to have a son and that he should name that son John. Zechariah doubts that he and his equally old wife are going to manage such a feat. God tells him that he will be struck silent until the promise is fulfilled. When his wife, Elizabeth, gives birth and people ask them what the name will be, Zechariah writes, “His name is John,” on a tablet. Suddenly, his voice is freed. And his first words? One of the most beautiful songs of the Bible. The Benedictus, named for the Latin translation of its first word, later came to be recited at morning prayer by Christians the world round in the hopes that, by saying what Zechariah had said, their tongues, too, would be freed for praise each day.
Have you ever been silenced by what you didn’t dare say aloud? And did you one day find enough strength or faith or dire need to say it? And when you said it, did you find yourself unlocked, your voice loosed for prayer and praise, your life freed like a stone rolled away from a tomb?
What was it you said?
Was it, “I’m gay”?
“My husband hits me”?
“I love you”?
“I’m an alcoholic”?
“Will you marry me”?
“I’m not going to take it any more”?
“I believe in God”?
“Please forgive me”?
For Zechariah, it was, “His name is John.” For Mary, it was, “I’m pregnant.”
If you haven’t said yours yet, what are you waiting for?
Blessed be you, O God. Give me words like keys, and free my life for faith and praise. Amen.
December 5
Evening
You, child, will be called a prophet of the Most High, for you will go before the Lord to prepare his way. You will tell his people how to be saved through the forgiveness of their sins. (Luke 1:76-77)
Zechariah stops dead in the middle of his grand Benedictus, mercifully stops declaiming, and instead starts singing to Baby John. Picture him, the great priest and prophet, turning from his audience to his son, switching from oratory to lullaby, public to private. Picture him stroking his son’s face and choking up as he sings these words to him.
For my money, the image of this crotchety old priest singing to his boy is as tender and arresting a scene as a Madonna and child, all the more poignant for knowing where the tiny head resting in the crook of that bony arm would wind up in the end. (If you don’t know, Google John the Baptist to find out.)
That Luke recorded this song in such detail can only mean that it was intended to be used, said, and sung to other babies. Not everybody can be Jesus. But anybody can be John. Anybody can point to Jesus, tell the world that the dawn is on its way, get a glimpse of God on the road, and yell, “Everybody! Look over there!”
Apparently, Luke thought God wanted lots of other fathers to sing this song to lots of other babies besides John. I don’t know if you’re as lucky in your father as John was in his; too many people aren’t. But even if you aren’t, that doesn’t mean God’s not singing it to you anyway.
So before you go to bed tonight, take a few minutes to think about your day. Come up with one place—just one!—where you saw the hand of God at work. If you get stuck, look in the mirror.
Holy God, let me relax into your arms and into your lullaby. I’m not sure I have what it takes to be a prophet, but show yourself to me, and I will tell the world. Amen.
December 6
December 6
Morning
They asked, “Where is the newborn king of the Jews? We’ve seen his star in the east, and we’ve come to honor him.” (Matthew 2:2)
Is there anybody else out there who hates tasteful Christmas decorations? Who’s appalled by genteel ornamentation? Who, when faced with a color-coordinated Christmas tree covered in matching ornaments, has to fight off the urge to set it on fire just to liven things up a little?
I mean, this is Christmas we’re talking about, people! Christmas! The day that unto us a child was born? The day that made all of heaven sing in wonderment and joy? The day the Creator of the cosmos entered history and changed it for-freaking-ever?
This calls for tinsel.
It calls for projects made in first grade, with gobs of hardened glue and glitter. It calls for colored lights—big colored lights, ideally with water bubbling in them. It calls for motorized tree stands and blinking stars and construction paper chains and singing ornaments.
Christmas is not a day for restraint; it’s a day for blowing the doors off their hinges. I’m not saying you have to decorate your house. I’m just saying that if you’re going to decorate it, you best make it look like a party. When God decided to decorate for Christmas, God hung an enormous star in the heavens, not a string of demure white lights. No doubt the neighbors were appalled, but it sure did draw a crowd.
So today, celebrate the God who didn’t hold back anything. Be unrestrained. Put on some music, loud, and start decorating. Make it look like a party up in here, and praise God’s holy name.
God, grant that I might decorate my life so outrageously that wise ones come from all around to learn what I know about you. Amen.
December 6
Evening
The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness doesn’t extinguish the light. (John 1:5)
I know what I said a couple of days ago about decorations and about the nighttime being scary, but still, sometimes all the light can get to be a bit much this time of year: blinking lights, bubble lights, icicle lights, blue-light specials. What about those of us who like the dark sometimes? You know, those of us who like to sit outside at night, who relish sitting in a dim bar sharing a drink with a friend, who appreciate a snuggle with the lights off.
For those of us living in modern, industrialized societies, where everything is spotlighted or fluoresced to within an inch of its life, dimness can be hard to come by.
God shined bright when he entered the world, but it couldn’t have happened without the holy darkness of Mary’s womb, without the darkness behind the closed eyelids of a laboring woman, without the darkness of the space between a baby’s skin and swaddle.
The wise men would never have been able to see that star if they’d been standing in the parking lot of a twenty-four-hour Walmart.
So tonight, in honor of the good darkness, the holy darkness, spend some time with the lights off. Look out at the world or just at the backs of your eyelids. Pray to be protected and nourished and formed by the God who swept over the face of the waters before there was light. Pray for the darkness to become like the womb that bore the world. Pray for gestation. Pray for birth.
God, thank you for light and dark, bright and dim. Whether I am in shining or in shadow, let me show you to the world. Amen.
December 7
December
