So much of my life has been enhanced by movies, and movie lines. I’ve had entire friendships based simply on movies and the lines from those movies. When my brother calls, Heather will tell you, we usually don’t start talking about anything for about 10 minutes because we’re just doing lines from movies back and forth. The movie line that comes to mind this week as I reflect on this less-popular text from the first chapter of Luke, is from Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure. This was one of my generational-defining cult classics where Bill S. Preston, Esq. and Ted “Theodore” Logan, two high school goof balls, discover, in the nick of time, a time machine (disguised as a telephone booth) that saves them on their history project, and they spend the bulk of the movie traveling back and forth in time with famous historical figures. On the eve of their discovery of this time machine, Ted makes this famous proclamation, that immediately pops up on Google as you just start to type it in:
“Bill? Strange things are afoot at the Circle K.”
When I was growing up, we used this line all the time when situations got strange or awkward or unexpected.
Strange things are happening in our Gospel text today. "Strange things are afoot." It’s been 400 years since our text last week from Ezra, 4 centuries!...since the Jews have returned to Palestine, the temple has been rebuilt, and the empires have changed and changed again, and now the Romans are having their turn at being the world’s superpower. Life for the Hebrew people has gotten somewhat quiet, and uneventful, and perhaps a little (or a lot) hopeless. The people are just going about their daily lives, and their religion is a big part of that.
We’re introduced to this small-time priest Zechariah whose turn comes up to offer sacrifice in the temple. That’s a big deal, btw -- it reminds me a little of worship assistants wanting to have their turn, offering their services -- acolytes, lectors --waiting weeks to have a chance to lead or read in worship.
And here’s Zechariah’s turn. He goes into the holy space and he is met by the angel Gabriel. Strange things are afoot.
Gabriel makes the announcement, that echoes announcements we’ve heard before: “She will conceive and bear a son.”
And Zechariah naturally doubts this -- “How can this be?” is all he says -- and so the angel Gabriel strikes him mute until the day the baby is presented in the temple.
And it’s this period of not speaking on which I’d like to reflect a bit this morning:
What’s the longest you’ve gone without speaking? What’s the longest our culture has gone without talking?
When we shut down this mouth of ours, as you know, other senses open up. Our ears, our eyes, our noses. When we stop talking, as Zechariah was forced to, then we go into a place of worship, as slowly but surely begin to take it all in. I’d love to have interviewed Zechariah about what it must have been like to be mute for 9+ months. What would he have observed about people? About nature, about himself?
I wonder if the angel’s punishment wasn’t actually a gift. “OK, Zechariah, if you cannot trust and know the God who loves you, and loves this world, then stop talking, and start noticing. If you don’t know this love, now you will see and hear and smell and taste the goodness and mercy of God.”
It must have been a gift, not a punishment, because look at how Zechariah comes out of his silence. The first thing he signals is that his son’s name is John. That is, his son’s name is “God is gracious”. At that moment, Zechariah’s mouth opened, and he too is a new-born, because now he can only sing God’s praises. It is a foreshadowing of the resurrection. [pause]
Needless to say, but there’s a lot of talking now, especially at this time of the year. There are a lot of good words these days, but there’s also a lot of bad words coming from people’s mouths: there’s lots of hateful words, lots of complaining, lots of bitterness and anger, there’s a lot of anger, and there’s a lot of doubt and lots of fear -- which is was Zechariah’s problem. Doubt and fear.
How we like Zechariah, can so often say, “Really? How can this be? This God of ours comes to be among us? Really?” That sentiment alone would have gotten us struck dumb. But I don’t think it’s all punishment. For God is gracious and merciful, slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love.
Sisters and brothers, we’re going to take some minutes of silence now, we’re going to let God mute us now -- not as punishment, but as gift.
Let’s take just 4 minutes, one for each candle of the Advent wreath. And together let us sit in silent thanksgiving and awe for the things God has done for us, for the ways God comes to be with us. Strange things are afoot in our circle too, for “by the tender mercy of our God, the dawn from on high will break upon us, to give light to those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death, to guide our feet into the way of peace.” ...
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