First Sunday of Annunciation

“When God Breaks the Silence”

Luke 1:5–25

Today’s Gospel takes us back to the quiet days before the dawn of salvation—before the Word became flesh, before angels sang over Bethlehem.

For four hundred years, since the prophet Malachi, no voice had come from heaven, no new message had stirred Israel. The people still prayed, the priests still offered sacrifice, but heaven seemed silent. Yet it is often in such silence that God prepares His greatest work.

St. Luke begins carefully: “In the days of Herod, king of Judea…” a simple line, yet full of sorrow. A foreign king sits upon David’s throne. The line of promise seems broken. This is exactly what Jacob prophesied long ago: “The scepter shall not depart from Judah until Shiloh comes.” Even under Herod, God’s plan quietly unfolds. The throne of Judah is never abandoned—it waits for the coming of the true King. When human power has reached its limit, divine mercy begins to act.

Into this darkened time, Luke introduces us to two quiet figures: Zechariah, a priest, and his wife Elizabeth. Both come from the priestly line of Aaron. Both are “righteous before God,” living blamelessly according to His commandments.

St. Ambrose notes that Scripture mentions the holiness not only of the saints but also of their parents showing that virtue is an inheritance, passed on by faith. Yet, for all their righteousness, they have no child.

In ancient Israel, barrenness was considered a reproach, a sign of divine displeasure. But here, it becomes the very stage on which God will display His power. Their sterility was not punishment but providence. Before the Virgin conceives, a barren woman must conceive so that the miracle of grace will be more easily believed.

There are times when our own lives feel barren, when prayers seem unanswered, when years pass and nothing changes. But the Gospel tells us: God’s delays are not denials. He prepares the ground of faith in silence and waiting.

The Moment of Worship

Zechariah, we are told, was chosen by lot to enter the sanctuary and burn incense before the Lord. It was the most sacred moment in a priest’s life, perhaps one that would come only once. As the sweet smoke rose toward heaven, symbolizing the prayers of Israel, something extraordinary happened:

“There appeared to him an angel of the Lord, standing on the right side of the altar of incense.”

St. Ambrose points out that the angel appears on the right side the side of mercy, to announce not judgment but joy. God’s presence here does not bring judgment or fear, but joy and promise. The sacred rite, already filled with devotion and prayer, becomes the stage for a revelation that will change the course of salvation history. This is the mercy promised in the line of Judah, the fulfillment of the prophecy: “The scepter shall not depart from Judah until Shiloh comes.”

In this moment, the right side becomes a sign of hope. God’s plan does not rely on human power or coercion. Even under Herod, the King who sits in fear and oppression, the true King appears, humble and gentle, bringing peace and joy to all who receive Him.

It was while Zechariah was faithfully performing his duty that the angel came. Notice where the angel finds Zacharias not in the wilderness or in some mystical vision, but in the midst of his priestly duty. He is faithful in his daily service, even though he and his wife Elisabeth have lived with sorrow and disappointment: they are old, and childless. Yet they remain righteous before God, walking blamelessly in His ways.

Revelation often meets us not in spectacular moments, but in the faithful rhythm of prayer and service. Grace often enters quietly, into the very place of routine obedience. The Lord visits those who are faithful in the ordinary.

The Message of Grace
“Do not be afraid, Zechariah, for your prayer has been heard.”

The angel’s words reach deep. St. Augustine say this prayer was not merely for a child, but for the coming of the Messiah, for Israel’s redemption. And God answers both at once.

“Your wife Elizabeth will bear you a son, and you shall call his name John.”

John means “God is gracious.” His very name is the message of his life. John will be great, not in wealth or power, but in holiness. He will be a man filled with the Holy Spirit from his mother’s womb already sanctified before birth, leaping with joy in the presence of Christ. John is the dawn before the sunrise, the voice before the Word, the prophet before the Presence. He is grace preparing the way for Grace Himself.

But Zechariah cannot take it in. “How shall I know this? For I am an old man, and my wife is advanced in years.”

It is the question of reason faced with mystery. It is the struggle of faith when confronted with the impossible. St. John Chrysostom calls his doubt unworthy of a priest who stands daily before the altar of the Almighty. The angel’s answer is sharp but merciful: “I am Gabriel, who stand in the presence of God… and you shall be silent and unable to speak until the day these things come to pass.”

St. Bede says that his muteness is both punishment and sign. He had spoken unbelief, and so he must now learn faith in silence. When words have failed, silence will teach him to trust.

God’s word will come to pass, whether human reason can immediately grasp it or not. Here we see a lesson for all of us: faith does not remove the mystery; it embraces it, even when reason hesitates. Silence, like Zechariah’s, can become a space of contemplation and trust. The impossible can happen precisely because it is God’s work, not ours, and His mercy patiently invites us into wonder rather than judgment.

And here lies a profound Advent / Annunciation lesson. We live in a noisy world full of doubts, explanations, and endless speech. But faith grows in silence. Sometimes God takes away our voice, our control, our certainties—so that we may learn to listen again to His promise.

When God Breaks the Silence

The story begins in silence and ends in song. The priest who doubted will one day cry out, “Blessed be the Lord, the God of Israel, for He has visited His people!” The barren woman will cradle a prophet. The long silence of heaven will be shattered by a child’s cry.

This is Advent’s message: when all seems silent, God is nearby. When faith feels weary, grace is already stirring. When prayers seem unanswered, heaven is preparing something greater than we can imagine. So let us wait as Zechariah learned to wait—not with anxious words, but with trusting silence.

Let us serve as Zechariah served, faithfully at the altar, believing that even in routine God can reveal His promise. And let us hope as Elizabeth hoped that God still visits His people and takes away our reproach. “The Lord has looked upon me,” Elizabeth said, “to take away my reproach among men.”

May we too say, in this holy season:

The Lord has looked upon us.

He has remembered His promise.

He has broken His silence— and the Word is about to be made flesh.