T he ancient priest was not done. Lifting his hands to heaven and gazing at the ceiling he said,

Blessed be the Lord God of Israel, for he has redeemed and visited his people. Salvation has come to us from the house of his servant, David — just as he promised it would. We shall be saved from those who hate us.

No one doubted the prophetic character of Zechariah’s oration. This priest had always been a quiet man, not given to mere self-aggrandizing showmanship. All conceded that the Holy Spirit possessed him. The news had an effervescent effect. Smiles appeared. Elation accompanied thoughts of deliverance from Roman rule. Is this child the long-promised Messiah? Then the prophecy took a different turn.

There is purpose to this Salvation! There is reason! There is rationale! We are to become a merciful people. Remember his holy covenant that he swore to Abraham our father. He has saved us from our enemies, yes! But he has saved us to serve him without fear, in righteousness and holiness for the rest of our lives on earth.

Zechariah spoke with power and certainty. As long as he spoke of God and his mercy, those who heard were attentive. But when it turned to personal responsibility for mercy, when it turned to the people themselves, thoughts turned elsewhere. People wondered what all this had to do with the birth of his son. “What of the child?”

It did not take much to persuade Zechariah to be taken with his son. However, the prophetic utterances continued to pour out of him,

My son! My little one! You will be called the prophet of the Highest. You will go before him. You will prepare the hearts of the people to receive him. You will reveal the heart of God’s mercy in bringing Salvation to deliver us from our predilection for evil.

In benediction, the old man turned to those standing by and proclaimed,

The Dayspring on high has dawned upon us; to give light to those who sit in darkness and the shadow of death; to guide our feet into the way of peace.

Dayspring; such a magnificent word! While it has referred to the rising sun as well as the rising moon, here it refers to that which precedes the dawn. A story is told of a caravan lost in the wilderness of the desert sand. Its constituents, overtaken by the blackness of night, sit down to wait for death. Hopelessness drones through the cold, helpless hours in darkness, when suddenly their eyes behold a spectacle of matchless beauty. A daystar springs from the eastern horizon and begins it climb toward the heavens. As it does, the sky above brightens, and the great orb of shining gold takes its first glimpse of an expectant day, bringing illumination and warmth. The caravan, encouraged, rises with this brilliant antecedent of coming dawn, and goes its way.

Dayspring! refers, not to Jesus Messiah, but to John. He it is who brings the hope of dawn to a people who sit in darkness and the shadow of death. With the rising sun, this lovely morning star is obliterated and is seen no more. Such is the story of our beloved John who himself declared, “He must increase, but I must decrease!”

The old priest turned prophet sat down. “Water!” he muttered. His eyes focused on something distant, on nothing, on everything. He appeared stunned. Someone brought him a cup of water. Zechariah wept.

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