Speaking into Silence  Isaiah 40:1-11 & Luke 1:57-66 

I wonder how you feel about silence.  What your story of silence is. 

Last week, when I went on retreat before my ordination, we spent a fair amount of time in what we called silence.  But it wasn’t really.  Although we weren’t speaking to each other, there was still the sound of the pipes rattling as someone got a glass of water, the birds singing and squabbling in the gardens, and the irregular rattling of a train on the neighbouring tracks.   And that was just on the outside.  On the inside, I was chuntering away to myself.   God wasn’t quiet either.  God was there, showing me more, teaching me more, loving me more.

Behind the story of the birth of John the Baptist there are two stories of silence.

The first story of silence is that of the people of God.  In some ways their story of silence was like my experience of silence on retreat last week.    There was the normal noise of the world going on, the markets were bustling, the birds were singing, but there was a difference for them.  There was a voice missing from their world.  The voice of God had fallen silent for four hundred years.    God was not speaking to God’s people.  They reread the promises of Isaiah and the prophets.  Bits like we’ve heard today of God speaking to God’s people and comforting them, but they were memories, not living experiences.

The second story of silence is that of Zechariah.  He and his wife, Elizabeth, were old and childless.  There was no way they could have a baby.  And then an angel comes and tells Zechariah that he is to have a son.  But he doubts, so he is made deaf and dumb.  His silence is total.  He cannot hear the birds singing or speak any words.  I reckon that inside, his thoughts were racing, and if he was anything like me he would have been turning over the words of the angel, the words of God, in his mind again and again.  The echoes of the voice of God bouncing round his skull in the silence.

Both of these stories of silence meet and are shattered by the cry of a new born baby boy.   For eight days he is nameless.  Then the day of circumcision arrives, the day on which this boy is marked as one of the people of God.   He needs a name, his father is silent, so they ask his mother.  She surprises them with her choice, “John”.   A name meaning God has given, God is gracious, God has shown favour.  That can’t be right, there is no one in the family called that.   Maybe you’re so overwhelmed by the miracle of this child that you’ve forgotten the proper traditions.  We’d better check with Dad.   And he speaks.  The voice of God that has been echoing round his skull in the silence bursts out of his mouth.  “His name is John”.  God is gracious.  God has given, God has shown favour.  God is speaking to God’s people again.

The people are awe struck.  The mix of odd events, of an old couple finally having a baby, of Zechariah’s silence, and of this new name fill them with wonder.  “What then is this child going to be?”  We know that he was to be the one who spoke to God’s people, calling them to turn back to God.   He was the one who pointed to Jesus as God’s ultimate word to God’s people.   John’s birth broke the silence of God and Zechariah, and his life was spent speaking God’s voice into the noise of the world.

I wonder what our story of silence is?  What odd mix of events have bought us to this point?   What is God saying to us today, where is God’s voice speaking? 

What then am I going to be?  What then is St Mark’s going to be?

Are we going to be those that follow John’s example?  Are we willing to be those that bring God’s words to the people.  Are we going to break the silence?  Are we going to be those that point to Jesus. With John will we insist that it is not about us, it is always about Jesus?  Will we be the ones that call the people to repent, to turn away from the way that they are living and turn towards God?  That is what I believe that I have been called to, it’s what I believe that all God’s people are called to.