Between Times

“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” [Luke 1:78-79].

In Luke 1:68-79, the first of two Gospel readings appointed for this upcoming Sunday, the second Sunday of Advent RCL, Year C, Yahweh—God of the Impossible—is at it again. And yet, if we didn’t already know important parts of the story, we might think that nothing truly special is going on.

To be sure, if we read the verses that precede this week’s lesson, we’d see that a couple has presented their eight-day-old son at a Jewish circumcision ceremony. “It happens all the time,” we might say to ourselves.

But this is no ordinary couple. Channeling a miracle that Yahweh had already performed in an old man named Abraham, and his barren, old wife named Sarah, Yahweh has caused an elderly, barren, first-century woman, Elizabeth, to become pregnant via her old, tired, first-century husband, Zechariah.

In this first century story, the happy news initially had been provided to the lucky father-to-be by the angel Gabriel himself. We might remember that separately, when Abraham and Sarah heard that they were to have a son, each laughed at Yahweh [see Genesis 17:17; 18:12]. Indeed, when their son was finally born, they named him Isaac, which means “he laughs” [21:3, 6].

Here, as told us to us by St. Luke in the verses that precede this week’s lesson, Zechariah was similarly skeptical when Gabriel told him what was to come to pass. Zechariah doesn’t laugh, but he essentially says that such a suggestion is preposterous [Luke 1:18]. Gabriel, failing to appreciate the old man’s skepticism, causes the expectant father to become speechless—and not just for a few minutes, but for the entire gestation period.

For nine months, Zechariah contemplated the miracle of the approaching birth of his son, but could not “crow” to any of his friends. For nine long months, he could ponder, but not discuss, his son’s future with his wife. For nine months, he could not offer a prayer of thanksgiving aloud. Even when the child is born, Zechariah still has no voice.

As mentioned above, in the verses that precede this Sunday’s Gospel lesson, the proud couple has taken their eight-day-old son to be circumcised. At one point in the ceremony, the officials ask Elizabeth—remember good ole dad still can’t speak—“What name is to be given to this child?”

Elizabeth answers, “John.”

The temple officials question her judgment, pointing out that no man named “John” has ever come along in their family. “Wouldn’t you prefer something more customary, such as Zechariah, after his father?”

Recall that no less than Gabriel, himself, told Zechariah to name his son, “John” [Luke 1:13]. Zechariah was apparently able to communicate this to Elizabeth in spite of his enforced silence and so, she keeps insisting to the officials that the name to be given the boy is John. Finally, in frustration, the circumcision officials hand Zechariah “a tablet” [Luke 1:63]—we don’t know if it was an iPad or an Android—and Zechariah indicates thereon that “His name is John” [Luke 1:63].

I go into all this detail because, as Luke stresses, when Zechariah communicated his son’s name in writing, immediately his mouth “was opened and his tongue set free, and he began to speak, praising God” [1:64]. Zechariah, having had nine months to prepare his sermon, and now being fortified as well by the Holy Spirit [Luke 1:67], begins to sing praises and to prophesy.

Zechariah’s song, recorded here in Luke’s Gospel, is generally known as the Benedictus, since “Benedictus” is the first word spoken by Zechariah (at least, as translated in the Latin Vulgate Bible). We might recall since the first Latin word in the virgin Mary’s Song [Luke 1:46] is “Magnificat” (translated into English as, “My soul glorifies”), her song is similarly referred to as “the Magnificat.”

Zechariah’s worlds of praise and prophesy are similar to several psalms of praise regarding Yahweh’s deliverance of Israel [see, e.g., Psalm 34, 67, 103, and 113]. Old Testament experts point out that other OT texts promise liberation from the darkness of captivity [see Psalm 107:10, Isaiah 9:2, Isaiah 42.5-7]. The servant of God, i.e., the Savior to come, is described as a “light to the nations, to open the eyes that are blind, to being out the prisoners from the dungeon, from the prison with those who sit in darkness.” The Gospel writer, John, would later see it similarly:

In him was life, and that life was the light of all mankind. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it [John 1:4-5].

Zechariah’s message is eschatological and yet, it is clear. He sees that their child who will grow in stature and power. Zechariah gazes at his eight-day-old son and prophesies:

And you, my child, will be called a prophet of the Most High; for you will go on before the Lord to prepare the way for him, to give his people the knowledge of salvation through the forgiveness of their sins [Luke 1:76-77].

That’s a lot to be said about two young men—one who is only eight days old, and the other, a being who still grows within the womb of his mother, Mary.

Yet Yahweh has hit the unmute button for Zechariah. Zechariah, now filled with Holy Spirit, can look across the troubled landscape, yes, see all the difficulties that lie ahead, yet also know in his heart that all of Yahweh’s promises will somehow be fulfilled, since Yahweh is the God of Impossible. Zechariah, now unmuted, sings Yahweh’s praises and speaks of a world that is not fully here, yet about a world that can still be fully seen. In a true sense, Zechariah and Elizabeth have one foot in their present moment, and another in their future. In the meantime, they must bide their time faithfully in the time between the two.

Three decades ago, when I was a student at Duke Divinity School, we had an informal student newsletter. In those days before Constant Contact email blasts, Zoom meetings, and COVID-19, we “published,” i.e., photocopied 8 or 10 pages each month, detailing important news and other goings-on within our community. I’m not sure if it still is published; I haven’t seen it in years. In any event, we called it “Between Times.”

It recognized that we, like Zechariah and Elizabeth, live between two closely connected, yet discernibly different, times. As a friend has said, “We live in the already and also in the not yet.”

That’s what so special about Advent. It calls upon us to live between times, with part of our existence in the present time and world, but acknowledging that, as Christians, we also live in the “not yet.” On the one hand, we acknowledge that Jesus Christ came and lived among us [and died and was raised among us], and in that sense, “the light has come.” And yet, in another sense, we await His coming. We await that moment in which His light will shine in its fullest measure. We, who are “living in darkness and in the shadow of death” [Luke 1:79], are yet also living in a moment of promise, a time or moment when the light from the dawn morning is beginning to make its way across our lives. It is a light that is wonderful and strong. It clears our heads and warms our hearts.

In his song, Zechariah, having been unmuted by Yahweh, pointed us to a “rising sun” that will come to us from heaven [Luke 1:78b]. In a world which views such an expectancy as irrational, unscientific, and impossible, we sing all praises to Yahweh, who is, after all, the God of the Impossible.