The Rev. Carol S. Wedell
December 2, 2007

I remember the phone call well.  I was a new mother, enthralled with the presence of my first child - a healthy boy.  Unfortunately, I was also living through a major trauma - separation and ultimately divorce from my son's father.  So it was particularly difficult to hear a good friend on the other end of the phone say, "I just can't be around you right now.  It's too hard."   Because of my own situation, at the time I don't think I fully understood what she was saying or why. 

But years later, as we rebuilt the bridge of friendship, she explained:  "It was so hard to be around you with a healthy new baby.  We had been trying to get pregnant for so long.  Nothing was working.  We had tried a couple of rounds of in vitro fertilization and our hopes would go up for a while, and then be dashed.  We had begun to talk about adoption, but I wasn't ready.  My sister was pregnant even when she didn't want to be.  You became pregnant easily.  Everywhere I looked I saw pregnant women or babies.  It reminded me of what I seemingly couldn't have.  I needed to pull back."

For the 10-15% of couples who are unable to become pregnant and carry a child to term, infertility often becomes a crushing definition of who they are - and aren't.  I have not personally had to deal with fertility issues, but know from others how difficult and painful it can be when what is supposed to happen naturally doesn't.  Well-meaning, but ill-informed relatives and friends frequently offer platitudes about "relaxing" or presume to know what the problem may be.  I can understand why someone would choose to excuse themselves from places that seem to be overrun with babies and small children.

Similarly, folks who are single, or couples who choose not to have children also have to deal with a culture, including churches, which focus on being family - which of course, means mom, dad, and 2.5 children.  The word used in our reading today is "barren," which we ordinarily understand to mean "childless."

Some of you here today can relate all too well to what it means to be childless.  I would suggest that all of us know something of what it means to be "barren."  While the ordinary definition is, "infertile," - whether in regard to children or crops, to be barren can also mean a lack of productivity, lacking liveliness or interest or being without the ability to produce results.  John Buchanan, pastor at Fourth Presbyterian Church in Chicago has suggested that, "Barrenness is not childlessness. It is an absence of imagination and joyful hope and life-giving love." 

Some of you may feel "barren" this morning.  Perhaps you feel depleted of energy, overwhelmed with the pressure of what you think needs to be done in the coming weeks.  Perhaps you feel barren spiritually, wondering where God is in your life.  Perhaps the circumstances of your life - physically, in your employment or relationships - lack liveliness or joy or love.  At a season in which our culture focuses on excess, emptiness is something familiar to many of us.

Our readings from the first chapter of Luke give us a picture of barrenness.  In the case of Elizabeth barrenness included childlessness.  But oh, so much more.

I'm guessing that our readings this morning are not nearly as familiar as other parts of Luke's birth narratives.  Yet the real beginning of the story of Jesus is not in Jesus' birth but in the story of the Hebrew people - an ancient story.  The appearance of angels, prophetic predictions and references to fulfillment in scripture all remind us that the events surrounding the birth of John and Jesus are a part of a much larger story.

Luke begins by placing the story of Jesus during the reign of King Herod of Judea - so we know who is in charge! Yet God did not act through Herod, but through two ordinary people - an elderly priest and his barren wife, Zechariah and Elizabeth.  While I want to focus primarily on Elizabeth this morning, we need to acknowledge that we cannot easily look at one person in isolation.  We understand more about her by looking at how she lived in relationship with others.

Elizabeth and her husband Zechariah are described by Luke as "righteous before God, living blamelessly according to all the commandments."  In other words, they were exemplary Jews.  Both of them came from priestly families, which would have helped to compensate for the glaring absence of children.   Zechariah's current status as a priest would have kept them from total social scorn. 

Where they once might have held out hope, their age must have brought that hope to an end.  Who knows what was said behind their backs - or to their faces.  It wouldn't surprise me if they had begun to live more isolated lives, as well - finding it too hard to face public scrutiny and possible ridicule.   Elizabeth's barrenness was a disgrace, a sign of failure.  Childless women were regarded as being out of God's favor.  There was a tremendous stigma attached to being without children.  Yet in spite of their pain, in spite of the ostracism, they continued to be faithful day after day.

On this particular day, Zechariah was at the Temple serving as a priest.  There were actually many more priests than there were jobs to do.  So the priests were divided up into sections or divisions.  Zechariah likely only served a couple of weeks out of the year.  Each day, one priest would be chosen to enter the holy of holies and offer the sacrifice of incense.  This priest would be chosen by lot among the priests who had never had this opportunity.  A priest was fortunate if he was chosen for this special honor once in his lifetime.  Today was Zechariah's day.  He had been chosen.

While he is in the sanctuary, by himself, an angel appears.  Understandably, old Zach is scared to death.  As with most angelic appearances in the Bible, the first words out of Gabriel's mouth are "Don't be afraid."  But then the most remarkable words are spoken: "Your prayers have been heard.  Your wife Elizabeth will bear a son and you will name him John."

Having been steeped in the traditions and stories of Israel, you might think that Zechariah would remember that God had acted similarly in the past - most notably with Abraham and Sarah.  Yet from my perspective, his response seems reasonable, "How will I know this has really happened?"

Gabriel, however, is not amused and reads Zechariah's question as a lack of faith.  Zechariah is made mute - unable to speak until after his son is born and named.  Zechariah leaves the sanctuary, gesturing wildly to the other priests, and finally makes his way home.  We don't know what communication transpired between Zechariah and his wife.  It must have been interesting! We are simply told that Elizabeth conceived.

Here is where the spotlight turns to Elizabeth.  Since barrenness was always blamed on the woman in those days, you might have thought that Elizabeth would have become bitter, that she might have given up hope or faith.  Then she finds herself pregnant! Keeping their delightful secret to themselves for five months - presumably until such time as her pregnancy would be apparent to all, Elizabeth is quick to praise God for the gift of a child, "This is what the Lord has done for me - my disgrace has been taken away."   With amazing openness and receptivity, she embraced what God was doing in her life.

Shortly after that, Mary and Elizabeth come together.  They are strengthened by the recognition that passes between two people who understand that what they have experienced is of God - what a friend of mine calls, "a God-moment."  The Spirit of God within Elizabeth gave her the ability to see God at work in her own life and in the life of Mary.  She sees that her personal story, her individual life, is a part of something much bigger - God's work in the world.

When the baby is born, Elizabeth stands up against the current tradition and announces that his name will be John.  What a humorous scene this must have been.  One of Mark's cousins tells of the birth of their first child.  Although they had discussed what names they were going to use, just after giving birth his wife announced that their daughter would be named Kelly.  Mark's cousin chuckles as he recalls, "after all of the pain of childbirth, I knew better than to argue with her!"

Yet in Elizabeth's day, it was the father's prerogative to name the son.  Since Zechariah still couldn't find his voice, everyone assumed that this new baby would be named after his father.  Elizabeth counters them all, insisting that his name will be John.   You can almost hear the cousins and friends surrounding her, "Oh honey, why would you say that?  There aren't any "Johns" in your family!  You must be tired.  Maybe it's the hormones." Finally, Zechariah is given a writing tablet and confirms that the baby will be called John.  His voice returns and he joins Elizabeth in praise of God's goodness.

This first Sunday in Advent we are invited to join Elizabeth on her journey.  In her emptiness, her barrenness, she was able to remain open to what God might do in and through her.  Elizabeth was receptive to the newness that God was ready to birth within her.    Her faithfulness gave her the ability to recognize God's presence when it came. As she welcomed the new life that grew within her, she knew - this was God's work, and she was going to be a part of it.

You know, emptiness can be hard - we've all been there.  But it can also be a gift.  Because when we are emptied, we can be filled.  When the unimportant stuff of our lives has been cleared out - through crisis, or intentional action on our part - there is room, there is space for God to enter in. That gift of newness is available for those who have imagination enough to receive it.  What new life is God wanting to birth in your heart?

Turn your palms up and look at your hands.  They are empty, open.  Not dissimilar to a vacant womb.  Do you believe that God is able to step into your life and bring joy and blessing where there is been disgrace and disappointment? What are your waiting for? In spite of the weariness of our lives, or our world, regardless of the challenges that block our vision and make it hard to see and understand - God's hand is still reaching into the lives of everyday, ordinary people.  Age doesn't matter.  Past failures don't matter.  We don't have to be the best at anything.  We just have to be open to what God might be doing.

As we come to the table in a few minutes, you are invited to let God enter that emptiness, the barrenness of your life.  The One who has always had a hand in our lives - if we can see it - the One who conceives new life is here, waiting for us.