Silent Night

I suppose there is no greater frustration than being silenced. We want to be able to speak out and say what we think, what we feel, what we see. To be not able or not allowed to do so is paralyzing and demoralizing. But so often we are not allowed to give voice to our thoughts, or we are ignored when we do. Whether our silencing is due to age or lack of resources or illness or life circumstances, it is painful and disheartening. “Listen to me!” is the cry of our human hearts that are made in the image of the God who speaks.

This is a sorrow that Zechariah knew all too well, even before he lost his voice in a literal sense. I suspect that as the years went by he was silenced by those who had children when he did not: “you can’t understand, you don’t have kids.” As he became elderly he was no doubt silenced by those who had more energy: “I’ll handle that, you don’t need to trouble yourself.” And as year after year went by with his one prayer not answered, I’m sure he felt silenced by God.

“Why can’t Elizabeth and I have our one desire—a child? How hard would it be to just give us this one thing? We have served you so long and faithfully, why aren’t you listening? Don’t you care about us?”

Maybe that’s how you’re feeling this Christmas season. I think we all are to some degree. None of our lives are going quite how we would like, and it can seem as if God isn’t listening. Should we stop speaking when our words seem to have no effect?

The Old Testament prophet Zechariah tells us there is a place for holy silence, for expectant, hopeful reverence: “Be silent before the Lord, all humanity, for [the Lord] is springing into action from his holy dwelling” (2:13). This is a silence of action and trust, not of frustration and powerlessness. It is a silence that says, “I trust you, God, even though I can’t tell what you’re up to. I will let you speak when I cannot.” It is a silence of faith in God’s promises—promises like these other words from Zechariah:

·        “It is not by force nor by strength, but by my Spirit, says the Lord of Heaven’s Armies” (4:6).

·        “Do not despise these small beginnings, for the Lord rejoices to see the work begin” (4:10).

·        “All this may seem impossible to you not, a small remnant of God’s people. But is it impossible for me? Says the Lord of Heaven’s Armies” (8:6).

God is at work. His Spirit is among us. The beginnings may be small and our hopes may seem impossible, but all of these promises are yes and amen in the One the prophet Zechariah writes about, the Branch who is King and Priest forever, the same One to whom New Testament Zechariah’s son pointed—Jesus.

If you feel voiceless, silenced, or unheard this season, let Zechariah’s words give you hope: “Because of God’s tender mercy, the morning light from heaven is about to break upon us, to give light to those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death, and to guide us to the path of peace” (Luke 2:78-79). Let your silence be one of reverent hope. Our silent night is full of expectation and hope because Jesus has come, he will come again, and in the meantime, God is at work bringing light to our darkness and words to our wordless cries.