Luke’s gospel opens with the account of an old man, a priest, serving in the temple. In the days of King Herod of Judea, there was a priest of Abijah’s division named Zechariah. His wife was from the daughters of Aaron, and her name was Elizabeth. Both were righteous in God’s sight, living without blame according to all the commands and requirements of the Lord. But they had no children because Elizabeth could not conceive, and both of them were well along in years.
When his division was on duty and he was serving as priest before God, it happened that he was chosen by lot, according to the custom of the priesthood, to enter the sanctuary of the Lord and burn incense. At the hour of incense the whole assembly of the people was praying outside. An angel of the Lord appeared to him, standing to the right of the altar of incense. When Zechariah saw him, he was terrified and overcome with fear. But the angel said to him: “Do not be afraid, Zechariah, because your prayer has been heard. Your wife Elizabeth will bear you a son, and you will name him John.
Luke 1:5-13

When this story opens, Israel has been through 400 years of drought. Not a drought of rain. Worse. A drought of hearing Yahweh speak (Amos 8:11).

God, in his mercy, did not remain silent, though. At his appointed time, the drought broke, and God spoke to his people once again.

If you were breaking 400 years of silence, to whom would you speak first? What message would you choose to deliver?

As is the way with God, he selected someone the rest of the world might overlook— an obscure old priest. This was no accident or a happy coincidence. The stage was set by the master playwright, and every detail was just as he planned— including the sorrowful barrenness of a sweet old couple.

The name Zechariah means, “Yahweh remembers.”

I wonder if his name was a source of bitterness for him. I imagine Zechariah and Elizabeth as a newly married young couple. After the first year, they probably told themselves that for some people, getting pregnant takes a little longer. Yet, they remained faithful to God and optimistically prayed for children. As the years stretched into decades, and their friends babies started having babies. I wonder how many hot, stinging tears rolled down their cheeks from that particular grief.

But, Yahweh remembers.

Zechariah and Elizabeth join Abraham and Sarah as the only barren couples in the Bible for whom the years of fertility had long passed and for whom all hope of a child had long faded but who conceived a child nevertheless. At the opening of this new chapter, the priest is the link between the Patriarch and the Promise. Through Zechariah we see that Yahweh remembers his covenant. Like Abraham and Sarah before, Zechariah and Elizabeth play the part of Israel—the covenant people—waiting longer than they thought they could hope for the son who would crush the head of the serpent.

Yahweh remembered the barren—Abraham, Zechariah, Israel—those waiting for a child even when the days of fertility were gone.

Jesus is Yahweh’s remembering.

Pray:
”Do not forget us!” is ever our cry, and yet, you cannot forget without forfeiting your God-ness. History was pregnant, and at the time when it seemed foolish to continue to hope for you, you were born from the womb of the covenant. Jesus, you were born because, Yahweh, you remember.
God, our hope is rooted in your remembering.