2022 12 04 Sermon

Living With Uncertainty
Advent 2, Luke 1:39-79
Rev. Karl-John N. Stone
The Message of John the Baptist sermon series, week 2
Based on the book Prepare the Way for the Lord by Adam Hamilton

I remember my first cellphone. I activated it the day after my first son was born almost 18 years ago, so that Beth Ann and I could communicate and coordinate with each other when we were out and about. It was a simple flip phone with a small screen. Its texting functions were extremely limited, and it had no Wi-Fi capability, which didn’t matter because there was no Wi-Fi. I also couldn’t use it in the town we lived in, only in other places, because we were nestled in a narrow valley, tucked away between the mountains, hills, forests, and farm fields of central Pennsylvania. There was no cell phone reception there!

Some of you remember when everyone in the house had to share one telephone, and it was a landline—and also the days before people had answering machines or voicemail. When you made a phone call, you often weren’t sure who would answer. If it was someone other than the person you were trying to reach, you didn’t know if they would remember to pass the message along. We lived with all kinds of uncertainty when we made phone calls back then.

Then in 2007 along came the iPhone, and within a few years most people made the switch to smartphones. Anybody with a smartphone could communicate directly with anybody else with a smartphone, anywhere in the world. No longer did we need to debate with our friends about things we were uncertain of, like the lyrics to a song we heard on the radio. We could just look it up on our phones, and all the lyrics, plus dozens of recordings of the song, would available to listen to, right at our fingertips.

Can you imagine what life would be like now without cellphones? Like, what if suddenly all of our cellphones went silent and we couldn’t use them to communicate? It would be a major disruption. We would probably complain a lot, and perhaps be less sure of things because we couldn’t just look them up. I think somehow, eventually, though, we’d find a way to manage. And maybe, over time, we’d even find that there was a blessing in it.

I imagine it was kind of like that for Zechariah, the father of John the Baptist. If you remember back to last Sunday, we heard the story of how he and his wife Elizabeth learned they would be having a child, even though they were “getting on in years”. Zechariah is on duty as a priest in the Temple. The angel Gabriel suddenly appears to him and tells him the news. Zechariah responds with doubt: “How can I know that this will happen?” The angel replies, “I am Gabriel. I stand in the presence of God, who sent me to tell you. Since you don’t believe my words, you will be unable to speak for the next nine months, until John is born.” In a modern-day analogy, it’s like the angel took away Zechariah’s cellphone for nine months and said in effect, “You want to be sure? You can’t be sure! You’re simply going to have to trust me.”

It would be easy to hear this and conclude that Zechariah is being punished for his doubts. And it probably felt like a punishment to Zechariah, at least at first. But I think Zechariah found a way to manage, and after those nine months were finally over, he found God’s blessings in his time of silence.

That’s because being made mute forced him to learn how to become more comfortable living with uncertainty, trusting that God would be with him through his difficulties, caring for him, helping him, guiding him, leading him to deeper understandings—even though Zechariah could not be sure how things were going to turn out. He couldn’t even be sure that he would ever speak again. He would just have to wait nine months and find out.

As human beings, we love certainty. We want to be sure that the things that happen, and the decisions we make, will turn out the way we want. But there are really very few things in life that we can be absolutely sure of. Most of our decisions require a leap of faith. And because of that, doubt is a normal part of life—even a normal part of our spiritual life. When we demand certainty, God gives us mystery instead, and an invitation to live by faith.

Jesus didn’t say, “Come follow me only if you have no doubts or questions.” He simply said, “Come, follow me” and promises to walk with us through our doubts and questions. This is much less certain and more mysterious for us, but ultimately more helpful.

Martin Luther once said, “only God and certain madmen have no doubts.” The writer and theologian Frederick Buechner sounded a similar theme in more recent years: “Doubts are the ants in the pants of faith. They keep it awake and moving.” The questions we have, like the questions Zechariah had, can be the thing that drives us to explore faith and God more deeply, to help us grow in our relationship with God, and to look for the blessings God has waiting for us that we cannot produce on our own.

That’s why I think Zechariah eventually came to understand his time of silence as a gift. God was telling him, in a dramatic way, that he needed to trust God’s presence in the midst of his doubts. This is a common theme throughout the Bible. Psalm 46:10 encourages: “Be still, and know that I am God.” Or think back to one of the earliest prophets of Israel, Elijah—John the Baptist was regarded as the Elijah of his day. But when Elijah was running for his life after doing and saying some things that made Queen Jezebel angry (1 Kings 19), he hid in a cave on a mountain. While he was in the cave, a strong wind blew that broke the rocks—but the Lord was not in the wind. Then an earthquake came, but the Lord was not in the earthquake. Then a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire. Finally came the sound of sheer silence. And that is when the Lord spoke to him. Only after all the noise, and commotion, and distractions were behind him. In the silence, God came near.

How could Elijah have been sure God would come in silence? He couldn’t. He could only put his trust in a God who demonstrates a pattern of drawing near to people both ancient and modern, when we let go of all the distractions, the noise and commotion surrounding us, and simply take some time to be still and allow God to be God. As Zechariah waited for his son John to be born, he was given no choice but to do the same thing.

We get to hear the fruits of Zechariah’s time of silence in today’s gospel. The priests were going to name the child after his father, but Elizabeth said, “no, he is to be called John.” They didn’t believe her, so they motioned to Zechariah, who wrote on a tablet: “His name is John”—a name meaning “the Lord is gracious”. At that moment his mouth was opened, his tongue freed, he began to praise God. He was filled with the Holy Spirit, as nine-months-worth of reflection and prayer came pouring out of him, with lyrics to a song that referenced 18 different texts from the Old Testament. It summarized the mighty acts of God, the promises of God, and how their son John (of all people) had just been born to become a prophet like Elijah who would prepare the way for the Lord. And when the Lord appeared, he would bring salvation, forgiveness, mercy, hope, and peace to the world. To us all.

Zechariah’s experience gives us something to ponder. How can we learn to live with uncertainty and faith by taking some time for silence in our lives, where we just let God be God? This is counter-cultural in our world today--especially at Christmastime when everything gets so busy! But the busier we get, the more we need it. Now, I’m not saying you need nine consecutive months of silence, but I’d like to finish my sermon by providing 90 seconds of silence, for us to get a small taste of what Zechariah experienced. If you get uncomfortable during this time, that’s ok, just try to keep handing over to God whatever is making you uncomfortable. I’ll keep time for us, and then conclude by saying “Amen.”