He couldn’t believe it! Didn’t dare believe it! This had to be some sort of celestial prank! A baby? Them? Now? He was old. His wife was beyond childbearing age. Was Gabriel sure he was at the right temple? Speaking to the right priest? It seemed enormously unlikely Elizabeth was going to have a child. Not now. Not at this age. Not after all the years they had waited, hoped, dreamed. Not after all the time of unfulfilled longing. Not now that the years of prayers to a silent heaven had culminated in aging barrenness. Zechariah and Elizabeth had quietly abandoned the hope of a child. Until now.
Now Zechariah stood listening to the angel’s words, his mouth gaping in disbelief. It couldn’t be true. Gabriel needed to check the address on this delivery. The barrenness was a done deal. Babies weren’t going to happen. Not even one. Over time, they had accepted the fact, allowed the darkness of their childless existence to become their norm. Their prayers had stopped. Their hope had dwindled. They no longer dared to dream. The “no” ringing back from the heavens had been heard loud and clear. There would be no child for Zechariah and Elizabeth. They understood. They accepted. They moved on. Sort of. (Luke 1:8-19)
Elizabeth struggled. Often. She didn’t understand it. She and Zechariah lived righteous lives. They obeyed the commands and rules, and regulations passed down from God through Moses. All of them. They were meticulous. Her husband was a priest. Her life was above reproach. Yet here she sat, unable to conceive, and desperately wondering why. Having children was so important. Not just to Elizabeth as a woman, but to her life in society. Being barren carried such a stigma. An air of sin. The often whispered idea that she had somehow displeased God. But she hadn’t. Ever. She had lived honest and upright her entire life. Even when the heavens were silent. Even when her womb was empty. Even when the sadness enveloped her soul in dark grief. Never once did Elizabeth turn from following God. Never once did she douse the light of His presence in her life. (Luke 1:5-7, 24-25)
Knowing the beauty of her soul, Zechariah should have been excited to get home and share the news of his angelic visit with his wife. Except he wasn’t. Because he couldn’t. Not verbally. In the face of his blatant and adamant disbelief of Gabriel’s prophecy, he was rendered mute. He probably deserved that. Maybe he needed it. Time to be quiet and contemplate everything Gabriel had said. Time to spend in private conversation with God. Time to wrap his head around the fact that his son, the only child he would ever have, wasn’t going to be like other kids. At all. He was going to be different. So different. Nothing like Zechariah had dreamed. He wouldn’t follow in his father’s footsteps. He would forge his own path. The path God had chosen for him centuries ago. The one Isaiah said he would take before anyone ever knew who he was or the miraculous circumstances of his birth. Zechariah’s son would be tasked with preparing the people for the coming Messiah. Because the Messiah was coming. Soon. (Luke 1:20-22; Isaiah 40:3-5)
Zechariah was certain of that. Four hundred years of prophetic silence hadn’t dimmed his faith. Jesus was coming. He knew it. He believed it. He hoped it would be in his lifetime. Generations had come and gone in the ensuing years since the final prophecy had been spoken. The Messiah had yet to appear. No matter how hard they prayed. No matter how much they believed. No matter how they strained their eyes in watching. The Messiah hadn’t materialized. Many had stopped believing. Quit hoping. Not Zechariah. Not Elizabeth. Knowing what they did of silent heavens and fruitless faith, neither ever stopped believing the Messiah would come.
Perhaps that is why they were chosen. Trapped in the personal wilderness of unanswered prayers, they never stopped following God. Ever. Even when it seemed like a logical choice. Even when they felt angry at His silence. Even when the gossip and rumors damaged their spirits and clouded their souls. Never once did they renounce their obedience. Never did they allow despair to win. In the face of personal defeat and discouragement, they continued to live in the light of eternity. Had anyone dared to look past the preconceived notion of unresolved sin robbing Elizabeth of children, they would have seen it. The quiet light of God emanating from her soul, from Zechariah’s soul. With their personal experience in and understanding of the importance of implicitly trusting God in the dark spaces of life, Elizabeth and Zechariah were the perfect candidates to raise the man charged with preparing the way for Jesus. They would need that absolute faith in God’s sovereignty.
John the Baptist wasn’t going to be like other people’s sons. He wouldn’t grow up to fill a role in the temple, take up a trade, or farm the land. He wouldn’t even live inside city limits. There would be no nice house, complete with picket fence, a wife, and half a dozen children. No. Zechariah and Elizabeth’s son would make his home in the wilderness. His diet would consist of locusts and honey. Wine would never cross his lips. His hair would not be cut. He would clothe himself in a robe of camel’s hair cinched with a simple leather belt at the waist. Nothing he did would ever be about himself. He had just one goal. Make a space for the Messiah to fill. Not in the town square. Not in the temple courtyard. Not on a street corner where passersby would hear his words as they went about their errands. No. Speaking from a dry and barren wilderness where nothing seemed to grow properly and life didn’t thrive, John the Baptist set up his stage and set about doing what he was meant to do. Prepare a way in the wilderness. (Matthew 3:1-6)
From every corner of the region, people came to hear John speak. Jerusalem. Judea. All over the Jordan Valley. Distance didn’t seem to matter. No account tells us why. Maybe they simply wanted a glimpse of the miracle child. Maybe they were looky-lou’s out to get a peek at the priest’s kid, who had clearly not followed the family tradition. Maybe he was a spellbinding speaker, pulling people into his lessons and making them hesitant to leave. Maybe they were truly interested in what he had to say. Maybe the hope of the Messiah’s imminent arrival drew them in. No matter the reason, still they came. They heard. They listened. They repented and were baptized. Although not a wide path through the center of town, a swath of land in the suburbs, or a campus of buildings with a list of programs, a way was being prepared. Places for Jesus to inhabit. Hearts and minds, and lives of people were softened and opened to His teachings. Because John the Baptist did what he was sent to do. In a world of spiritual darkness, discouragement, and despair, he cleared a path. Made a space. Prepared the way. For Jesus to come and do His Father’s business. So must we. (Matthew 11:7-10; Mark 1:1-7)
It is no secret that our world is in trouble. Darkness envelops us. Society is rife with issues. Spiritual decline. Political problems. Financial decay. Employment interruptions. It would be easy to believe God isn’t even paying attention anymore, that He doesn’t care, that He isn’t concerned with the despondency threatening to overtake our souls. Hope seems useless. Faith seems misplaced. Our urgent, desperate prayers seem to go unanswered. No matter how hard we try, it feels impossible to see the hand of God at work through the flourishing evil around us. Despair weighs us down. Fear haunts us. Worry consumes our thoughts. Truly, we live in a dry, barren wilderness, a space crying out for someone to prepare a way for Jesus to do His Father’s business. (Luke 2:49)
You are that person. You are the “someone” God is calling to prepare the way for Him to work and move. In your corner of the world. In your neighborhood. In your circle of friends. You are called to be that voice, crying out of the dark wilderness of this world, pointing discouraged, disappointed, disenchanted souls to Jesus. He is the only hope. He has the words of life. Only through Him can they find peace in the tumult and pandemonium around them. You know that. So tell them. Tell them Jesus is the way through their wilderness. The road to the truth in a world of lies. The only path to eternal life. Tell them He is the light in their deep darkness. Tell them He is bread, strength, sustenance, for their world-weary souls. Tell them that Jesus has come on a mission to seek out and redeem all who are entrenched in sin and wandering in the wilderness of earth. In all the dark places, where evil seems to triumph, boldly speak life. Speak peace. Speak truth. Clear a path. Prepare the way. Jesus has come. (Acts 1:8; John 6:35,68; 8:12; 14:6, 27; I Peter 1:3; Luke 19:10; Proverbs 18:21)