A Place of Waiting Romans 12:9-18 & Luke 1:5-17

A Place of Waiting
Romans 12:9-18 & Luke 1:5-17

Rev. Dr. Rhonda Abbott Blevins

December 7, 2025

Let love be genuine; hate what is evil; hold fast to what is good; love one another with mutual affection; outdo one another in showing honor. Do not lag in zeal; be ardent in spirit; serve the Lord. Rejoice in hope; be patient in affliction; persevere in prayer. Contribute to the needs of the saints; pursue hospitality to strangers.

Bless those who persecute you; bless and do not curse them. Rejoice with those who rejoice; weep with those who weep. Live in harmony with one another; do not be arrogant, but associate with the lowly; do not claim to be wiser than you are. Do not repay anyone evil for evil, but take thought for what is noble in the sight of all. If it is possible, so far as it depends on you, live peaceably with all.

______

In the days of King Herod of Judea, there was a priest named Zechariah, who belonged to the priestly order of Abijah. His wife was descended from the daughters of Aaron, and her name was Elizabeth. Both of them were righteous before God, living blamelessly according to all the commandments and regulations of the Lord. But they had no children because Elizabeth was barren, and both were getting on in years.

Once when he was serving as priest before God during his section’s turn of duty, he was chosen by lot, according to the custom of the priesthood, to enter the sanctuary of the Lord to offer incense. Now at the time of the incense offering, the whole assembly of the people was praying outside. Then there appeared to him an angel of the Lord, standing at the right side of the altar of incense. When Zechariah saw him, he was terrified, and fear overwhelmed him. But the angel said to him, “Do not be afraid, Zechariah, for your prayer has been heard. Your wife Elizabeth will bear you a son, and you will name him John. You will have joy and gladness, and many will rejoice at his birth, for he will be great in the sight of the Lord. He must never drink wine or strong drink; even before his birth he will be filled with the Holy Spirit. He will turn many of the people of Israel to the Lord their God. With the spirit and power of Elijah he will go before him, to turn the hearts of parents to their children and the disobedient to the wisdom of the righteous, to make ready a people prepared for the Lord.”

______

What are you waiting for? Everyone is just waiting . . . what are you waiting for? If you can’t name what you’re waiting for right now since I’m putting you on the spot, maybe Dr. Suess can give you a hand with this excerpt from Oh! The Places You’ll Go:

The Waiting Place......
for people just waiting.
Waiting for a train to go
or a bus to come, or a plane to go
or the mail to come, or the rain to go
or the phone to ring, or the snow to snow
or waiting around for a Yes or No
or waiting for their hair to grow.
Everyone is just waiting.
Waiting for the fish to bite
or waiting for the wind to fly a kite
or waiting around for Friday night
or waiting, perhaps, for their Uncle Jake
or a pot to boil, or a Better Break
or a string of pearls, or a pair of pants
or a wig with curls, or Another Chance.
Everyone is just waiting.

Did that help at all to answer the question: “What are you waiting for?” Because “everyone is just waiting.”

As we continue our Advent study entitled “On the Way to Bethlehem,” we’re exploring the places—the real places on the map—where the Christmas story took place. Last week we considered the power of Rome and how edicts and decrees coming out of Rome was like the air the Holy Family breathed.

This week, we turn our attention to the real-world, complicated city called Jerusalem. Jerusalem: a place of waiting. As a city, and as the seat of the Jewish faith, Jerusalem was waiting for a Messiah. The hope was that a Messiah would come who would lead Israel to conquest and freedom from their Roman oppressors. Waiting for Messiah was a macro story of waiting.

And then there are the more personal, tender stories of waiting—the micro stories of waiting. These waiting stories don’t make the evening news; these are the stories whispered in hushed tones between lovers, or endured when the doctor says “we’ll know more when the test results come in.” The simple waiting of a child for Christmas morning—or the complicated waiting a middle-aged adult experiences on the way to self-actualization. “Everyone is just waiting.”

Today we meet a sweet couple who have been waiting for God to give them a baby.

Their names were Zechariah and Elizabeth, and they lived in the hill country of Judea—not in Jerusalem proper, but close enough that Zechariah could fulfill his priestly duties when his division was called to serve in the Temple. Luke tells us they were “righteous before God, living blamelessly according to all the commandments and regulations of the Lord.” But Luke also tells us something else: “they had no children, because Elizabeth was barren, and both were getting on in years.”

Here’s what that meant in their world: Elizabeth carried shame that wasn’t hers to carry. In ancient Jewish culture, a woman’s inability to conceive wasn’t just seen as unfortunate—it was interpreted as a sign of God’s disfavor, a curse, a punishment for some hidden sin. Never mind that they were both righteous and blameless. Never mind that Zechariah was a priest serving in the temple. The cultural narrative was stronger than theological truth, and Elizabeth bore the weight of whispers and sideways glances every time she went to the well, every time she attended a baby’s dedication, every time someone asked the question that cut like a knife: “Still no children?”

And Zechariah? He waited too. He waited while his wife grieved month after month. He waited while they prayed prayers that seemed to bounce off the ceiling. He waited while younger priests had sons who would follow them into service. He waited while the years accumulated and hope dimmed and the biological window closed. “Everyone is just waiting.”

But here’s the thing about waiting in the biblical narrative: waiting is rarely passive. Zechariah and Elizabeth didn’t stop living righteous lives while they waited. They didn’t stop serving God while they waited. They didn’t grow bitter or cynical while they waited—at least not to the point of abandoning their faith. They kept showing up. They kept being faithful. They kept their liturgical commitments and their covenant promises even when God seemed silent to their deepest longing.

That’s the kind of waiting Advent asks of us too.

So what does active waiting look like for us? What does it mean to keep showing up when the answer is “not yet” or when the silence stretches so long you wonder if God is even listening?

Active waiting means you keep doing the next right thing. You keep showing up for work even when the promotion seems permanently out of reach. You keep investing in the relationship even when reconciliation feels impossible. You keep going to physical therapy even when healing is incremental and slow. You keep submitting the application, revising the manuscript, attending the support group, taking the medication, having the hard conversation, setting the boundary, doing the spiritual practice that feels dry as dust.

Active waiting means you stay faithful to your commitments even when they feel routine or unremarkable. You keep volunteering at the food bank. You keep calling your aging parent every Tuesday. You keep putting one foot in front of the other on the path you’ve walked a hundred times before. You keep making the coffee, packing the lunch, showing up for the meeting, honoring the Sabbath, speaking the truth, extending the kindness.

Active waiting means you remain present to your ordinary life instead of putting everything on hold until the Big Thing finally happens. Because here’s what Zechariah and Elizabeth teach us: God often breaks into our stories not during the dramatic moments we’ve orchestrated for divine intervention, but during the faithful performance of our everyday responsibilities.

Zechariah was simply doing his job when everything changed. His division of priests had been called to serve in the temple—this happened maybe once or twice in a priest’s entire lifetime because there were so many priests and the rotation was determined by lot. And on this particular day, Zechariah’s lot was chosen to enter the sanctuary and burn incense while the people prayed outside.

It was routine. It was ritual. It was what he’d been trained to do. He wasn’t fasting for a vision. He wasn’t crying out for a miracle. He was just showing up for his shift, performing the ancient liturgy, doing what priests do.

And that’s when the angel appeared.

Gabriel—the same angel who would soon visit Mary—stood at the right side of the altar and told Zechariah that his prayer had been heard, that Elizabeth would bear a son, that this child would be great before the Lord, that he would turn many hearts back to God, that his name would be John.

The prayer had been heard. The long, long wait was over. The impossible was becoming possible. God was breaking into their story with extraordinary news in the middle of an ordinary day.

But here’s the painful irony: Zechariah couldn’t believe it. After all those years of faithful waiting, when the answer finally came, he questioned it. “How will I know this is so? For I am an old man, and my wife is getting on in years.” And Gabriel’s response was swift: “Because you did not believe my words, which will be fulfilled in their time, you will become mute, unable to speak, until the day these things occur.”

So Zechariah emerged from the sanctuary unable to speak. Unable to tell Elizabeth the good news. Unable to shout his joy from the rooftops. Unable to share the most significant moment of his life with anyone. The people waiting outside realized he’d seen a vision, but he couldn’t explain. He could only gesture and remain silent.

Imagine the frustration. Imagine the isolation. Imagine carrying the most extraordinary news—your elderly wife is going to have a baby, and that baby will prepare the way for the Messiah—and being unable to form the words. Imagine the joy mixed with the consequence of doubt. Imagine waiting all those years to become a father, and when it’s finally announced, losing your voice for nine more months.

“Everyone is just waiting.”

So we return to Jerusalem—that complicated city, that place of waiting. Jerusalem was waiting for a Messiah to overthrow Rome. Zechariah and Elizabeth were waiting for a child to fill their empty arms. The people gathered outside the temple were waiting for Zechariah to emerge with a blessing. And all of them—the city, the couple, the crowd—were waiting in the dark, not knowing how close the dawn actually was.

Because here’s what they couldn’t see yet: God was already on the move. The silence was about to break. The waiting was about to become worth it in ways none of them could have imagined. The Messiah they longed for was coming—not with an army, but as an infant. Not to conquer Rome, but to conquer death. And the son promised to Zechariah and Elizabeth? He would be the voice crying out in the wilderness, “Prepare the way of the Lord.”

The waiting wasn’t wasted. The silence wasn’t absence. God was working in the hidden places, in the hill country of Judea, in the faithful routines of ordinary priests, in the barren wombs of righteous women, in the mundane moments when people simply showed up and did the next right thing.

And if you’re waiting today—if you’re in your own hill country carrying your own weight of unanswered prayers, if you’re performing your own faithful routines wondering if God even sees, if you’re nine months or nine years or ninety years into a wait that feels unbearable—let me remind you of the name we celebrate during Advent: Emmanuel. God with us.

Not God who shows up only when the waiting is over. Not God who arrives only at the resolution. But God with us in the waiting itself. God with us in the months of silence. God with us in the daily discipline of showing up. God with us in the tender ache of hope deferred. God with us when we can’t find the words and when we doubt the promise and when we wonder if we’ve been forgotten.

You have not been forgotten.

The story of Zechariah and Elizabeth reminds us that God is faithful even when we struggle to believe, that God is present even in the silence, and that God’s timing—though rarely our timing—is always purposeful. Their wait was long, but it was not empty. And neither is yours.

So keep showing up. Keep being faithful. Keep doing the next right thing. Keep your heart open to the possibility that God might break into your ordinary Tuesday with extraordinary news. Because Emmanuel—God with us—is with you in the waiting place.

And the dawn is closer than you think.