God Keeps Showing Up

Throughout this Advent season, we have been tracing the tangled, messy, unexpected branches of Jesus’ family tree. It is not a tidy genealogy of heroes and flawless faith, but a living story shaped by real people who endure trauma, pain, isolation, the consequences of sin, and the misuse of power. We began with Abraham and Sarah, who waited, stumbled, and learned that God’s promises do not depend on a perfect faith. We stood with Tamar, who refused to disappear into injustice and showed us that God’s covenant continues even when the system fails. We listened to Rahab, who reached for hope with only a fragile thread of trust, and discovered that God’s grace has always crossed borders and expectations. We walked beside Naomi and Ruth, whose steadfast love carried them from emptiness to renewal. 

Last week, we told the truth about Bathsheba, whose story reminds us that God refuses to erase injustice or allow silence to define what is remembered. Again and again, this family tree shows us that God’s promises do not move forward through perfection, power, or privilege, but through lives marked by grief, pain, and trauma—lives that, in those very spaces, find the courage to move in ways the world deems illogical. God keeps choosing to work through people the world often overlooks, misunderstands, and dismisses.

Today, we come to another branch of the family tree. This one is not marked by scandal or systemic failures that have created conditions of injustice, but by the slow ache of disappointment. The kind of disappointment that settles in when life does not unfold as you had hoped, when you keep longing, keep praying, keep desiring justice, and eventually resign yourself to the thought that life is simply what it is. The kind of disappointment formed when prayers linger unanswered, when hope is stretched thin, and weariness quietly becomes a way of life.

Zechariah and Elizabeth find themselves in a deep-seated place of disappointment. They are the kind of couple who faithfully support the work of God in the world, the ones who show up whenever the doors are open, who give generously to the mission, and who serve as Pillars of the community. And yet, they live with disappointment, they carry the quiet, unfilled hope, made heavier by a world that questions their faithfulness and assumes that to be childless is a sign of God’s displeasure towards them. 

We know what this feels like. We have worked hard to carry the church forward. We served on committees, taught classes, gave our time and resources, only to discover that things keep changing, attendance shifts, culture moves on, and the outcomes we prayed for do not always come to pass. The disappointment that settles is the realization that faithfulness does not always produce the outcomes that we expected. Faithfulness does not guarantee clarity or even comfort. 

Maybe, like Elizabeth and Zechariah, we find ourselves weary, because we, too, have learned to interpret disappointment as God’s disapproval of us. In subtle ways, ageism seeps into our lives, through assumptions that faithfulness has an expiration date, that our hard-earned wisdom no longer matters, that certain seasons of life no longer count for much. Sometimes, ageism shows up in the opposite direction as well; we assume that some are too young to lead, too inexperienced to matter.  

We begin to believe that we have aged out of society’s, and if we’re honest, even the church’s expectations of “usefulness.” We can no longer do the things we once did, and we quietly wonder, “Did our season pass? Does this season of my life still matter? Is life just the way it is now?” In God’s kingdom, no season is wasted. Whether you are passing wisdom down or just finding your voice, there is a place for you in the story.

Our scripture narrative reminds us that the Christmas story begins not with the singing of angels, the shepherds in the fields, or a star leading to the Christ Child. It begins in disappointment. It begins with faithful, weary, hopeful people who are waiting and longing. It begins in a frustration that slowly gives way to grace. It begins with a priest, a devout, righteous, holy person, doubting the messenger of God.

Zechariah has been in the priesthood for many years. There was a familiarity with the work of the priesthood, which comes with a long-standing vocation in any field. He usually traveled from his hometown to Jerusalem to work in the temple a few times a year. There, priests would cast lots to decide who would enter the Holy of Holies and offer incense before God, a once-in-a-lifetime moment for most. On this day, Zechariah is chosen. Yet, while entering the holy of holies, Zechariah goes about his work like any other day. He is a seasoned veteran in the field. While this particular task might be new, he’s heard the stories, practiced the rituals, and knows what to do. He’s trained for this exact moment, knowing that he may never end up in this place.

This veteran priest knew the honor that had been bestowed upon him. It was believed that the drawing of lots was a holy process. God gave the lot to the one God called to the task. So, in this moment, Zechariah enters the holy of holies, focused on the task ahead. Yet this time was different than any time he had ever heard about. Rather than being in this part of the temple alone, an angel of the Lord appeared beside the altar. So, focused on the task at hand, Zechariah was startled and even scared when he saw the angel. If it wasn’t startling enough that the angel was there, the angel spoke.  

When the angel spoke, he spoke directly to the deepest longing of Zechariah’s heart. For years, Zechariah and his wife Elizabeth had prayed for a child. They had carried that hope faithfully, quietly, year after year. Even as their prayers went unanswered, they continued to hope. They continued to pray. But as time passed and their bodies aged, hope grew heavy. Waiting became wearisome.

And somewhere along the way, Zechariah’s longing began to shift. As he continued his work as a priest, his heart widened. His prayers stretched beyond his own household. He began to long not only for a child, but for his people for renewal, for justice, for God to show up again. And it is into that longing personal and communal, weary and faithful, that God speaks.

Yet, the priest, who entered into the Holy of Holiness, the priest who came into that sacred space to hear God speak, this priest charged with proclaiming a Word from God, in the form of a blessing over the faithful worshipers gathered outside the holiest space within the temple, does not believe the Angel’s word. He knows this is an angel of God. Despite this, and even though he is standing in what is considered to be the holiest place, Zechariah proclaims, “How can I know that this will happen? For I am an old man, and my wife is getting on in years.” His doubt renders him silent. He cannot even bless the people who are waiting for him. God does not abandon him in silence; he uses it. It becomes a holy pause, a time to reflect on how God has always been at work in his life.

Zechariah’s story can speak deeply to those of us who have felt the sting of disappointment in the life of the church and in our own lives. Like the priest, we, too, have entered holy spaces, expecting to hear God speak, to be blessed, and to bless. We have shown up faithfully, prayed, and yet still things did not go as we had hoped. Prayers unanswered, ministries changed, conflicts emerged, and the church no longer looks how we remembered it. We pray for what is going on in our own lives, disease, sorrow, broken relationships, trouble at work, and trouble in the world around us. Despite our longings, our late nights praying, and the tears we may have shed, God has not answered us. We, like Zechariah, are brought to silence not because we stopped believing but because disappointment has stolen our words. 

There are seasons where life feels like Zechariah must have felt, leaving the temple, unable to speak. In these moments, it can feel as though God has withdrawn from us, as though our faith has failed. Yet, just as God did not abandon Zechariah, God does not abandon us. God instead calls us to reflect on the many ways God is still showing up, to reflect on who God is, to widen our vision, and deepen our hope, as God prepares us to speak again. When our voice returns, it is not rooted in hopes born of the past but in joy for what God is bringing about in our midst. Our voice returns not because our plans have succeeded or we have the answer we desire. Instead, we speak because we realize that God’s plans are greater than our own. We recognize that submission and obedience to God’s vision for our lives is the better path.

And while Zechariah is rendered speechless, the story doesn’t fall silent. Instead, it shifts to Elizabeth, who becomes the one who speaks. She does not rush past the pain. She honors it, and then, she speaks. She testifies to what God has done and what God is doing. Her voice gives way to hope. Where disappointment once defined her view of the world, she now recognizes that God is at work in it. She witnesses to God’s faithfulness in her life, and she nurtures and affirms Mary’s calling to carry the Christ child into the world. 

You see, she realizes that the birth of their son is the beginning of God’s promises being fulfilled in the world. She and her husband both take a role in preparing the way for someone greater, and they instilled that posture of faith and humility into their own child. Even at the beginning of his ministry, John the Baptist proclaims, “I baptize you with water, but one who is more powerful than I is coming; I am not worthy to untie the strap of his sandals.” Even in the beginning of his own ministry, John lived with the faith and humility instilled in him by his parents. He is just preparing the way for Jesus, who is the more powerful one, who comes to save us all. 

Just as Elizabeth and Zechariah don’t become the center of the story, neither are we meant to be the center. Zechariah stumbles because his gaze turns inward. When the angel speaks of what God is doing, he can't see past his own limitations. Rather than receiving the promise, he fixates on what seems impossible from his vantage point: "I am old." This inward focus is something we know well. We, too, can become so caught up in our own expectations, our own timelines, and our own understanding of how things should happen that we struggle to recognize what God is actually doing. Questions begin to rise: Why haven’t my prayers been answered? Why hasn’t the church followed my vision? Why is this not unfolding the way I imagined? But Advent reminds us it was never meant to be about our control, our comfort, or our centrality. It’s about making space for God to move, even and especially when it stretches us beyond ourselves.

Despite Zechariah and our own failures, God keeps showing up. God continues to work in and through us. God continues to work through the church. Our call is to acknowledge how God continues to show up. We must affirm how God is at work in others and even in our own lives. We are called to point beyond ourselves, to honestly look for where God is working across the generations. In doing so, we must nurture one another into God’s call on our lives as each of us works to carry Christ into the world. Because friends, again and again, God meets us in our lives, in our church, in our community. None of us is too young, too old, too anything to participate in God’s kingdom-building work. That’s the lesson of the messy Christmas story. Despite our mess, despite our shortcomings, despite our trying to keep ourselves in the middle of it all, God keeps showing up, drawing us back to him.

So friends, this Advent, maybe you find yourself where Zechariah was, worn out from waiting, disappointed by what hasn’t come to pass, unsure if your faith still has a voice. Or maybe you feel like Elizabeth, carrying longings that once felt impossible, now surprised by how God is moving again. Wherever you find yourself, the good news is the same: God has not forgotten you. God has not abandoned the story. God keeps showing up. God shows up not just in answered prayers or angelic announcements, but in the quiet turning of hearts, in the passing of wisdom from one generation to another, in the silent spaces where reflection deepens our trust. God shows up in your life:  In your disappointment, in your waiting, in your wondering. God keeps showing up, not always in the ways we expect, but always in love.

So may we be the kind of people who, even when we are silenced by doubt or wearied by delay, keep preparing the way. May we be a community that listens to the voices rising up among us, that honors the wisdom of years and the wonder of youth. And may we, like Zechariah, like Elizabeth, make room for a hope that is bigger than us, a hope that points beyond us, a hope that keeps showing up until Christ is born among us again.

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.