A
man stood between the golden altar of incense and the candlestick. Clearly, he appeared no ordinary man, his clothing iridescent as a prism dancing rainbows on the walls, his expression serene and in command, his demeanor unnatural. The knees of the priest trembled weakly.
“Do not be afraid, Zechariah.” Instantly, his spirit comforted. The old priest felt his heart enlarge, his blood pound. Every nerve in his body resonated. His posture strengthened. For the first time in decades, his arms felt as if he could bend steel. In tones soft and holy, the man continued, “I have been sent to tell you that God has heard your prayers.” The priest digested this. “Your wife, Elizabeth, will bear you a son.” Despite his empowerment, the old man’s heart staggered. Merciful God! The man continued. “You shall call his name John.” At long last! “He will give you gladness and many will celebrate his birth. He will be great in the eyes of the Lord. Like Samuel and Sampson, he will be a Nazarite and will never drink wine or strong spirits. While he is yet in his mother’s womb, he will be filled with the Holy Spirit. He will turn the hearts of many in Israel to the Lord their God. He will act with the spirit and power of Elijah and he will prepare the people for the Lord.” Zechariah listened but absorbed none of this. He was much too stunned to absorb anything beyond the simple — preposterous! — announcement that he may have a son.
“How can this be?” The priest had found his tongue. “Don’t you see? I . . . I am an old man. My wife has long since passed the age of bearing a child.” Conflicting thoughts invaded his brain. Could the thing with Abraham happen again? He shook his head. He is hallucinating. His mind is finally going. This cannot be happening. He needed something to drink; a strong spirit would do nicely. He wanted to believe but he was too old. He had been kicked in the groin too many times. Again and again he had prayed. A thousand times again. “Perhaps a sign? Perhaps something miraculous that I can see? Some credentials? Please?” He was whining he knew. I need something to hold on to . . .
“I am Gabriel!” The sentence seemed ludicrous to the old priest, yet it compelled him to take note of the obvious and at the same time, announced a hidden reality. “I stand in the presence of El Shaddai! I have been sent to speak to you.” Zechariah was taken aback by the audacity but remained unconvinced. Why would God wish to speak to him? He was not illiterate. He knew the scriptures. Is this man, for all of his distinction, actually claiming to be that Gabriel? “I have been sent tell you wondrous news,” he continued, “but since you cannot accept it, your sign will be this: you will be unable to speak until the day your son is born.”
“Poor Zechariah,” his friends gossiped, “he was so overcome at being chosen Censer-priest that he can no longer speak.”
Elizabeth, however, became pregnant.
