The Pattern of Joy

Luke 1:5-25

In the days of King Herod of Judea, there was a priest named Zechariah, who belonged to the priestly order of Abijah. His wife was descended from the daughters of Aaron, and her name was Elizabeth. Both of them were righteous before God, 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.

Once when he was serving as priest before God during his section’s turn of duty, he was chosen by lot, according to the custom of the priesthood, to enter the sanctuary of the Lord to offer incense. Now at the time of the incense offering, the whole assembly of the people was praying outside. Then there appeared to him an angel of the Lord, standing at the right side of the altar of incense. When Zechariah saw him, he was terrified, and fear overwhelmed him. But the angel said to him, “Do not be afraid, Zechariah, for your prayer has been heard. Your wife Elizabeth will bear you a son, and you will name him John. You will have joy and gladness, and many will rejoice at his birth, for he will be great in the sight of the Lord. He must never drink wine or strong drink; even before his birth he will be filled with the Holy Spirit. He will turn many of the people of Israel to the Lord their God. With the spirit and power of Elijah he will go before him, to turn the hearts of parents to their children and the disobedient to the wisdom of the righteous, to make ready a people prepared for the Lord.” Zechariah said to the angel, “How can I know that this will happen? For I am an old man, and my wife is getting on in years.” The angel replied, “I am Gabriel. I stand in the presence of God, and I have been sent to speak to you and to bring you this good news. But now, because you did not believe my words, which will be fulfilled in their time, you will become mute, unable to speak, until the day these things occur.”

Meanwhile the people were waiting for Zechariah and wondering at his delay in the sanctuary. When he did come out, he was unable to speak to them, and they realized that he had seen a vision in the sanctuary. He kept motioning to them and remained unable to speak. When his time of service was ended, he returned to his home.

After those days his wife Elizabeth conceived, and for five months she remained in seclusion. She said, “This is what the Lord has done for me in this time, when he looked favorably on me and took away the disgrace I have endured among my people.”

Sermon

This past week, while I was in Baltimore, I had breakfast with one of the pastors at my former church. I was eager to hear about how things were going for them, and of course, she was eager to know about how things were going here, now that we’re rounding the corner on my first year. 

She told me about how her congregation is feeling strong and united about what is ahead. They feel like there’s a flow to ministry, and they feel prepared to face the future head-on. I asked what she was preaching on, and she told me. She was going to preach on the lectionary text: a stern teaching of Jesus that he would return at a secret hour. Judgment would come at an hour so unexpected and so secret that not even God the Father will know. Jesus says, therefore keep awake. For her congregation, that will certainly preach. Keep awake, keep watch, stay on your tippy toes, because if we don’t, we’ll miss the moment.

Then I filled her in on things — about how we tried (and failed) to install me a few times earlier this year, about how we welcomed new members on Easter, about the promise and perils of our buildings, and on and on…

Of course, we talked about allllll the change that we all experienced. There have been really big changes to our buildings, really big changes to our church operations, really big changes to our leadership, and really big changes to worship.

As an aside, earlier this month and during a conversation with a minister who happens to train interim pastors, I made a confession... “I swear, I really didn’t want to turn life upside down — I wanted to sit on my butt this year!” And this other minister paused before offering a nugget of wisdom: “Most churches and most pastors no longer have the privilege of waiting a year before changing things. Everything in the world around us is changing; whether we intend to or not, we are all doing transitional ministry.”

Those words were certainly in the back of my mind as I sat with my former colleague over breakfast. After describing all this change and all these joys and concerns, she asked me the same question I posed to her. “What are you going to preach on?”

I said, “after all our hard work this year, after all our change, after all of us have been giving it our all… over my dead and tired body will I be preaching on how we need to stay awake.”

So… all this to say, I’ve done what I can to make this Advent fun. We’re not going to do some sort of heady, cerebral theologizing, nor are we going to make this some somber, apocalyptic season. Instead, we’re really going to be leaning into joy. Even though it’s the third Advent candle we’ll light, it’s going to strung throughout the season. 

Today, we’ll ordain and install a new Deacon and celebrate what God is doing among us. We’ll tap into the joy of God’s providence, and rejoice that God has always raised up leaders when they are needed, just as each of us are gifted with unique skills and callings.

Next Sunday, we’ll welcome new members — hopefully all of them, but at the least, most of them. We’ll tap into the joy that this family of faith is growing stronger. We’re growing stronger not only in our numbers, but also in the kinds of people we share the church with. This year, we’ve welcomed businesspeople, cooks, administrators, herbalists, retirees, and on and on — people that God has gifted with not only a diversity of skills, but with unique journeys and compassionate, sincere hearts.

On the third Sunday of Advent, we’ll have the children’s pageant, and on the fourth Sunday of Advent, we’ll raise our voices in a festive service full of music, scripture, and preaching.

This is a season of celebration. Something is happening in Newton right now. Something is happening to this congregation right now. And something is rousing us from our slumber so that we might give thanks and rejoice right now.

“We’re not going to do some sort of heady, cerebral theologizing, nor are we going to make this some somber, apocalyptic season. Instead, we’re really going to be leaning into joy.”

So… let me finally answer the question that the minister asked me: “What are you going to preach on?”

Elizabeth and Zechariah are a pattern of joy.

When I say, “joy,” I don’t mean some superficial, fleeting feeling that we have to muster up. The Dutch contemplative Henry Nouwen put it best: “To choose joy does not mean to choose happy feelings or an artificial atmosphere of hilarity. But it does mean the determination to let whatever takes place bring us one step closer to the God of life.”

Elizabeth and Zechariah both model this dogged determination to choose and practice joy. And both of them model this in their silence.

Zechariah, of course, doesn’t choose to be silent; the angel Gabriel seems to mark him with muteness because Zechariah questioned him. But though this seems to be a cause-and-effect—that Zechariah was in disbelief, and Gabriel made him mute—we should be careful not to assume that it’s some sort of curse. There’s no indication whatsoever that this is punishment; God isn’t using disability as a cudgel. But there is a cause-and-effect, nonetheless.

So if this isn’t a punishment, what might it be? If we read carefully, we notice something: Elizabeth also falls silent. As custom under ritual law, Elizabeth goes into seclusion for five months. And then, what does the scripture say? She opened her mouth and rejoiced.

Zechariah is given the same gift as Elizabeth: the gift of silence and solitude.

This solitude—which is not to be conflated with isolation—this solitude and silence is the womb from which joyous praise is formed. In this silence and solitude, Zechariah and Elizabeth had a lot of time to listen and reflect; they spent time independent of one another attending to their inner lives. It was them and God, drawn into a sacred indwelling with one another.

That is the very beginning of this pattern of joy.

It’s not to burst out with as many words as we can, or to start telling the world about how good things are, or to launch into a flurry of do-goodery. The pattern of joy—this choice of joy—begins with quiet contemplation. We might say that it begins with savoring the goodness of God. We crack open our inner lives to the light of our Creator, showing it in all its heaviness and levity, and dwell with God in that space. That might involve prayer. It might not. It might involve nothing more than a quiet presence or silent reverence.

But however we decide to start choosing joy, it has to begin with this quietness of heart, and it has to begin with intentionality. Nobody ever stumbles into joy, really, or at least that true joy that’s more than an elated emotion. Joy starts from within—deep, deep, deep, deep, deep down—sourced from the very God of life.

“This solitude—which is not to be conflated with isolation—this solitude and silence is the womb from which joyous praise is formed... That is the very beginning of this pattern of joy.”

Do you notice this?

This silence?

This is where we begin the pattern of joy.

Each week, we’ll sing this refrain, “while we are waiting, come.” Use it to pause, and to remember that we’re not waiting aimlessly. We’re waiting with Zechariah and Elizabeth. In silence, in solitude, in joy. God is still entering our lives. God is still being born anew within all of us — this day, and forevermore.