THERE ARE THINGS which we deeply desire and for which we pray. I’m not talking about material possessions, but more personal matters, family-related matters. I know people who would love to be married and pray year after year to meet the right person. I’ve watched people care faithfully for loved ones who descended into dementia. At first, their prayers were that God would cure this cruel thief of a disease, take it away. Eventually, they prayed for the patience and endurance just to make it through another day. I have friends who have prayed fervently to be reconciled to their adult children, or to see them return to God, or to be allowed to see their grandchildren.

And there are many, many couples who deeply desire to have children but struggle to do so. This is more common than many of us might think. The National Center for Health Statistics reports that in the United States, nearly one in six married women between the ages of 15 and 49 have difficulty either conceiving or bringing a pregnancy to term. The word “infertility” is reserved for couples who have been trying to get pregnant unsuccessfully for over a year. That proportion is roughly one in twelve.

Now add to that frustration the indignity of stigma, of being seen as defective. We see this even in the Bible, particularly in the case of Hannah, the mother of the prophet Samuel. Hannah was one of two wives of a man named Elkanah. His other wife, Peninnah, had children, and lorded this over Hannah, who had not been able to get pregnant. The teasing and needling were so bad that Hannah couldn’t eat and was driven to tears. We know how the story turns out, though: faithful Hannah, because of her prayer and the prayer of Eli the priest, is finally granted her wish. As Scripture puts it: “the LORD remembered her” (1 Sam 1:19, NIV) and she eventually gave birth to a son whom she named Samuel.

In the Bible, children were a blessing from God. Conversely, however, a woman unable to get pregnant had been forgotten by God, or worse, was being punished. But that isn’t necessarily the end of the story. God makes the impossible possible, to the joy of those who may already have given up hope.

. . .

THE STORY OF HANNAH, as well as that of Abraham and Sarah, is the backdrop to the story of Zechariah and Elizabeth. As the priest is offering incense in the temple, an angel appears and announces that Elizabeth, at long last, will bear him a son, whom they are to name John. The angel describes how the boy will grow to be a man cut from the same cloth as the prophet Elijah, to preach a message of repentance and prepare God’s people for the coming of the Lord.

Things like this don’t happen every day. Naturally, Zechariah is at first both startled and afraid. But his response to the angel is also deeply skeptical:

Zechariah asked the angel, “How can I be sure of this? I am an old man and my wife is well along in years.” (Luke 1:18)

On the face of it, it’s a reasonable question. Luke tells us what Zechariah said, but not how he said it. When I read his words, I don’t hear arrogance. Luke, remember, has already described the man as righteous and blameless. He’s not saying, “Really? Prove it” or “Why should I listen to you?”—which is definitely not the thing you say to a heavenly being who has just scared you out of your vestments.

What I hear in his words, rather, is something more like, “We’re both really old. What you’re saying sounds impossible, though we’ve wanted it desperately for a long time. So please don’t get my hopes up if this isn’t really going to happen.” It’s a knee-jerk, self-protective response; it’s safer to have given up and have no expectations to disappoint.

Still, the angel doesn’t say soothingly, “There, there, Zechariah. Everything’s going to be just fine. Trust me, okay?” Zechariah gets a reprimand:

The angel said to him, “I am Gabriel. I stand in the presence of God, and I have been sent to speak to you and to tell you this good news. And now you will be silent and not able to speak until the day this happens, because you did not believe my words, which will come true at their appointed time.” (vss. 19-20)

“I am Gabriel,” the angel begins, as if to say, “Do you know who you’re talking to?” The only other place we meet Gabriel outside the gospel of Luke is in the book of Daniel, where Gabriel speaks on behalf of God. The same is true here; Gabriel has the authority to bring good news to Zechariah, news which he is hesitant to believe. As punishment for his lack of faith, he is rendered temporarily mute, and will not get his voice back until later in the story.

Note that as divine punishment goes, this is tame stuff. Moreover, even the punishment fits God’s larger purposes, as Luke’s next words suggest:

Meanwhile, the people were waiting for Zechariah and wondering why he stayed so long in the temple. When he came out, he could not speak to them. They realized he had seen a vision in the temple, for he kept making signs to them but remained unable to speak. (vss. 21-22)

The people standing outside the sanctuary were expecting Zechariah and the other priests to come out and pray a blessing over them as usual. The delay made them curious, and when they saw that Zechariah couldn’t speak, they knew he had had a divine vision. This would heighten their curiosity and create a sense of expectation: what did Zechariah see? What would God do? Luke will close that loop later in the chapter, after John is born and is ready to be officially named.

It’s true: Zechariah could have responded more faithfully. Despite his righteousness, he had a hard time believing the good news, even though there was precedent in the stories of old. And yes, he was punished for that lack of faith.

But perhaps we should call it discipline as opposed to punishment. The promise wasn’t withdrawn, and Zechariah was better prepared to respond faithfully the next time he was given an opportunity, as we’ll see soon.

Meanwhile, we’re left with a question: if this was Zechariah’s response, how would his wife take the news? Let’s look at that next.