Advent Calendar – 2 December
Nativity Stories: Zechariah
I had my consolations. Of course it hurt month by month when her blood flowed and we knew it was not to be. It would have pained any man. But, as I say, there were consolations. Elizabeth and I were at ease in each other’s company, and could laugh at the foibles of our neighbours, especially that hot-headed couple up the valley whose sharp voices would carry through the warm evening. And when my turn came every year or so, I would go to Jerusalem and serve in the Temple, a priest even if not a father, a son of Israel, representing my people before heaven.
The smell of incense always takes me back. I had lit the coals from the fire, and when they were warm enough sprinkled the incense on top. I always loved that first sweet prickling of the scent, before the smoky tang at the back of the throat. I was offering it to the Lord but I felt he was the giver, to me, smelling that sweetness in the sanctuary.
I thought I’d fallen asleep in there when the figure appeared. After all I was weak from the five days’ walk and fasting for service, and the smoke lifting and spreading, and I’d nodded off in there before. But I rubbed my eyes and he was still there, standing. He wasn’t meant to be there, whoever he was, and I was scared I’d done something wrong, left the door open, let him in by mistake.
“Don’t be afraid,” he said. But still I could feel my muscles tight with fear. I didn’t know the voice, couldn’t place it, it wasn’t a fellow-priest – it came from far away yet he was right there beside the altar in the candlelight, half-obscured by the incense.
He spoke again and I tried despite my fear to force myself to listen. It was a promise: the more I caught his words, the more it seemed he knew who I was and had heard every prayer I’d shared with Elizabeth, and those much deeper, the ones I felt rather than said, when comforts seemed unable to reach inside and soothe the sorrow. “You’ll have a son,” he said. A child, a firstborn, a beloved son. It’s all I’d wanted, and I’m not sure I took in all he went on to say, about our son’s name and all he’d do. I’m a nobody really, a farmer, a husband, an occasional priest, but he would be known by many people, changing their lives, reconciling parents to their children, making us all ready for the Lord’s coming.
Do you blame me that I didn’t believe it? As I made the journey up this time, I kept stumbling on sharp stones on the road, I was tired long before I’d rest each night. I thought this would be my last time. Retirement. The pleasure of my kinfolk, joining the old men each morning for a cup of wine when their wives turn them out for some peace to bake the bread. I asked him if he’d got the wrong man.
“No,” he said, and I thought I saw a hint of impatience in his face. “It’s for you. There is no falsehood in heaven, from where I have winged my flight.” And then he told me his name, Gabriel, and I nearly fainted that I’d been talking to a visitor from on high as if he was old Benjamin next door. And he continued, “I think you’ve said enough. You won’t be able to talk till it comes to be. Elizabeth’s belly will do the speaking.” And was there the ghost of a smile on Gabriel’s face before I no longer saw him?
Annunciation to Zechariah, Ethiopian Bible, British Library
Yours,
Donald
Revd Dr Donald MacEwan
Chaplain