The strange thing about peace is that we do not light the candle because of what is; we light the candle for what we hope to become.
As the story goes, Zechariah was a priest of the temple, and Elizabeth, his wife, was of Aaron’s lineage. For these reasons, they were considered to be of the upper echelon in the Jewish community. Their positions gave them immediate social status, respect around the community, and religious authority. They had everything, except they did not have children. And they were well beyond child-bearing years.
But one day, Zechariah has duties in the Temple to burn the incense. As he goes inside, the Bible says there were worshipers standing outside praying. Going inside the temple was a serious matter. Going inside the temple was holy and sacred. Before the priests went inside the temple, they had to be sure that they were holy, clean, and blameless. In the Temple, there was order. Because it was the House of God.
The people were standing outside waiting, and Zechariah, who had been preparing for his duties, goes into the temple and encounters an angel of the Lord. As you can imagine, Zechariah is shaken, trembling with fear. But the angel says, “Do not be afraid, Zechariah; your prayer has been heard. Your wife Elizabeth will bear you a son, and you are to call him John.”
There is something to be said about the human call and divine response of prayer. Zechariah’s and Elizabeth’s experience of prayer is a moving example of the power of prayer. Not that we get everything we pray for, but that there is a holy response invoked which we may look for, listen for, and make room for. We make room for possibilities; we make room for God’s loving, creative response. I still believe that when we pray with our whole hearts and when others pray on our behalf, things happen. Unexpectedly and suddenly. The appearance of the angel is God’s response to Zechariah’s and Elizabeth’s prayers.
As Zechariah takes in what the angel has said, he doesn’t believe it. And who could blame him? He and Elizabeth are not spring chickens. But the angel says, Okay fine, but know this: I am Gabriel; I stand in God’s presence, or in other words, I represent God. So, after Zechariah’s question (call), Gabriel puts Zechariah in a proverbial timeout (divine response). And he is unable to speak until after the child is born.
I wonder if Zechariah’s silence was more of an invitation than a punishment. An invitation to reflect (call) and to find what theologian and spiritual teacher Howard Thurman calls “the sound of the genuine” (divine response)—the true voice within us beneath the noise, fear, and expectations around us. The sound of our hearts in all of its complicated mass of issues.
Can you imagine not being able to talk for nine months? Some of us can’t go nine minutes! What are the possibilities contained in nine months of silence?
Moreover, for nine months Elizabeth goes through her pregnancy in peace and quiet. The Bible says that when she got to five months, just as she began to show, she went into seclusion. Perhaps her seclusion is divinely inspired. I suggest that God will sometimes call us into seclusion so that God can work (divine response) within us to birth his purpose through us. Silence and isolation are not neutral, inactive endeavors. They prepare, shape, and form us into being. Sacred silence and isolation are spaces that develop faithfulness.
Zechariah’s silence and Elizabeth’s seclusion are holy invitations into communion in God’s presence. An invitation to listen and discern what is to come. An invitation to separate from and quiet the noise of incredulity and disbelief. An invitation to still the voices of criticism and deal with one’s feelings of worthiness.
Silence and seclusion are spiritual practices that give us space to breathe, rest, and cultivate inner peace. During his ministry, even Jesus went away to quiet places to rest.
Holy ordained silence and sacred seclusion are not punishment. Rather, they help us to become … to become more discerning, more prayerful, more grounded, and more connected within ourselves through the Holy Spirit. This connection is not for material gain; it is for God’s purpose of heralding the soon-coming Christ for the healing and flourishing of humankind.
Zechariah’s holy silence and Elizabeth’s sacred seclusion make way for their son’s movement, voice, and vocation. Through silence and seclusion, we begin to experience how the call of John the Baptist makes way for Jesus the Christ.
Now, filled with the Holy Spirit, Zechariah’s song prophesies, and we begin to hear whispers of his son’s voice and vocation. That song is called The Benedictus, meaning The Blessing of the Lord God. Zechariah’s song has two parts: the first is praise to God for salvation that is sure to come. And in the second part, under the power of the Holy Spirit, Zechariah prophesies and prays over his son. Silence and seclusion usher us into holy insight for what is to come.
When my boys were little I would anoint them with oil and pray with them before they went to school. Then one morning, I saw them differently. I real-
ized that even though I birthed them, they didn’t belong to me. They belonged to God. So, my prayers changed. One day during our time of prayer together, it was my younger son Kyle who said, “Mom, why are you talking like that?”
After silence and seclusion, when we are filled with the Holy Spirit, as Zechariah was, we see things differently. We begin to pray differently. In his nine-month silence, I imagine that Zechariah finally surrendered his will to God’s will. He surrendered his agenda for God’s agenda. He surrendered his words for God’s words. He gave up his partial understanding for God’s wisdom and direction.
Now, remember, the people of Israel were oppressed and under Roman rule. They had gone to war with Rome and lost. So, it is under these circumstances that
Zechariah sings God’s praises, prophesies over his son, and in the last line says,
“Because of the tender mercy of our God, the dawn from on high will break upon us, to shine upon those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death, to guide our feet into the way of peace.” (Luke 1:78-79)
Funny thing about peace, as lovely as it sounds, is that it only becomes a thing when there is no peace. Often, we do not recognize the peace that surpasses all understanding until we have experienced the opposite. In our human nature, we do not appreciate the warmth of the sun until we’ve experienced days and days of rain and cold.
Funny thing about peace is that the Way of Peace is rarely peaceful. I’m not talking about war because war has never brought peace. It’s only after people begin to assess the damage and count bodies that peace becomes a consideration. And even then, peace has to be negotiated. I’m not talking about that. I am talking about the peace that only God gives. The peace that comes when we allow ourselves to turn inward, in silence and seclusion, allowing God’s spirit to heal us from the inside out. The peace that comes when we realize that we belong to God, and we are not our own.
The external battles we engage in tend to leave us internally wounded, fearful, and angry with one another, grieving our losses, and lacking hope for the future. If we are not careful, our internal wounds can render us bitter and isolated, struggling to even see peace as a possibility.
The Way of Peace begins from within, in the space of silence and seclusion. Gabriel silenced Zechariah, not only because of what he questioned, but perhaps because Zechariah needed space to wrestle with the possibility of what God was bringing forth. When we wage war within ourselves, we eventually begin to affect everyone and everything around us. Our internal battles become external wars. Zechariah’s silence and Elizabeth’s seclusion can be understood as models of how God cultivates inner peace and peace among God’s people.
How, then, do we experience the Peace of God intentionally? I would like to offer the spiritual practices of silence, seclusion, and surrender. From the outset, a regular practice of silence may sound pleasant and restful. While this could happen eventually, silence affords us the space to assess our emotions and internal dialogues. In silence, eventually our recurring thoughts will surface. If we allow them, the beliefs we hold about ourselves and others will emerge. Our beliefs about who God is can be revealed through our emotions. In silence, are you afraid? Are you anxious? Are you relaxed? Are you curious, hopeful, or convicted? From the perspective of silence as spiritual practice, we may begin to discover that the noise in our lives provides an escape from the holy confrontation necessary for peace and healing to come forth.
I imagine that Zechariah’s silence gave him time to wrestle with his own disbeliefs about fatherhood and what such a task and title would be for a man his age. I imagine that in silence, Zechariah sensed the profound presence of God that burst forth in song when John was born and the silence was lifted.
We cannot talk about Zechariah’s silence and not, at the same time, talk about Elizabeth’s seclusion. Parallel to Zechariah’s holy encounter is Elizabeth’s seclusion. For she, too, wrestled with her emotions, her understanding of God, and her body that she thought was beyond its capacity to bear, grow, and raise a child. I imagine that in Elizabeth’s seclusion she needed time to wrap her head around the miracle she carried. I imagine that she needed time to process that her baby is “the prophet of the Most High,” who will “go before the Lord to prepare his ways” (Luke 1:76).
For us, temporary, God-ordained seclusion means that we get to be alone with the Divine Spirit of God to catch up with ourselves, to notice and linger with the mundane and sublime happenings of life. Temporary seclusion is a necessary response to a busy world, a world in which it is easy to be swept up in busyness to the point we are at risk of losing touch with divine purpose.
Once we have entered the rituals of silence and seclusion, we may then take on a posture of surrender. This surrender is not defeat or giving up. Rather, it is surrender to confidence in knowing that we are God-created, image-bearers of the Divine, and beloved. Moreover, like Zechariah and Elizabeth, we are entrusted with Good News to share in the world. The practices of silence, seclusion, and surrender move us beyond ourselves to Christ.
Until this point, I have not mentioned the one who is coming, the one who is the center of Zechariah’s silence and Elizabeth’s seclusion—their son, John. John the Baptist, the herald of the Prince of Peace and Savior of the world, comes to us instructing us how the way of peace, though we are far from it, is possible.
Silence, seclusion, and surrender make possible the birth of things lying within us waiting to come forth. What is born is born from above and from within. Lasting peace is born through what we assess in silence, experience in seclusion, and gain through surrender. Peace waits within us. And may we know with the assurance of children of God that the Coming and Living Christ IS our peace. Amen.
