Wednesday, December 13: Zechariah’s Silence

In those months of silence, 

In those months of silence, what did you learn, Zechariah? Perhaps to move from temple rules to trees. To notice the olive trees silvery leaves, the small, hard buds of green. And the grapes—the shade of their vines, the slow blooming of each sweet fruit. The way the dust rises and settles on a windy day, small ghost-angels whispering change, change.

Perhaps you saw Elizabeth as if for the first time—how her hands lifted the bread from the oven, the roughness of her fingers, the satisfied smile when she sliced the loaf. How she combed her hair in the morning and pinned it up, one section at a time—instead of waiting impatiently, you watched now, couldn’t stop watching.

You saw how she learned to pay the bills, count out the change for the market, do nearly everything you’d done before. At first you were worried, weren’t you, at how naturally she moved into new roles. You wondered how necessary you were. But your silence taught you to listen, to learn from the gentle, confident way she treated others, the slow, steady way she worked through each new challenge. You didn’t need to feel threatened. You could be her equal without losing your dignity.

And her body—how it changed shape slowly at first, each little change signaling the angel had been right. How she would guide your hand to her belly to feel the baby move, her eyes closed, her hand over yours.

You were going to be a father. It was really happening. The silence let you imagine the baby, the toddler, the boy, the man. The silence taught you to hold lightly and joyfully, to understand no child belongs to his parents, and still, to know parenthood as gift.

Your silence did not break you or shame you. Instead, it opened new rooms in the deep places of your soul, taught you to slow down, welcome change, pay attention. 

You would go back to the temple after, yes, but the temple would no longer be your holy ground. In those months of silence, you learned your whole life was holy ground, every surface an altar, every old idea you gave up a sacrifice, every relationship sacred and ever-changing, every taste, scent, sight the incense that connected you to God.