‘Blessed be the Lord God of Israel,

for he has looked favorably on his people and redeemed them.

He has raised up a mighty savior for us

in the house of his servant David,

as he spoke through the mouth of his holy prophets from of old,

that we would be saved from our enemies and from the hand of all who hate us.

Thus he has shown the mercy promised to our ancestors,

and has remembered his holy covenant,

the oath that he swore to our ancestor Abraham,

to grant us that we, being rescued from the hands of our enemies,

might serve him without fear, in holiness and righteousness

before him all our days.

And you, child, will be called the prophet of the Most High;

for you will go before the Lord to prepare his ways,

to give knowledge of salvation to his people

by the forgiveness of their sins.

By the tender mercy of our God,

the dawn from on high will break upon us,

to give light to those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death,

to guide our feet into the way of peace.’

Luke 1:68-79

This is a story about parents and children.  Therefore, it should have neon lights surrounding it, flashing, “Warning!”

I am not so naive to believe that our stories about parents and children are simple.  Of all that we experience in life, it is how we engage with these immediate family members that can create the highest highs as well as the deepest wounds.  I will attempt to tread lightly, knowing that you hold complexity in your life.  These may not be easy stories to hear or tell.

What a curious thing that in our worship of God we recognize a parent/child relationship.  Our understanding of God holds both God the parent and Christ the child.  There is sacredness in this season where we remember mothers, parents, and tiny babies.  

There is also power in these stories that tell of where we come from, our ancestors.  There is power in these stories that tell of where we are going, our children.  Zechariah’s benediction is a lightning rod for this moment of being deeply grounded in the past and yet widely open to the future.  It is a moment of glimpsing a truth that is too hard for us to see on our own--God’s presence spans generations.  God holds the realities of the past and the possibilities of the future. 

Zechariah speaks a word for us into the midst of family realities. Zechariah’s benediction is one that is spoken like a proud dad.  He is so hopeful!  His tongue has been loosed to speak of this story about how God’s goodness will continue after all.  It wasn’t to stop with his generation, but was to continue with this next generation.  His son John was to be born, and then that other child who would change things: Jesus.  

There is no way Zechariah could’ve known what was to come.  I actually hope he didn’t, because the story of these children is not a happy one.  Zechariah’s son, John the Baptist followed the wildness of his message the whole way to persecution and death.  Jesus didn’t remain a peaceful child, but stirred up trouble in the very temple setting that Zechariah so faithfully served.  

It is hard to know that this is not a perfectly tidy story, but it also might be reassuring.  If this is how God is made known to us, how too must our messy stories of parents and children be blessed.  

Zechariah’s blessing and benediction for us is not only for what is easily contained and explained.  Rather, the opposite. 

I think of my ancestors.  I wouldn’t have to dig back very far for things to fall apart in ways that some of you might recognize.  My ancestors, those who relayed God’s faithfulness to me, as near as the generations of my grandparents, would likely be completely flabbergasted by where I am now.  I am an ordained pastor, even as I am a woman.  I am serving a church that loves and affirms all expressions of gender and sexuality.  We are a congregation that has both Black and white folks.  Just this moment of being present here right now would be so far beyond my ancestors' wildest dreams.  And I am not foolish enough to believe that they would be thrilled about it either.  And yet!  How the Spirit has guided me here, how God has sent each generation forth, how the world continues to be broken open again and again and again.

It’s like the stories of how churches will baptize children, confirm youth, and then they are sent forth and we have no control over what happens next.  Often this is spoken of as if it’s a bad thing--where have all the children gone!  But God has not abandoned them.  I think of the many people I know who refused to support a church that wouldn’t support them in return, of how new generations stand up against religious hypocrisy, of all who aren’t satisfied with half-hearted change.  

I dearly hope that the generations will be more than I can imagine.  I hope they have the challenge and wildness of John the Baptist.  I hope they push at their parents because they have a glimpse of the world to come.  I hope we can be courageous enough to receive them.  

This song of Zechariah is called the Benedictus, because when this passage was translated in Latin that was the first word of the song.  We know the word in what we call a benediction, which of course, to bring it full circle, is a blessing.  It’s a blessing in two parts, really.  Because first, it looks up--blessed are you, Lord!  But then it looks down, blessed are you, child.  

It’s the space between these blessings that we dwell.  Between past and present, between what is tangible and unknown, between reality and possibility.  If you have ever held a child, perhaps you have known this moment of transcendence.  This is a blessing to live faithfully in that moment.

It is hard for us to know fully where we come form. We certainly do not know where we are going. But with the love of God that spans generations, let us be held in peace.