Luke
1:68-79
68 "Blessed be the Lord
God of Israel, for he has looked favorably on his people and redeemed them. 69
He has raised up a mighty savior for us in the house of his servant David, 70
as he spoke through the mouth of his holy prophets from of old, 71 that we
would be saved from our enemies and from the hand of all who hate us. 72 Thus
he has shown the mercy promised to our ancestors, and has remembered his holy
covenant, 73 the oath that he swore to our ancestor Abraham, to grant us 74
that we, being rescued from the hands of our enemies, might serve him without
fear, 75 in holiness and righteousness before him all our days. 76 And you,
child, will be called the prophet of the Most High; for you will go before the
Lord to prepare his ways, 77 to give knowledge of salvation to his people by
the forgiveness of their sins. 78 By the tender mercy of our God, the dawn from
on high will break upon us, 79 to give light to those who sit in darkness and
in the shadow of death, to guide our feet into the way of peace."
On this second Sunday of Advent, we reflect on the theme
of peace—and boy, do we need it now! With more news of more mass shootings,
with more news of more suicide bombers, with more news of politicians slinging
mud at each other, and with more news of vitriolic disagreement between those
of differing opinions on what to do about all of it, we need to hear a word
about peace. Actually, we need more than just a word; we need peace itself.
Unfortunately,
peace, it seems, has been the exception rather than the rule throughout human
existence. Sure it seems that we live in an especially chaotic and troublesome
time, but the truth is that in the 3,400 years of recorded history there have
only been 268 scattered years of what we might call peace. What that means is
that throughout the history of humankind only 268 years were without war or
major conflict, and it probably goes without saying that most of those years
were spread out over history. Only 8% of human history has been spent in
relative peace.[1]
Even in a time when one would think that we as a species would have come to
understand the futility of war and the ways in which it robs us of our
humanity, wars still rage on. Some wars are fought in more technologically
advanced and precise ways, while others are fought in more primitive and random
ways. It seems war and violence are an inevitable part of the human
experience…at least for now, because now we need peace.
Peace seems so difficult to us, I suppose, because we
believe that while we want it, others do not. There are those in this world who
are indeed enemies of peace, those who wish to see the world wrapped in war.
They wish to see the world with people of differing nations, races, and creeds
killing each other over those very differences, bringing harm and terror to
those who would otherwise seek to live in peace with one another. While I won’t
point fingers or name names (it seems most folks prefer to do that on social
media these days anyhow), I do think that those of us who follow the babe born
in Bethlehem ought to heed the words of a familiar song we sing every year
about this time: “Let there be peace on earth/And let it begin with me./Let
there be peace on earth/The peace that was meant to be./With God as our Father/Brothers
all are we./Let me walk with my brother/In perfect harmony.” Of course, letting
peace begin with me means I need to take an active
part in peace, to understand that peace is not merely the absence of conflict
and noise but the presence of the Spirit of God.
I suppose for many of us, peace may be defined that way,
as the absence of something (war, violence, noise), and for those of us
submerged in a world full of distractions and noise, it’s appealing to think of
peace as the absence of all of that, to think of peace as a pause in the chaos,
an oasis in the midst of life’s stress, a silent retreat from the cacophony of
the world. I suppose one could define peace that way—as silence—unless one has
something to say, unless you have something that needs to be said. Then, silence can be the very antithesis
of peace.
I can’t help but think that was how Zechariah felt. Luke
tells us that Zechariah (a priest in the temple) and his wife, Elizabeth (a
descendant herself of the priestly line of Aaron), were both “living
blamelessly according to all the commandments and regulations of the Lord. But
they had no children, because Elizabeth was barren, and both were getting on in
years [which is Luke’s nice, biblical way of saying they were old!]”
(Luke 1:6-7). Luke goes on to tell us that one day, while Zechariah was
serving as a priest before the Lord, he entered the sanctuary of the temple to
offer incense (as was the custom). While Zechariah was in the sanctuary, an
angel (a messenger) from God named Gabriel appeared to tell him that his wife
Elizabeth (remember, the one who was barren and way too old to get pregnant?) was
with child, and Zechariah was to name him John.
This is a page
right out of the Old Testament, right? An old couple, blameless before God, who
wanted to have children (as everyone did then) but couldn’t have them, are now
told in their old age—by a messenger from God, no less—that they’re expecting.
Zechariah was a priest, not a dumb man by any stretch of the imagination, and
though he no doubt knew the story of Abraham and Sarah and others like it, he
knew himself, and he knew his wife, and he knew that things just didn’t add up,
so he asked Gabriel, “How am I going to know that what you say is really so?”
(Luke 1:18, my paraphrase). But because he doubted the angel’s words, Zechariah
was struck mute until the day his son John was to be born (perhaps his wife
Elizabeth thought to herself, “Finally I have some peace around the house
without Zach always blabbing about what happened today at the temple!”). There
may have been silence from Zechariah, but it wasn’t peace, because Zechariah
had something to say.
See, too often
we assume peace means quiet, that peace means not rocking the boat, not saying
what ought to be said for the sake of keeping calm, not doing what ought to be
done because it may prove to be too difficult to navigate while trying to keep
things held together. So we bite our tongues, sit on our hands, try to smooth
things over or wait things out, all the while there’s something that needs to
be said, something that needs to be proclaimed, something that needs to be
done. While Zechariah may have been silenced by an angel because of his doubt,
at times we can simply silence ourselves because of our own doubts, our own
uncertainties and insecurities. Deep within our hearts, we know the right thing
to do, the right thing to say, yet pride, comfort, or fear too often chokes our
words and paralyzes our limbs. We may be afraid that others will disagree with
us, that others will think we’re stupid, or perhaps worst of all, that we might
fail. However, when we let go of that fear, when we put our trust in the One
who calls us to difficult tasks and a prophetic life, when we say what we know
is right and do what we believe to be God’s will peace can begin with us.
The words we’ve
read from Holy Scripture this morning are the first recorded words Zechariah speaks
after John is born. They are words of prophecy—a prophetic song sung by the one
who had just so recently been unable to speak. The Benedictus (as it is called from the first word of the song
in Latin) is a song that praises God for the ways in which he has delivered his
people, the ways God has saved us all in order that we might freely serve God
without fear. They are words that sing of God’s tender mercy, of God’s
forgiveness of sins. They are words that sing of John’s role in this plan of
God’s. Yet the words that speak the most to me on this second Sunday of Advent
are Zechariah’s words in verses 78 and 79: “By the tender mercy of our God, the dawn from on high will break [has
broken] 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." Zechariah sings of God’s tender mercy
breaking into the world, and this mercy will bring hope as it brings light to
the darkness, a light which will guide us in the way of peace.
When Zechariah breaks his silence, disrupts the quiet with his song, it’s
a prophetic proclamation of God’s forgiveness of sins and the in-breaking of
God’s kingdom into the world. It’s an announcement declaring that darkness can
begin counting the days, for it will be driven out by the light of God’s love.
It is a song that sings of the beginning of peace on earth…and we want to join
in Zechariah’s chorus to sing “…and let it begin with me.” But how does peace
begin with me? With the dawn of God’s tender mercy breaking from on high to
guide our feet into the way of peace, how do we walk in that way of peace which
is set before us? Because we need peace now, the world needs peace now, and we
are called to be bearers of that peace.
The Catholic priest and theologian Hans Küng said in 2005 at the opening
of the Exhibit on the World’s Religions at Santa Clara University: “There will
be no peace among the nations without peace among the religions. There will be
no peace among the religions without dialogue among the religions.”[2]
Now, while I believe Küng is absolutely right, I also believe there will be no
peace among the nations until there is peace among neighbors—and that’s how
peace on earth begins with me, with you, with us.
Peace begins with us when we seek to be reconciled with those who’ve hurt
us and those whom we have hurt. Peace begins with us when we proclaim the good
news of God’s forgiveness as we forgive others. Peace begins with us as we
bring the light of Christ’s love into those dark places in the world, the
shadows where the hurting, outcast, rejected, refused, and lonely can be found.
Peace begins with us when we realize that we may be part of the problem, when
we resolve to listen more than we talk, to walk a mile in someone else’s shoes before
casting judgement (something we shouldn’t be in the business of doing anyway!).
Peace begins with me when I see you as the child of God you are, peace begins
with you when you see me as the child of God I am, and when we all realize that
we each and every one of us is fearfully and wonderfully made in the image of
God and worthy of love, to love and be loved by each other and by God. There
can’t be peace on earth until there’s peace among neighbors, so this Advent, as
we draw closer to the cradle of our Lord, as we draw closer to the full arrival
of his kingdom, let us seek to share the forgiveness and love of God in Christ
with each other. Let us strive to bring light to those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death.
Let us follow the light of Christ that leads us into the pathway of peace. Let
there be peace on earth this Advent, and let it begin with me, with you, with
all of us. Amen.
[2]
The full text of Küng’s speech can be found here: http://www.scu.edu/ethics/practicing/focusareas/global_ethics/laughlin-lectures/kung-world-religions.html
(accessed 12/6/15)
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