Christmas is known as a season for singing—a time when not only the public arena but also our homes and our hearts are filled with music. In anticipation of what’s ahead or out of nostalgia for the years gone by, even those who don’t like the sound of their own voice can find themselves, at this time of year, unconsciously mouthing the words to a familiar song.

But sometimes we lose our voice at Christmas. Not by our design but due to circumstance. The unexpected happens, and suddenly, our breath gets taken away. Life-altering news that we can hardly believe comes to us, and we are left silent. Muted. We can’t find any words.

So it was for a man named Zechariah, an aging but faithful priest who had been waiting all his life for something to happen. Ironically, all that waiting ended up leaving Zechariah completely unprepared for the news that everything he had been waiting for—for which he always had hoped—was about to take place at last. After all that time, he struggled to believe what he was hearing could possibly be true.

It can be easier to expect disappointment instead of fulfillment. As the days turn into weeks and weeks turn into months, and months turn into years, and nothing changes for the better, we can learn to settle for what we have rather than keep hoping for the best. And when the announcement of a turning point comes, it can be challenging to look beyond asking all the questions and holding onto the hesitations to which we’ve grown accustomed.

Keeping the faith is hard when skepticism has become common sense. This can be particularly acute at Christmastime. When life never seems to go the way we planned, the way we were promised, there is no flipping a switch just because the festive music starts to play. While everyone else is singing and making merry as they look to the future, we may grapple with letting go of past disappointments as well as lingering, present reservations.

Zechariah is left dumbstruck by his doubts. His reticence ends up turning into a pregnant pause as the soon-to-be father of a great prophet—of one who will be like “a voice crying in the wilderness” heralding humanity’s salvation—is hushed by divine decree. Zechariah emerges speechless—unable to say anything about what he has been told. Instead, for nine months and eight days, he gets to sit back and watch it all begin to unfold.

This heavenly imposed silence could be viewed as a rebuke. But it is better perceived as a gift, a blessing. For when we grow tired of waiting, we can talk ourselves into mindsets and postures that limit our reception to the possibilities breaking the horizon. Getting stuck in the noise of our own heads often leaves little room for catching the vision of something bigger taking shape before us. Losing our ability to speak better enables us to listen and observe what we don’t, what we can’t, normally hear and see.

Learning to be still, we come to know our Creator is God. Not some distant, aloof deity who arbitrarily makes their presence known now and then but the God who never stops laboring to heal and reshape all creation towards full, abundant, and everlasting life. As we enter rather than resist the stillness and the quiet that comes upon us in our fear and confusion, we are able to perceive the God who continues to work even in the midst of our disbelief.

Zechariah’s lull eventually results in his transformation. Something changes within him. Previous apprehensions are eclipsed by his comprehension of past blessings. Old arguments and uncertainties are lifted by a growing awareness and anticipation of what God is birthing before his eyes. Eventually, Zechariah’s mouth is opened. His tongue is loosened. Protest becomes praise as the first words out of his mouth are a blessing, a song.

What Zechariah sings is the song that remains the same. First authored by our Creator, it is the ancient melody we need to remember and learn to sing anew in what sometimes feels like the yawning gap between promise and fulfillment. It is the heavenly chorus of God’s longstanding history of deliverance and redemption. It is the heralding of the angels of a song that goes beyond mere words to become flesh—God with and for us in the person of Jesus Christ.

Finding our voice at Christmas isn’t about making ourselves feel better or trying to capture memories of former glories. Finding our voice is about discovering, sharing, and embodying the abiding presence and generous character of the One whose birth we celebrate. Proclaiming in word and deed the steadfast love and mercies of God that are new—not just at Christmas—but every morning.

Christmas is known as a season for singing—a time when not only the public arena but also our homes and our hearts are filled with music. In anticipation of what’s ahead or out of nostalgia for the years gone by, even those who don’t like the sound of their own voice can find themselves, at this time of year, unconsciously mouthing the words to a familiar song.

But sometimes we lose our voice at Christmas. Not by our design but due to circumstance. The unexpected happens, and suddenly, our breath gets taken away. Life-altering news that we can hardly believe comes to us, and we are left silent. Muted. We can’t find any words.

So it was for a man named Zechariah, an aging but faithful priest who had been waiting all his life for something to happen. Ironically, all that waiting ended up leaving Zechariah completely unprepared for the news that everything he had been waiting for—for which he always had hoped—was about to take place at last. After all that time, he struggled to believe what he was hearing could possibly be true.

It can be easier to expect disappointment instead of fulfillment. As the days turn into weeks and weeks turn into months, and months turn into years, and nothing changes for the better, we can learn to settle for what we have rather than keep hoping for the best. And when the announcement of a turning point comes, it can be challenging to look beyond asking all the questions and holding onto the hesitations to which we’ve grown accustomed.

Keeping the faith is hard when skepticism has become common sense. This can be particularly acute at Christmastime. When life never seems to go the way we planned, the way we were promised, there is no flipping a switch just because the festive music starts to play. While everyone else is singing and making merry as they look to the future, we may grapple with letting go of past disappointments as well as lingering, present reservations.

Zechariah is left dumbstruck by his doubts. His reticence ends up turning into a pregnant pause as the soon-to-be father of a great prophet—of one who will be like “a voice crying in the wilderness” heralding humanity’s salvation—is hushed by divine decree. Zechariah emerges speechless—unable to say anything about what he has been told. Instead, for nine months and eight days, he gets to sit back and watch it all begin to unfold.

This heavenly imposed silence could be viewed as a rebuke. But it is better perceived as a gift, a blessing. For when we grow tired of waiting, we can talk ourselves into mindsets and postures that limit our reception to the possibilities breaking the horizon. Getting stuck in the noise of our own heads often leaves little room for catching the vision of something bigger taking shape before us. Losing our ability to speak better enables us to listen and observe what we don’t, what we can’t, normally hear and see.

Learning to be still, we come to know our Creator is God. Not some distant, aloof deity who arbitrarily makes their presence known now and then but the God who never stops laboring to heal and reshape all creation towards full, abundant, and everlasting life. As we enter rather than resist the stillness and the quiet that comes upon us in our fear and confusion, we are able to perceive the God who continues to work even in the midst of our disbelief.

Zechariah’s lull eventually results in his transformation. Something changes within him. Previous apprehensions are eclipsed by his comprehension of past blessings. Old arguments and uncertainties are lifted by a growing awareness and anticipation of what God is birthing before his eyes. Eventually, Zechariah’s mouth is opened. His tongue is loosened. Protest becomes praise as the first words out of his mouth are a blessing, a song.

What Zechariah sings is the song that remains the same. First authored by our Creator, it is the ancient melody we need to remember and learn to sing anew in what sometimes feels like the yawning gap between promise and fulfillment. It is the heavenly chorus of God’s longstanding history of deliverance and redemption. It is the heralding of the angels of a song that goes beyond mere words to become flesh—God with and for us in the person of Jesus Christ.

Finding our voice at Christmas isn’t about making ourselves feel better or trying to capture memories of former glories. Finding our voice is about discovering, sharing, and embodying the abiding presence and generous character of the One whose birth we celebrate. Proclaiming in word and deed the steadfast love and mercies of God that are new—not just at Christmas—but every morning.