Zechariah loses his speech - that is, his speech is taken away from him. When I was young, I heard this story as a miracle of punishment. Like Darth Vader saying, "I find your lack of faith disappointing." But it's not funny. Not the kind of humorousness we encounter when we or someone has laryngitis. We know that's temporary - and we take it with humor and annoyance. Zechariah doesn't know when this enforced silence will be over? Nine months, maybe.
Of course loss of speech symbolizes a loss of status. Luke's word here for silence is the single occurrence of that word in the New Testament. It occurs once in the Greek Old Testament Luke would have used. In Numbers 30 verse 4 - a passage that says a father's silence ratifies any vow his daughter might make - like a vow to marry who she wants to, perhaps. It's easy enough in this passage to see that Zechariah's silence is what gives Elizabeth the privilege of naming the baby John.
More than Zechariah's speech has been taken away - his prerogative as The decider, The speaker - to some extent, I don't know how much, his role. His role is not so much taken away as altered. He will later, as we see in this chapter, second Elizabeth's decision and fulfill the command of God's messenger, Gabriel. His silence has taught him something - how to listen to God, and how to listen to someone else - even someone who society has defined as having a lower status.
Had Zechariah ever listened to others before? His response to the angelic creature is to argue, "Well that's all well and good, but let me set you straight on the facts: we're old - old people don't have children." And maybe he's also asserting sotto voce, "I don't have my prayers answered."
Gabriel has just told him his and Elizabeth's prayers are answered. "Where is your faith," as in another context Jesus asked his disciples. As if faith might wander off. Here Zechariah can ponder how faith might have wandered off from God - perhaps onto something else, no matter. Faith that is not located on God has a way of disappointing.
All this Zechariah could not have learned if he had not been silenced. Speaking for God, and this is a hazard for us pastors but also for anyone who is passionate about faith, we wander into the territory of "speaking as God". I might also say, having listened to various pundits this election season, that a lot of people are in the habit of speaking as God. On talk radio there's a relentless pounding, violent bloviations hitting without respite or reflection. Their goal perhaps: to take away speech while exercising speaking in such a way that no one has time or strength to reflect.
Silence gives us opportunity to reflect. Opportunity for others to speak. Even as I say we need to experience silence, practice silence, I am aware that whole groups of people have had silence forced upon them: people in the minority, people who are too young - or too old, people who are timid.
One of the things I practice as a chaplain is when visiting someone to introduce myself and be silent. Most people are uncomfortable with silence - and the temptation as the visitor is justify a visit, to relieve the anxiety you feel, or think they feel, to just start speaking. I've found if I don't, what happens is that this person speaks, and left to themselves with my silence, they might chance to speak of something deep that was lying in them, needing to be expressed. People have a hard time expressing themselves. To talk to another human being about themselves is a healing thing. And it is a gift of silence.
When Zechariah speaks again it is from a heart blooming in praise: "God has remembered his holy covenant. The oath that he swore to our ancestor Abraham, to grant us that we being rescued from the hands of our enemies, might serve him without fear, in holiness and righteousness before him all our days." He goes on to reiterate Gabriel's promise - this will be a special child who will prepare the way for the Messiah and the deliverance of Israel.
I don't extol silence over speech or vice versa. I only hope to show the pressing need for silence in our lives. How can we know if we speak too much or speak amiss? How else can we find relief from the noise of advertising - the visual and verbal assaults of others - the human noise external and internal that crowds out response from us - and crowds out the voice of God.
God speaks in our silence. God's speech catches us off guard. We expect one thing and another thing comes about. Jonah expected Ninevah to be destroyed - but God shows his loving kindness even for enemies. The apostles expected the gentiles to be excluded, but God treated them like they were already included. And that seems to be consistent: whatever we think is off limits - God pushes the limits; whoever we think can't speak - God finds a way to give them voice; whenever our own efforts and wisdom slack - God shows a way.
Our silence gives us a chance to hear, to listen. Perhaps we can hear the sounds of nature and live in those sounds. Perhaps we can hear a mother's grief and live in that grief. Perhaps we can hear our own voice - discover it within us amid the clamor of parents and teachers and others we've internalized from the beginning. Perhaps we can even hear God say that our prayers have been heard.
Advent begins today. We begin the church year with a long wait. We play a slow quiet movement. It is good for us to begin this way - as the hymn says, "let all mortal flesh keep silence, and with fear and trembling stand." Christ our God and King is coming - but not yet.
Consciously use silence this Advent. Ask, "What was it like to be Zechariah - present without speech - unable to speak of the angelic vision - unable to speak for himself?" What is it like to be a Trappist - taking a vow of silence? Is it like holding your breath underwater - holding your speech under waves of anxiety? Think when watching the news or reading the paper: Whose voice is taken away? Whose silence is not being spoken for? Explore how silence is part of prayer - cry to God and perhaps listen for God's cry back? What did God say? Explore its mysteries while walking in the crowded city - as well as hiking in the forest.
John Cage wrote a piece of music: 4'33" where the performer sits down at the piano and doesn't play a note. It's not a joke. The point is this: the audience is also part of the performance: the demands of listening require skill as much as playing the instrument. And in the music, rests, where no note is played, are as vital as the notes we hear. Music is filled with the unheard. Cage's piece underlines this. It's possible to be a virtuoso of silence, of the unheard, of the rest. Life is not only the sounds. Just like prayer is not a monologue.
TS Eliot in Ash Wednesday writes: "Where will the word be found / where will the word resound/ not here/ there is not enough silence." If we start in Advent looking - perhaps by Ash Wednesday we'll have found.
