when we yearn for God, things get born. New life takes root. New worlds come into existence. Believe, and watch God work. Mary trusted so much she got pregnant without so much as a glance from a man. Elizabeth and Zechariah learned trust because, surprise of surprises, God even showed up in church. What will it take for you and me to learn trust? For our moods to swing and our weird cravings to kick in? For a whole new world to get born through us?
John the Baptist is born, everyone asks what his name will be, and contrary to custom, he gets the name John. It means “God is gracious.” His parents have gone from disgraced to graced. And Zechariah’s tongue is loosed. And he sings one of the most beautiful prayers in our whole tradition, you’ll hear it from the choir in a moment.
Blessed be the Lord, the God of Israel
He has remembered his people and redeemed them.
All the promises are in the past tense. Like redemption is already completed. Our world doesn’t look very redeemed, I grant. But get silent with me this Advent and listen. Join in the quiet rebellion. Be on the watch for God to turn up and see. And let’s learn together whether God is in fact still in the world-redeeming business. Amen